Portal To Nova Roma Novels & Stories

“He's checking some things out at the club.” “Club?” I asked with a frown. “Yes,” Nicola said. “One of Alessandro's power plants is in a club.” “What's the name of the club?” I asked calmly. “Luna Nera,” Nicola said confidently. “It's one of the biggest, most famous, and most successful clubs in Europe.” “They feature European artists,” Loreta said. “So that keeps the anticipation going.” I nodded and got curious. Nicola finished her coffee, picked up a few things, and left.

Milan's Porta Nuova district exists in deliberate contrast to the rest of the city. The UniCredit Tower's conference room on the thirty-second floor has a view of the Duomo's spires on clear days, though today's agenda has left no one with time to look. The table is long. Elias sits on one side. The Carbone Group's lead team sits on the other. He arrived from Toronto three days ago, went directly from Malpensa to the hotel and from the hotel to this building, and has not yet been to Milan in any meaningful sense—only to its conference rooms and its hotel corridors and its very good espresso.

He urged her out into the hotel’s portico. She looked up at him, confused. “Car? Isn’t there something nearby? Where are we going?” Stopping near the curb, he turned into her. Nestling her hips into his, he cupped her heart-shaped face and ran a tender thumb over her cheek, thrilling when she leaned into his touch. “Mercato Nuove.” Caitlyn smiled, her delicate brows drawing together. “Okay.” The word was drawn out long in puzzlement. “Why?” He beamed. “To see Il Porcellino.” At the light beep of a car’s horn, Duke looked up, then drew his phone from his pocket and checked the open app again.

Eden reached Florence from Milan in 2 hours. The Eurostar train stopped at the Santa Maria Novella, the central railway station of Florence. Santa Maria Novella is situated in the historical center of Florence. The Eurostar from Milan, Turin, Venice, and Rome also arrives at this station. Arriving at this station it was possible for Eden to visit Florence's historical center without taking a taxi or bus.

Then she gazed intently out of the window-enjoying the view of the main northern city, located in the expanse of Lombardia, Italy's most developed region. "It's been two rounds, Miss. You still haven't found the right tourist spot?" Rose's face shifted. Glaring at the driver's backside, she let out a harsh sigh. "I don't know where I'm going. But standing around without doing anything, I'm bored. Do you mind if we drive around for the next hour. Or maybe you have a suggestion, sir?" Rose asked hesitantly. "Not far from here is a public park surrounding the Generali Tower, Miss. Perhaps if you are an art lover, you can enjoy the designs of renowned architect, Zaha Hadid."

"Marcus doesn't want a new face. He wants a puppet." "I know," Dorian said, pulling a ruggedized laptop from the passenger seat. "That’s why I crashed the satellite link to the Como house. They’re blind for the next hour. If we move now, we can get to the server room in the basement of the shipyard. I’ve intercepted the coordinates for the 'Black Archives' Nikolai was talking about. They aren't in the catacombs of Paris, Rach. They’re under the old Veronesi textile factory in Prato."

He offered his arm. “Ready to make them choke?” A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Born ready.” The gala was held at The Glass Tower—a twenty-story monument of mirrors and money. Cameras flashed the second we stepped out of the car, a thousand voices shouting our names. “Dante! Over here—who’s the new Mrs. Russo?” “Gianna, any comment about Luca Romano’s disappearance?” “Is this love or business?” Dante didn’t flinch. He simply slid an arm around my waist, drawing me close, his hand resting low enough on my hip to silence speculation but high enough to remain respectable. Every step we took was measured, deliberate.