Rome by Night

Gennaro Albano J.

Description

Right out of the scandals that plagued the Italian government for decades, Rome by Night is a blockbuster of suspense and intrigue about the hidden Rome tourists rarely, if ever, see. Rome by Night is a mystery about the murder of a showgirl who ran an escort service that was also involved in international sex trade trafficking, and the search for her secret 'black book' containing scandalous information that could lead to the criminal indictments of some of her prominent Roman clients.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781645364795
• Langue: English

Extrait

Rome by Night
J. Gennaro Albano
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
Rome by Night About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Part One Rome by Night Night Calls The Hit Scattered Takes A Villa for Caesar Catch as Catch Can Payback Part Two Cabaret Rome by Nite “… Always open to a good offer.”Elio the Egyptian, cabaret owner Imaging Lady in Black A Matter of Taste The Eternal City
About the Author

J. Gennaro Albano is a freelance artist and writer who has lived in Italy for a number of years. Rome by Night is one in a series of novels he has written about Italy. Presently, he divides his time between New York and the Eternal City.
Dedication
Lisa Hope, forever with God and in our hearts
Copyright Information ©
J. Gennaro Albano (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person, who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication, may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction; the characters and their names are fictional as are the events. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Albano, J. Gennaro
Rome by Night
ISBN 9781643786636 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643786643 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645364795 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020909724
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Part One

