On the steps of the Art Nouveau casino, he steered Chiara inside, the feel of her back, her movement beneath his hand, a pleasure. Inside, palm fronds reached for the high glass dome above, as if to get away from the thick tobacco smoke. A plush crimson-and-black carpet in Harlequin print, the movement of which played tricks on the eyes, padded the floor. At one table, a group of people cheered as the croupier paid out bets. At another, the house won and the players slumped into their tuxedos for a brief moment before counting out chips for another shot at luck. Amidst the din of casino-goers was the flash and glitter of evening gowns and polished canes. Angelo heard the swish of cards and the knocking of balls on the roulette wheels, like something caught in the paddle of a steamship.
The Colonel had arranged for their entries and returned with chips for all of them. “I reserved a private poker table. Will you join me, Angelo?”
“Chiara and I will take a prosecco at the bar.” He turned to his sisters. “The two of you as well?”
His sisters nodded, obviously excited by their first visit and about the freedom they had in their mother’s—and soon, their father’s—absence.
“I’ll take care of the ladies,” Angelo added.
His father’s displeasure only lasted as long as it took for two men to descend on him. Angelo recognised them from the Fascist meetings, and in the next breath, all three men headed for the back of the casino, finally disappearing behind a gilded mirrored door.
At the bar, Angelo called for the barkeep but froze at the sound of a familiar laugh, a calculated, not merry, tone. He whirled around, saw a flash of royal blue and green on gold—a gown—and a head of dark hair. Gina Conti was standing just ten steps away in the centre of half a dozen men in tuxedos. The pistil of a black-and-white flower.
The notion of fleeing died when Gina’s eyes darted to him, a glance that was quick and subtle but seemed to set her mind in motion at the discovery of him there. The general stood next to her, head bent, as if listening to his wife’s thoughts.
“Sir? What can I get for you?” the barkeep asked.
Angelo shook his gaze away. His sisters and Chiara were pointed elsewhere. “Four prosecco.”
“Make that five.” Gina’s voice just behind him, a little laugh at the end of her request. She was at his left elbow but did not look at him. Instead, she turned casually as if to say something to her party of admirers before resting her eyes on him.
“Minister Grimani, you’re here too. Bolzano seems to have completely emptied this August. The Tyroleans might get it into their heads to reclaim the city.” She leaned back a little to look past him. “I see your wife is here too. Signora Grimani, a pleasure. I am Gina Conti.” She offered Chiara her hand, who took it with obvious distaste.
Angelo’s heart flipped. “Signora Conti is General Conti’s wife and—”
“I know who you are,” Chiara said.
Gina flashed her a smile of acquiescence. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person. And these lovely young ladies, Minister?” She now stepped away from the bar, as if to evaluate merchandise. Angelo took in her gold satin gown upon which were alternating rows of emerald-green deer and sapphire hawks.
He played along. “These are my sisters, Cristina and Francesca.”
She took a special interest in Francesca. “You must be the same age as my daughter. Perhaps you know my Filipa?”
“No, Signora.”
“Certainly you must. Are you not a member of the youth group?”
Cristina answered, “I am. Francesca has more important things to do.”
Francesca elbowed her sister.
“That the Colonel would allow for such a gap in the family,” Gina said, sounding amused.
“A gap in what?” Chiara challenged.
“Why, in Fascist engagement, of course.”
The barkeep placed five stemmed glasses on the bar, and Angelo checked the mirror above. The general was standing alone.
He handed out the drinks. “Salute.”
Gina’s was the first to touch his, and Chiara brandished her glass at him.
“Did you not want to play roulette, husband?” she said. “A space has opened up at that table there.”
He followed her look, but all he saw was a sea of bodies wading by on the red-and-black carpet, the room swimming all the more for all the mirrors. Just below his left shoulder, he could feel Gina as if she were pressing against him, though she was off to the side.
Francesca, eager to play games or be near the bachelors, grabbed Chiara’s hand. “Hurry, Zia. Let’s get the table. Angelo still has to pay the barkeep.” She tugged his wife away with Cristina on their heels.
When he was alone with Gina, Angelo reached for his wallet while looking for the general in the mirror above the bar. He was not too far from where he’d been before, staring at the back of Angelo’s head. Christ. Gina was gazing at Angelo with keen expectation as she took a sip from her glass.
He paid the bill before facing her. “It’s been a long time, Gina.”
“Indeed, Angelo. We haven’t spoken since the disaster.”
Did she mean the Gleno Dam or the night at the Laurin?
“It must be a relief to have a break from the press for a while.”
“By tomorrow they will be here too.”
The idea that Michael Innerhofer could appear made him glance in Chiara’s direction.
“You look worried,” Gina said. “When are the hearings?”
“October.”
“Well, the Colonel will certainly manage, won’t he? Just the other day, we saw him at the Laurin.” She looked thoughtful. “You must be aware of his efforts to regain support for his ventures.”
“If I know my father, he will receive the least of penances. A
