PSEUMINO | VENTO AUREO

33 | commend.

═ ☆. SAPIENA'S FUNDRAISER THIS YEAR TOOK place on a cruise ship. In the fading light, golden lights from the ship cast blurry shapes across the water, music floating in the sweet air. It was like a floating city, far removed from the grounded buildings of Naples. The purchased raffle tickets would be for a two-person cruise to Panama, courtesy of Passione Cruise Lines. Already, college students were spilling out on the deck, laughing in expensive suits and silky dresses. The business executives and board leaders would be deeper inside the ship, probably in one of the lounge rooms, until the raffle was drawn and the winner was announced.

Your skin prickled being around so many people. Could they sense what you had done? Did they know you had just left a man's body cooling on the side of the road?

You caught sight of Mista grabbing someone's glass of champagne and downing it before his maroon tuxedo was lost in the crowd. He was probably going to drink until he forgot the Signor's wild eyes and his blood pooling on the ground.

You turned to Risotto, who was trying to hold a paper napkin against his face as surreptitiously as possible. "You should get that checked out."

"I will." What he said after was uncharacteristically gentle. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm going to try and find Giorno," you answered. Risotto was about to say something else when Formaggio slapped the back of Risotto's head.

"Hey, man! Thought you wouldn't make it! What took you so long? Yo, what's wrong with your nose?"

Risotto darted a glance back at you. You gave him a tiny smile, inclining your head to let him know you would get going.

You pushed your way through the students. How was it that such a huge ship already seemed crowded? You found a door and slipped inside, only then realizing you didn't have a clue where Giorno would be. Maybe at the banquet hall, mingling with students before the raffle.

As you wove your way through the ship, you noticed the way students were looking at you. You knew you looked good in your suit, but this was something different. It wasn't the thinly concealed contempt back on campus. It was almost like they admired you. Like they were intimidated by you.

You only lifted your chin and walked faster. Why shouldn't they be intimidated? You were practically on par with the Sapiena elites at this point.

You arrived at a curving set of grand staircases leading to the private rooms on the upper levels. Where were you supposed to go from here? Your eyes scanned around for a sign that pointed down to the banquet hall.

Instead, you spied a head of dark pink curls at the top of the staircase.

The slender lines of Trish's figure were outlined by a dove-grey tuxedo jacket and dress pants. A girlish bow was knotted at her throat, the ends trailing down her elegant cream blouse. She had tiny crystals glittering in her hair and at her ears; her green eyes were made sharp and dramatic by immaculate eyeliner.

She practically flew down the steps to you in her stilettos, and you breathed a sigh of relief when she made it down without twisting her ankles. She flung her arms over your shoulders, startling you. Her floral perfume was conspicuously absent.

"That wasn't fair," she breathed into the space by your neck. You didn't have to ask what Trish meant. "He shouldn't have made you do that. We could've figured something out. You shouldn't have had to kill anyone." So she knew already. Giorno must have told her after Risotto called.

I know it wasn't fair. You don't know what he looked like, dead on the ground, his wild eyes eager for death. Was that even Signor D? What if it wasn't?