As we walked togetherinto Saint Mark’s Square, there were tourists everywhere. Out of nowhere, people walked around in full Carnevale regalia with renaissance dresses and matching Venezia masquerade masks. Their colorful outfits are a sight to behold in person. The people of Venice gathered to dance and celebrate the victory over the Patriarch in 1162 and the carnival was born. it was banned in the 1930s by Mussolini and restarted again by local artisans in the 1970s. Enzo released his hand from mine and excused himself as a crowd of women walked over to me. Their encouraging words of beauty ringing in my ears.
This man actually manifested Carnevale and brought it to me.
Movement to my side catches my attention. Enzo stood with a group of six men dressed casually matching in suit pants and black shirts. I watched them questionably through squinted eyes. The shimmering of silver from behind one of the men’s suit pants catches my eyes. The unmistakable silver glare from a handgun.
A gun?!
Lorenzo takes a large stack of money from his suit jacket pocket and hands it to the man closest to him, quickly shaking his hand. He notices my gaze which I desperately try to cover by looking anywhere I can but in his direction. He walks over to me as the men scurry and leave in the opposite direction of us. His hand wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer to him.
My thoughts circling in my head like a tornado. What business is Enzo doing with these men? Only proving to myself that I don’t know this man in the least.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Si,” Enzo affirms.
He points over to the canal in front of us and guides me to the railway. Seconds later, a dragon boat floated down the canal.
“The Carro di Carnevale?!” I exclaim excitedly.
The Carro di Carnevale were floats with political and social satire in parades as they floated down the canal. I have only read and seen of them in the tourist magazines I would smuggle from the library as a child.
“I have always wanted to see this,” he says softly, releasing a deep cracking breath from his lips.
“You never have?” I ask.
“I always seemed to miss it,” Enzo whispers.
Suddenly, music from the Carnevale filled the loudspeakers from the square and the women in full regalia spun around us and began blowing into trombetta party horns. His fingers grip my lower back and holds me steady as he spins me around. My arms tilting backwards while spinning.
I felt free. I felt light. I felt in love.
His fingers graze down my cleavage before gently kissing my skin quickly.
“Passport complete, amore?” he ask, his voice low and husky.
“Only if you help with my last one.”
His feet stop mid-spin and guides me to stand back up, removing his hands from my back. His face now tense and rigid.
“Absolutely not.”
“it’s not that big of a deal,” I huff.
“It is a big fucking deal for fuck’s sake,” he says angrily, his fingers pressed together and shaking in my face.
“I want you to watch me,” I whisper.
“Gesú Cristo, Amelia,” he scoffs.
Forcing his gaze on mine, “Enzo, if anyone could understand how hot it is, it’s you,” I say, grabbing his hand and grasping my fingers around his.
“There is no fucking way I am watching while another man’s cock is inside you where I belong,” Enzo whispers.
The breath catches in my throat, and I forget to breathe, let alone speak.
* * *
After a tense boatride down the canal, I followed Enzo into his villa on foot. He angrily walked through the wrought iron gates as we walked through the open courtyard. I kicked my heels off my feet because chasing after this man in a ballgown and heels is not something I feel like doing.
“Enzo, stop,” I order.
He continues muttering curses in Italian under his breath as he walks up the stone stairs leading up into the upstairs of his villa. I stop mid-step on the stairs, my fingers bracing against the red-brick walls.
“If you don’t want to talk about this, then we can talk about the fact you said you were in love with me,” I suggest.
He stops mid-step on the stairs in front of me, “No.”
“No, then how about we talk about the fact that you gave over the most substantial amount of money I have seen in a while with men that had guns,” I say, attitude dripping from every word.
“Stop!” he commands.
“No!” I yell back, my chest rising and falling with his in adrenaline.
Looking down at his hands and I see a spot of red staining his suit jacket cuff.
Is that blood?!
“Is this blood?” I ask.
“No.”
“What are you doing? Who are you?” I demand.
“Stop!” Enzo yells forcefully, his jaw tensing in raw anger.