Page 107 of La Dolce Vita

"For you to be quiet," he said.

Adara frowned. She finished her sandwich and disposed of the wrapping. He never glanced her way again. She sucked in a deep breath and sat back on the bed. She picked up the remote and turned on the television. It flashed on a news report. Carlo kept cleaning his gun. Adara flipped channels. She landed on a talk show. She then switched to a movie that looked interesting. She tried not to look at him, but now and then her gaze volleyed over his way.

Once he was done with reassembling his weapon, he returned to the bathroom to take a piss. The door was open. She watched him shake his dick and then go to the basin and wash his face and hands. Then he paused. He dropped his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was still and silent that way for several minutes.

She'd never seen a man appear to be so unhappy. Where was the ruthless murderer that she'd been warned about? He carried a gun not a machete. He spoke calmly, not ranting and screaming. The guy who used cleavers to butcher his victims while they were still alive had never appeared. All she saw was a guy running on empty.

He stepped back and dropped his trousers and boxers. Even from the side view of his body, she couldn't deny how magnificently toned and sculpted his physique was. She didn't see his penis. He turned to the shower and went in.

Adara watched the television until the shower stopped. Carlo came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He turned off the light in the hotel room. The only one left was the lamp by the bed. He walked over to his suitcase and dug out a pair of boxers. He dropped his towel and put them on in front of her. The scarring to his body looked old. She could tell the difference between gunshots and knife cuts. The tattoos seemed to stretch over his entire back.

"Ever been to America?" he asked.

"No," she replied. It was the second time he asked her that question.

"I just returned. Brought back a gift for someone. Forgot to give it to her husband. I want you to have it," he said. He dug into his bag and then removed it. Adara frowned. She waited. He turned with a golden wrapped box. He tossed it to the bed. She glanced at it and then to him.

"Go on. Open it," he said. He stared at the box as if it were a rare jewel. Confused she unwrapped and inspected the gift.

"Perfume lotion?"

"Shalimar. I want you to put it on. Now."

The request wasn't the strangest thing to happen to her that day. Adara nodded. She eased off the bed as she removed the bottle. She then squirted a dab on the wrist and then rubbed it into her hands.

"Between the breasts. There," he said and pointed.

She did as he asked. She removed the shirt she wore and rubbed the lotion over her breasts and neck.

He nodded. "Get in bed," he said with a weary sigh. "On the right side. I take the left."

Adara wanted to question his intentions, but it was clear what they were up to now. She eased into the bed but kept her eyes on him. He then lowered his boxers as if he changed his mind. This time, she saw his dick and had to look away. It was the most magnificent part of his scarred, tattooed body.

"Why did you go to America?" she asked without looking at him.

Carlo came around the bed. He eased in with her. He pulled her closer to him. "Tonight I want you to be quiet. I want you to lay here and hold me and not say a word. Do you understand me?"

She nodded that she understood.

"Good." He turned and shut off the lamplight. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. And then he rested his head against her breast. His strong arms wrapped around her gently. It felt nice. Frozen stiff at first she wasn't sure what else he needed. But somehow she felt it. She stroked the top of his head. And he settled into sleep. Adara’s gaze shifted over to the left where the box for the perfume lotion lay. Who was the woman who wore Shalimar? And why did he feel the need to pretend he was in her arms tonight?

***

The storm had delayed them. She hadn't seen that kind of lightning in a long time. When she ran inside under the cover of the umbrella, Catalina was nearly knocked over by Rosetta.

"Oh, scusi," Rosetta said.

"Watch where you're going!" Catalina hissed.

"Ladies, it's late. Can you save the argument for the morning?" Dominic sighed. He glanced back at the luggage being brought in by the men. Catalina shot Rosetta a withering glare. She wasn't sure why she was angry with her. Rosetta had been quiet and observant since the drama began. Still, she hated the sight of her.

"I'm going to bed. Come on, Dominic," Catalina said.

Rosetta stepped in front of him. "Where do I sleep, Domi?"

"On the floor. Who gives a shit! Just go away," Catalina said.

Dominic sighed. "Take a room down here. In the morning we'll figure out the arrangement. Good night."

---