Rome by Night
“…Where anything can happen in secret and usually does and hits the headlines next morning.”
Gianni Fascati, paparazzo and freelance photographer
Vespers…
Un canto… a solemn song vibrating a melancholy from the car radio, along the via of ages, in a night surrendering to a full candid moon; lingering above the Forum pilasters and columns casting ancient shadows dissipating slowly in Rome by night, ‘La romana’ dancing in the silhouettes of cypress that shoulder the road legions once took, stopped and surrendered to a smile. “Gianni sei tu.”
As the radio played another memory, she went over to her pink Fiat Spider convertible that clients never failed to recognize, leaned over exposing strong legs under a pink mini skirt, and reached into the back seat to pull out a small wood box and came to him.
“Sabine! What is left of her are her ashes. Take them and do with them as you promised you would. Keep Annabelle in mind, if you want to find out about Sabine!”
He placed the box behind the driver seat of his white Maserati “Gran Turismo” convertible and sped off from the park.
Night Calls
As the building porter peered from the cubical window, the light from the desk lamp reflected off his face; when he looked up, he recognized Gianni, who passed quickly and ran up the stairs to the first landing. He knocked hard against the door of the apartment that he knew well, then rang the bell, and waited no more than a few seconds, then struck repeatedly at the door again till it opened with the sound of light laughter and then Annabelle in a towel. She nervously tugged at the towel around her breasts as her laughter disappeared into surprise and a caustic demand. “Oh you! Why are you here?”
“To see you, Annabelle! No offer of a cup of coffee?”
She glared at him with darkening eyes and brushed wet black curls of hair from her face, and then surrendered, “You know where it is, make it yourself!” She turned quickly without looking at him to run down the hallway to the bathroom, the towel separating in stride around the soft under-curve of her firm bum. He decided on a hard drink instead of coffee and went to the sitting room. The room had the look of a woman now that she had removed everything that referenced him, except for the piece of art on the wall above the cabinet that he now searched for a drink. He knelt down on both knees and explored the stash and settled on brandy, took a long glass from the shelf near the kitchen doorway, cleaned it of dust with a napkin that was on the shelf, poured it half-full, and sat down on the satin upholstered sofa, and rested his feet on the glass covering of an expensive coffee table.
As he drank, his eyes settled on the large photo print above the cabinet from the series he did of Estelle for the Milan show. He stood and went closer to study it till Annabelle’s voice caused him to turn, “Estelle…your model…your slut; tell me did shagging her improve your art as you like to call it.”
She was wearing a bathrobe and shook her hair by moving her head and stroking it as an ironic smile crossed her lips.
Gianni glared back, “No more than you did.”
“I see you can’t keep off the hard stuff.”
“Just a drink to celebrate how well you are doing without me. Have one and we can celebrate together. Sabine told me that Leonardo treats you well!”
“Sabine! Were they the last words from her mouth before she died?”
“I think you might know what her last words were. I think you know a lot that I don’t know about Sabine and her escort business,” he moved towards her.
“You’ve had your drink, now get out!” she moved to the door and opened it, “Get out or I’ll ring the police.”
“Ring the police or shall I?”
She slammed the door, then came to him, “What do you want?”
“You’re trying to pin her murder on me by feeding misinformation around the cabaret and to the police about my relationship with her!”
She went to the sofa, sat and took a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table, lit it, and sat back to smoke as the opening to her robe fell away and exposed much of her breasts, “You were shagging Sabine. I wasn’t, for the Rome police that would be enough for probable cause. You know how they are here. Sabine being found dead in the Tiber and the story about you and her was floating around, pardon the pun, it all leads to you. The way the police see it, it is a case of ‘love gone wrong,’ and that compliments their desire to wrap up a sordid murder case quickly. I only confirmed what the police already knew about the two of you.”
“I wasn’t shagging her, as you put it!”
She burst into laughter as she put a leg on the coffee table, causing the opening of her robe to expose more of her nude body. When she noticed his sudden unease at her nudity, she pulled her robe open and smiled, “Seems you still are affected by something from the past that you cannot have anymore.”
He lunged at her and called out, “You’re a bitch!” and grabbed her robe and pulled her to her feet crushing her against him.
“Are you going to choke me to death like you did to Sabine?” she glared into his eyes, “This is more emotion than you’ve ever shown in bed!”
He pushed her down onto the sofa, "I never touched Sabine! And you’re a gypsy bitch and you belong working the back streets with the rest of Rome’s hustlers! That’s what you were doing in Naples, wasn’t it, when you ran up to my car? Hustling on the waterfront and being chased by a guy you rolled and his friends. I should have left you to them, instead of picking you up and saving you.
“Sabine told me that you worked at her escort enterprise. She told me about you and Leonardo and about her little black book of names with information in it. Bad stuff about big shots in Rome. Rich guys, perverted politicians with under-age girls, and if the news media got the information, it would bring down the government. It would bring down your dear Leonardo, wouldn’t it?”
Annabelle’s eyes flashed at him with hate, “You killed her for the book with the list of names, didn’t you!”
He turned and went to the door, opened it, and glared back at her, “Did I? How did you know Sabine was choked? The police have not released a cause of death!”
He slammed the door behind him when he left.
The reflection of blue neon from the ‘Cabaret Rome by Nite’ splashed on the charred night walls and ran along a side street and onto the narrow sidewalk like a run off seeking the front fender and hood of a parked white Maserati convertible with the driver side tires flagrantly violating the small sidewalk. The loneliness of the side street explained itself in the empty echoes of distant laughter from a tart hustling a drunken mark and the muffled hum of the nightly motorcade, along the Via Veneto a short walk from the nightclub entrance, where a slim figure in a black jacket and porter cap acted as doorman who recognized the lean figure exiting the white convertible and approaching the cabaret entrance and saluted him by tipping his cap, then opened the plated glass door of the cabaret entrance for him, and watched him disappear inside the cabaret show-room where showgirls danced to an erotic beat.
Gianni hesitated for a moment as he searched the cabaret for the owner. Then he moved deliberately toward a booth where the owner sat alone enjoying a cigarette and brandy in the semi-dark interrupted by the colored gels’ overflow from spotlights focused on the showgirls performing on the dance floor. He was bald and small wearing a ‘Night’ jacket over worn black pants, black tie, and white shirt. A Turkish cigarette stuck to the corner of his broad and parched lips. Friends and clients knew him as Elio, the Egyptian. His dark eyes stammered as they focused on the showgirls and then on the slim figure in his late twenties approaching him who was middle-sized and wore a worn brown sport jacket over a light gray pull o