In a need of a break from her demanding job, Carmina seeks refuge in a hidden gem of Italy - Amalfi Coast. But her plans for a peace are thrown off course when a mysterious stranger appears out of nowhere.
Despite Carmina's expertise in unravelling...
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The first rays of dawn painted the room in bands of golden hues, while the world outside lazily began to come to life. And although the city was starting to wake up, the streets were still enveloped in fog, as if the damp air didn't want to disperse after the long night. The song of the early birds was more of a lullaby than a sign of the new day beginning. No wonder Carmina slept deeply, wrapped in a delicate quilt. Her lips formed a soft smile as if she had met her kindred soul in her dream. Her peaceful breath mingled with the melody outside, harmonizing for a moment with the rustle of leaves.
Nothing, however, lasts forever. Sudden screeches, roars straight from hell, ripped Carmina from Morpheus's embrace. Like a startled meerkat, she leaped out of bed, her legs getting tangled in the folds of the blanket, causing her to land with a loud thud on the floor.
"Fuck," she muttered, clumsily picking herself up. Blanket 1, Carmina 0. And this was just the beginning. Her hand landed with a clatter on the alarm clock. 7:45. Wait a minute... She had just struggled to calm her breath, and now her heart was racing dangerously again. "I overslept," she whispered in disbelief, opening her eyes wide. "I overslept for the first time in seven years!" A desperate moan escaped her lips. In an instant, she was on her feet, fully ready to take action. "Time to conquer the world! One chaotic moment at a time!"
Sometimes we want to conquer the world, but it is us who end up defeated. And everything seemed to be made up of unexplained comic situations that day. Spilled breakfast cereal and the last drop of milk, like in her favourite comedy, only this time there was no laughter; a suitcase that refused to close, even though she always packed quickly and efficiently. Years of practice in being meticulous and agile seemed to count for nothing today. The passport had disappeared somewhere between the book she finished reading last Thursday and the pot with the fern, which, by the way, will die before Carmina can return from her long-awaited vacation. She closed the door with a gentle click. "Inhale, exhale. It's all because of excitement!" she whispered to herself as she descended in the elevator from her last floor in the Manhattan skyscraper. "A lifetime on the go," she muttered, tying her hair into a tousled, loose bun somewhere between the thirteenth and tenth floors. Between the ninth and seventh, she questioned herself eight times if she had indeed taken the documents, and from the sixth floor down to the ground floor, she contemplated whether reading "Interview with Psychopaths" on the plane would raise any suspicions. "Nah," she scolded herself silently, but a mischievous smile crept onto her lips. What are audiobooks for? - she already had the whole series planned. Nothing improved her mood like listening to stories of digging up carefully hidden bones of the deceased, while people around were sending smiles, having no idea what tales the headphones were leading into her mind.
But Carmina wasn't the psycho. She was just an ordinary, 33-year-old, hardworking woman. Dishevelled, angry, and with a broken heel in her left hand she reached the check-in counter at JFK Airport. The airline cashier looked at her with a hint of doubt but scanned the passport she placed in hurry in front of him.
