7. Vincenzo
Vincenzo
Chapter 7
I sit in the silence of the empty gardens. The party has long ended, and it is early morning. I am exhausted and should get some rest, but my weary mind and heavy heart won’t let me.
The moon casts a silvery glow over the wings of the rising Phoenix marble statue opposite me.
But its eyes are cast in shadow, lending it a dark glare that makes it almost seem alive, as if determined to rise from the ashes right this moment. It's befitting after everything that has happened tonight.
The professor’s words ring in my mind as if he had spoken them to me personally. At first, I thought nothing of the e-mails my tech guy had unearthed.
In fact, I was very close to firing him; his call held me up, and so I failed to follow when my enchanting company up and fled, quite literally.
I wanted to wring the man’s neck through the phone. Why could some digital files with unsent communication not wait until tomorrow?
He said something about recovering them from the recycling bin, even after the bin was emptied. I don’t know the details—that is what I pay him for.
However, the professor’s anguish in those messages made me pay full attention rather quickly.
‘Vincenzo, my dear friend, I fear I've stumbled upon something that could be perilous if it falls into the wrong hands. Be cautious, for we never know who might be watching. Stay vigilant, for you are associated with me.’
As I scrolled through the pages on my phone, my own concern grew.
‘Lately, I've been tormented by nightmares that seem all too real. I can't shake the feeling that I may have unearthed something incredibly powerful – and dangerous.’ He never directly mentions the artifact, but the implication is clear.
"Knowledge is power," Julian often told me as we discussed history, legacy, and the artifacts that fascinated him so much. I think back on our conversations.
Once or twice, he spoke of certain items he’d collected as reminders of his discoveries.
It's clear now that something from his studies instilled in him some fear. Enough that he drafted several e-mails with the intention of sending them to me. Why he chose not to, I might never know.
‘Vincenzo, be cautious with your own acquisitions. Some relics are better left undiscovered. I wish I had never laid eyes on this... thing.’
Such a cryptic warning, but I’ll be damned if I can’t find out what he meant by it.
"Julian, whatever did you find?" I whisper.
My mind wanders to my brother. They had always been there for me, Antonio and the Professor. Their passing has left an emptiness that seems to grow with every passing day.
"Is it just loneliness?" The sound of my voice mingles with the rustling leaves. "Or is it something more?"
My thoughts return to the woman who departed so suddenly and without explanation. When she ran off, I was shocked. She had seemed to enjoy my company, and the next moment, she looked conflicted.
Was it something I said or did? But for my life, I cannot think what.
I went back into the house, thinking that she just needed some space. The thought even crossed my mind that she might be playing games. She would certainly not be the first one.
However, it quickly became clear that she had vanished. And with her, apparently, any possibility of me enjoying the rest of the evening.
Before I could send one of my men to follow her, my tech guy phoned, his voice urgent, so I went to the study to look at what he had sent me.
I was still there when Giovanni called me so I could play my part as dutiful host, seeing everyone in their cars and bidding goodbyes. I sent Giovanni to pay the caterers while I checked in with the security team.
They reported nothing out of the ordinary, no guests trying to sneak out an artifact from my private collection, no lovers making out in any of the guest rooms.
Now, I find myself near the same spot where my promising evening took such a sudden left turn.
"Mario," I call out to one of my security guards, his dark suit blending into the shadows. "I need you to gather information about a guest from tonight's party. Her name is Camela."
“Last name, Boss?”
“I’m not sure,” I frown.
"Of course, sir," he replies with a nod. He knows better than to ask why I'm suddenly interested in a seemingly random guest. Especially one whose name I don’t quite recall.
"Be discreet," I add. She might have personal reasons for why she ran off. I’d hate to put her on the spot.
I don't want anyone to think that I'm desperate for information or that I'm meddling in the personal lives of my guests. It simply wouldn't do.
"Understood, Don Consolini." Mario disappears without another word.
It’s almost five a.m., but the perk of living in my world is that my household never sleeps. Someone’s always on guard, watching, spying, delivering.
As I waited for his return, images of Camela's face flashed through my mind—her large brown doe-shaped eyes seemed to hold deep secrets, while her lips smiled at me with a delectable curve.
There was something about her that felt both familiar and entirely foreign, a paradox that I could not ignore.
"Sir," the guard's voice interrupts my thoughts, causing me to look up at him. "We've found some information on your guest."
"Go on."
"Her full name is Camela Giannelli. Miss Giannelli is not a stranger to events like these. She's been seen at several high-profile gatherings in recent years, often in the company of powerful men and women. Businessmen, politicians, judges and so forth.”
"Interesting," I murmur. "What else did you find? What does she do for work?"
"Unfortunately, sir, that's all we have for now. She seems to keep a very low public and online profile."
"Very well," I say, disappointed. "Thank you for your efforts." The guard nods and takes his leave.
The scent of roses and jasmine fills the air, somehow soothing and agitating me at the same time. Just like Camela tugs at my very soul - a woman I’ve spoken to for barely an hour.
Still, I can't help but feel a strange sense of kinship with her, as if our souls had brushed against each other in that fleeting moment. It's a connection I've never experienced before.
It’s a feeling I can’t shake and have no intention of ignoring.
"Camela," I whisper into the night, her name a promise that lingers on my lips. "I will find you again."
Determined, I pull out my phone..
"Giovanni!" I call up my housekeeper, waking him from his sleep.
“Boss,” he sounds groggy. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m sorry for waking you,” I frown, chiding myself for my selfishness. “But we need to plan a party again, this time in the garden. I need you to deliver a personal invitation to Miss Camela Giannelli before you send one to anyone else. Are we clear?”
"Of course, sir," he replies, taking note of my request. "Will there be anything else?"
“That’s all for now. Get some rest.”
The minute my call ends, I let my imagination run wild. If she does show up for this next party, then perhaps the next invitation she’d receive could be for just two.
I’m thrilled at the prospect of seeing her again, of spending time alone with her. My thoughts become distracted images, igniting a fire within me that I haven’t felt in a long time.
It takes everything in me not to find her address at this very moment and to go hunt her down myself.
I finally find my way to bed, my mind consumed with images of her and me in my garden.