The guard gave me a mean look, taking my arm. I tried to shove him off, but his grip tightened. She looked between the two of us then told him something in Italian. He seemed to take whatever she said seriously and turned me in the opposite direction.
I wanted to fight him, but I couldn’t. I felt so drained. But the thought of what had happened between my body and Nazzareno’s, and the idea that something any journalist would have killed to capture in real time was happening somewhere in this place, was keeping me on my feet.
My escort seemed to be taking me to wherever Renato had instructed him to, and I was about to try to wiggle free from him by using the oldest excuse in the book—I had to use the restroom—but another man came up to us. They were exchanging Italian in a rush but in a hushed tone.
The man holding me closed his eyes for a second and breathed out. Then he looked at me. He snapped something at me, and I held my hands up, like I understood, but I honestly had no clue what he’d said. I had a feeling he was ordering me to stay put, though.
A second later, my escort and the one who’d caught up with us rushed down the hallway, going in the opposite direction.
I kicked my heels off and rushed behind them, swaying as I did.
My head…I just knew I was going to have a fucking killer headache after this.
Not watching where I was going, I kicked something, and it rolled like a ball.
Why would they have a ball back here?
I narrowed my eyes at the rolling thing and…I took back what I’d thought about a killer headache.
The man who’d lost his head, which I’d just kicked, had the definition of a killer headache.
There was a head on the floor.
A fucking HEAD!
Which not long ago was attached to a body, judging by how warm the blood was, and the fresh smell…it made my heart race and my palms feel slick, like a memory was creeping in close, but I couldn’t recall it to dismiss it.
I was caught in a nightmare of my own making from the drugs. Maybe the head was a figment of my imagination…
This wastheworse. I couldn’t tell what was real or not anymore, and it was truly fucking with my emotions. I kept feeling thethunkof when I’d kicked it, like hitting an animal with a car—the sick feeling in the gut it causes that never really leaves. I’d been in a cab once when a pigeon flying too low hit the windshield.
I forced myself to move, to not look over my shoulder at the grotesque face, or those wide eyes, which I felt haunting my back.
I came to a stop right outside of a crowd that had formed around a room. Whatever was going on felt urgent. People were moving around like they had one sole purpose in life and had to fulfill it. A scream pierced the air, there was fighting…
My body tilted into the wall because my life felt upside down.
I closed my eyes tight, and when I opened them, it seemed like mostly everyone had cleared out.
I walked in a daze to the room everyone had been rushing out of.
Blood. Gallons of it flooding the floor.
It almost seemed like the water underneath us had made its way inside and was turning the marble black.
I made the mistake of looking down my dress.
My feet were covered, and the hem of my white gown was absorbing the color of it, as deep and dark as stormy waters.
Somewhere in the distance, a lion roared in triumph.
ELEVEN
NAZZARENO
Themotoscafo (watertaxi)wavered underneath me with a fast turn.
In my eyes, the entire world had turned into Venice. No matter where I’d go, the ground beneath my feet would be no steadier than trembling water.
