Enzo looked lost in his light, beige suit, paired with a black turtleneck, and his hair was tousled. Leaning against his silver Bentley.
Chiara tsked. Not everybody could pull of a turtleneck—specifically him.
Ladies, I'd pick a groomed man over these inconsiderate and thoughtless men, till the day I die. She declared in her mind.
He stood straight at her arrival. "I like your outfit." She praised, pointing up and down at him. He looked at himself, brushing off his suit coat.
"Thank God you do. I tried not to embarrass myself before a fashion icon like you."
Too late, good sir! Too fucking late! He shouldn't have tried anything at all. Chiara bit down her thoughts. "Ah, you're fine." She waved him off.
Chiara never understood how someone with money didn't know how to dress nicely. Tragic. Find a personal designer, influencer, or something.
Enzo took her hand and kissed her knuckle, pulling her from her train of thoughts. "I must admit, you look gorgeous. You dressed up all that wonderfully for me? I'm honored," he said, grinning.
Chiara chuckled, "How delusional." Then she retracted her hand, rubbing it off behind her dress. "I dress up to shock every mirror I come across, not for people and not to please you." She deadpanned.
And then made a show of turning from side to side, admiring the reflection in his car windows. It was right to wear a full black tonight. A color that always stood on business. She thought.
Enzo's grin was wiped in seconds, and awkward laughter came in place.
He rubbed his chin. "You sure hate me, huh?" To Chiara, hate was an understatement.
She raised her head to face him. "Me? Hating you? No, honey, no. This is just me being me." She gasped the following second, covering her mouth and flashing her black-painted nails at him. "Are you perhaps offended?"
His jaw ticked. Yes, he was. "Of course not, let's get going." He said and walked around to the driver's side. "Ooh, someone is offended," Chiara said in a singsong, loud enough for him to hear.
"Get in the car, Chiara." He uttered with a sharp tone.
Chiara felt annoyance rising at full speed. First, he left her to get her own door and now he was demanding it. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Who raised these men? They were so disdainful.
****
After a dreadful long half and hour drive, past the roads and bustling streets of Milan. Adorned with faint lights, creating a dream-like atmosphere, Enzo took another turn. No words were exhanged since they left the Marino compounds.
She couldn't tell if this was him sulking or what. Either way… the silence was utterly welcomed on her end. Enzo's face, though, was so grim that it made her want to laugh at him.
Why so uptight? She guessed he couldn't handle her when she hadn't even begun. Her hand grazed the throwing knife she'd tuck meticulously into the garter holster on her right thigh. She peered at him with a side eye and a grin.
She rolled down the window, ignoring his disapproval grunt as the breeze hit her on the face.
The soft golden glows from the vintage street lamps, reflecting cobblestone alleys and vintage buildings that stood majestically tall, were a sight to get lost into.
Chiara was never a fairy tale kind of girl, but the flickers of neon signs over elegant cafes. Where laughter and clicking glasses blended into the hum of the night, were a sight out of this world to her.
Like it belonged to the fantasy lands. Where happiness was free and everlasting. She assumed. This was her home, the city that whispered the stories of the past.
Their car pulled over at the place, and the valet did his job as they headed for the elevator inside the building.
Enzo might have zero sense of clothing, but at least he chose a Michelin-starred restaurant to get his BP raised at. Noted Chiara to herself as they walked in.
The place wasn't packed, but there were a couple of people around. No matter how many times Chiara came here, she was never not captivated by its view. It was a piece of art.
They settled down, and her eyes admired the paintings on the walls as the waitress conversed with him. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" Enzo uttered. The lady face her with a smile. "What would you like to have, Ma'am?"
Chiara picked up the menu, glanced at it, shut it, and placed it down with a light thud.
"Bring me three of your most expensive and delicious dishes. Surprise me." She smiled back at her.
"Yes, Ma'am, Sir, I'll be right back." The petite waitress left.
Another one came with a trolley of drinks and started to narrate about each, giving them a taste of the wine while they waited for their order.
Chiara adjusted on her seat once he was gone. "So, listen up! Do you believe birds are real?" She blurted.
Enzo, who was busy on his phone, glanced at her and said, "Huh?"
She leaned forward, swirling the red wine in her glass. "You, my dear, have been deceived your entire life. Tsk, tsk, tsk." She added. His eyesbrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
She took a sip and placed the glass down.
"Look, I have proof. Birds are assassins' surveillance drones, designed to monitor targets. And to make it less suspicious, the assassin's club installed tiny cameras in what we know as bird eyes. So if you see a bird looking at you, run. Because it's gathering details on you, probably screenshotting everything that you do and sending it to some secret headquarters." She lifted her glass and took a long sip, watching his frown deepen through the corners of her eyes.
"Also, are you familiar with the weird, annoying sound they make? That's actually a command they're receiving from their HQ. It's not a chirping baby boy, it's a signal. Birds? Not real." She went on.
Enzo looked at her, silently, closely, and suddenly broke out in a fit of laughter. "Oh my God." He uttered in between. "You don't believe me." Chiara shook her head, refilling her glass.
The waitress came and served their food and wished them a happy meal before she left. While the man was still trying to recover from his laugh.
"I never took you for a comedian. But I must say, that was a good joke. I had a good laugh." He took a bite from his plate, shaking his head, amusement still danging on his wrinkled face. For a 49 years old man, he looked way older than his age. Chiara noticed.
"It wasn't a joke." Chiara uttered, leaning back on her chair, staring blankly at him. "It's true."
Enzo faced her, "Look, you don't have to—" She cut him off.
"One time, a well-known billionaire's house exploded with him inside. The footage showed a bird entering his living room through his balcony. He was there smoking my stepfather's infamous powder. The moment it landed, both he and the house were scorched." She narrated.
"Are you talking about Armando Bianchi? His murder went unresolved, that poor soul." He said, taking a sip from his glass before continuing to eat.
"Yes. I killed him. Because he insisted on marrying me and forced himself on me several times."
Enzo stopped chewing and gaped at her.