Losing myself in the throng of guests, I start socializing and immersing myself in conversation. To my great delight, most of the people present speak Italian, so I don't have to make a fool of myself with my abysmal accent.
And so I start enjoying myself. Champagne flows freely, and discussions abound. The birthday party is in full swing, except the birthday boy is absent.
But I no longer care. This time, I'm going to have fun.
Fuck Enzo and fuck his family.
"No, I disagree," I say as I accept another glass of champagne from a server. "You see, there's no scientific proof for the plague of Athens. It could have simply been a metaphorical device to illustrate his disapproval of Pericles. Pericleshimselfwas the plague." I take another sip of champagne, ready to fervently defend my argument.
When was the last time I'd felt this free?
"Beautiful and smart," the man in front of me compliments, and I blush.
I've never been called beautiful before.
So I bask in his flattery, my laugh turning giggly from the bubbly drink.
"It's a little loud here. Why don't we go out on the balcony and you can tell me all about Pericles?" he says as he's already leading me toward the double doors.
I pay no mind to the change of scenery, my brain solely focused on the discussion at hand.
"He was exiled. He wasn't exactly Pericles's biggest fan," I continue, trying to make my argument as convincing as possible. It's not often that someone talks to me about moreintellectual topics—especially a man. So I feel this need to show him that I'm not some airhead. That I can think for myself.
"That's very interesting. Tell me more," he urges, and a huge smile spreads across my face.
The champagne does nothing but enhance my social skills, and I continue rambling about Pericles and the plague, failing to realize how he keeps on getting closer to me, or how his hands brush against my naked arms, his palm slowly going down my back and over my ass.
It's a sobering enough thought to try to put some distance between us. But he's not having it.
Cornering me against the railing of the balcony, we're so far away from the crowd that no one can hear us and secluded enough that no one can see us.
"If you'll excuse me," I say, and I make to move past him, the situation too uncomfortable for my liking.
"Now, where do you think you're going, princess?" he whispers in my hair, close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin.
"Let go," I say through gritted teeth, surprised he'd try something like this in my own home with so many other people present.
"Don't be shy now," he says as his lips land on my cheek. I shudder at the disgusting feel of saliva against my skin and continue to push at him.
Then he's gone.
My eyes widen as I see a terrifying Enzo grab the man by the collar, dragging him into the center of the ballroom.
No… he wouldn't…
I run after them, only to witness a scene made for a horror movie.
Enzo starts pummeling the man on the floor, his knuckles stained with blood as he keeps hitting him. The man's facemorphs from human to an unrecognizable mess, his words turning into incoherent grunts of pain.
Gasps surround us, with people asking him to stop but none daring to intervene.
He doesn't.
He keeps beating him until the man stops moving. Enzo's eyes are blank as he pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants, aiming for the man's head.
My eyes instinctively close as the shot resounds in the room, only to open to a sea of red. A pool of blood gathers around the body, slowly getting bigger and bigger until it reaches my feet.
I take a step back, feeling a little lightheaded—both from the champagne and from witnessing the massacre in front of me.
