“Don’t I know it. He’s on me to get married. As if I want a wife hanging around all the time nitpicking the hours I keep for work and expressing her jealousy by breaking shit when she’s pissed.”
“Another one? Again? Don’t tell me Lia got dumped.”
I shrug as we cross the street as the humidity rises. I pull my trench coat closer to me by my hands that are in my pockets. Rain is imminent.
“I can’t stop women from falling in love with me. I treat them like crap. I don’t lead them on.”
He chuckles.
“Okay, I tease them, maybe. But it’s only for the sexual tension. They like it.”
“Must be that big dick and wad of euros that talk for you,” he snickers. “Can’t say I blame them. I wouldn’t mind a woman putting me up but, then again, I’d lose face with all the guys. That just doesn’t happen here unless it’s an elderly woman who needs attention and is willing to pay for the privilege. And you know ‘that’ guy won’t be advertising it.”
“Well, let’s just say I’m here on work, but I might get some pleasure out of this event other than the art I love while inflicting some pain.”
“If she takes your attention away from the art you love so much, then I’d say you might have met your match.”
We flip our passes to the attendant as we walk through the entrance. The umbrella sets off the security alarm, but once I show security what it is, and walk through again, I receive an all-clear.
We slip in along side women in extravagant gowns worthy of the MET in America with cameras flashing everywhere.
No fucking way do we want our ugly mugs on the news and in tabloids. A reporter shouts out names, but they mean nothing to me as the little principessa walks with confidence and an aura of superiority that I would expect from her father’s upbringing. Her shoulders are straight, proud. Her statuesque figure is showing off her gown that shimmers in all the right places making my cock jump to life. I can’t remember the last time just observing a woman who made me this excited.
I tear my eyes away from her and her friend enjoying their minute of fame before slipping into the museum. Night gives a different aura to the art and sculptures as classical music greets us and the chandeliers glisten.
The number of participants is limited, the air moves freely, and it leaves room to move about. It’s a treat to be here without hoards of tourists who dress in flip flops and shorts. Tonight, everyone is dressed to impress.
This is a group of elite and wealthy families and I wonder why I didn’t receive an invitation, but I do keep a low profile. Still, I have friends in high places and others in influential ones who never said a word. I surmise they might not want competition on tonight of all nights. Then again, maybe I’m too well known by the powers behind this soiree.
I refused to check my coat with the umbrella as I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. Savio and I snag Dom Perignon as it floats by on trays like clouds wisping by, only it’s carried by well-trained staff who walk stiffly and don’t say a word.
Next comes the antipasti of little snacks for such occasions. The last time I attended a fundraiser was a larger affair for one of the newer hospital wings we made a large donation to in exchange for a commissioner’s vote we needed on a project in order to build elaborate, million euro apartments and office buildings. We received the zoning changes we needed. Tit for tat is how it goes. It was a revere coo as we rarely outbid the Italians.
All favors have strings attached. We’re not in the business of goodwill or being good Samaritans. Right now, the only tits I’m interested in are the blonde’s as she just entered the room. I can’t deny that all eyes are on her. The old crystal chandeliers in the main room give a warm glow to her exposed skin. I hate that she’s showing off her large breasts that somehow remain in place without the use of a bra.
I notice a tattooed man in the room paying too much attention to her, and I want to beat the shit out of him for being so forward.
Savio distracts me with chit chat as he urges me to walk the room. He mentions my mother has missed some work while I’ve been away living my double life.
“That’s odd, I just saw her, and she said nothing, but I noticed she seems tired and pale.”
“You may want to look into it.”
Given Grandpa’s cryptic message, I’m not liking how this is shaping up. I wonder if there’s something wrong with Mama. I might be the last to know, which wouldn’t surprise me as she always goes out of her way to make my life as carefree as possible. Maybe it’s to compensate me for my father’s disdain.
Walking into a smaller room of portraits, the museum orchestra becomes faint, and more serene, similar to a lazy summer breeze. Classical music is fitting and provides an inviting backdrop as everyone makes their rounds of introductions, sees old friends, and at times, observes the artwork and sculptures. For many, this is their annual event of the winter, even though they can probably recite the works of art by heart.
I pass by men who look like me, dressed well for the occasion and in small groups. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had guns in their cars outside. It’s the vibe I pick up, and it takes a mafia man to know one in most circumstances. I work more in the shadows, and Rome isn’t my territory. It’s customary that those who are higher up in the family to keep a low profile.
We pass by them and Savio overhears a younger man without much couth mention the name Valentina and my ears perk up. Supposedly she will go for a high price, higher than anyone he knows can afford to pay.
Valentina, there are no works of art here called that and none are being sold. There are very strict penalties if art is forged or sold illegally. We take our heritage seriously.
“I wonder whom he is speaking about,” I rub my hand over my smooth chin as a long curl drops to the middle of my forehead. Damn the humidity.
“What the hell is that about?” Savio hands me another champagne so we blend in.
“No clue. Maybe we can find out.” I use an outstretched hand as our cue to continue to circulate in a clockwise direction, all the while taking note of the exits and the number of stiff men in the room means we’re not the only connected people here.