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Tommy’s apartment building is low tech, like most things in Rome. A giant wood door gives way to a spiral staircase steep enough to make an American lawyer see settlement conferences.
Diamond leads me up four barely lit flights, to the makeshift penthouse where Tommy occupies several connected units.
The door isn’t just unlocked. It’s wide open. Because she’s his regular girl. He trusts her.
The moment I step onto the hardwood, my heart rises in my throat. Stage fright. I try to find calm with a deep breath, but it doesn’t work. So I let my thoughts shift to Matteo.
I imagine the horror in his black eyes when he finds Tommy dead tomorrow.
The way his lips curl into a frown.
The way his fingers curl into his fists.
The way his thoughts tune to me. That monster. I’ll do anything to catch her.
My shoulders fall, even as my stomach flutters.
“Darling, I have a surprise for you,” Diamond says with a thick accent. Her high heels tap the tile as she moves through the open living room.
It's a tacky attempt at Italian royalty—a mishmash of antiques and Pottery Barn style pieces shipped from the States.
A plush fabric couch next to an antique baroque chaise, gold leaf frames around Italian classics. Forgeries, of course, but good ones. Venus of Urbino begs me to release her from this man’s gaze (from century of men’s gaze). Or maybe just to offer her mine instead.
She’ll look perfect in my apartment, though god knows when I’ll next be in Manhattan.
The confidence in Venus’s eyes centers me. Reminds me I’ve done this a million times.
Tommy mumbles from the bedroom. A collection of consonants that Diamond takes to mean come here.
She looks back to me with concern that I can play the part—or perhaps that she'll pull off some double-cross.
“This is your last chance to back out," Diamond whispers in French. Concern fills her eyes. She’s worried about me. Or about losing her income stream.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. So I’m the one in control. “Stick with the plan and we’re golden. I promise.”
Disbelief streaks her expression, but she's a pro. She blinks it away, curls her soft pink lips into a warm smile.
She's good at this. An asset. I should refer her to Hera.
No. I should keep her as my own. That way she’s not destined to a fate in jail or the morgue. No more than all of us are.
Memento mori.
If it happens tonight—
Well, I’d really hate to die without one more tryst with Matteo, but I won’t die with regrets.
I follow Diamond into the bedroom. It’s decorated like the rest of the place, a mishmash of old school luxury and cheap new crap, all gold and purple and brown, and Tommy, in a Hugh Hefner robe in the middle of his massive four-poster bed.
The creep’s eyes light up when he sees me.
"You said no last time I asked," he says, to her, like I’m not here.
"I said I didn't know the right girl. Now, I do," she smiles.
"What's your name, honey?" Tommy licks his lips, like the Big Bad Wolf ready to swallow Little Red Riding Hood.
When I don't immediately reply, Diamond steps in. "She doesn't speak any English.”
