Page 8 of Amadeo
Damn, I needed to be more careful. I opened my mouth to reply.
Reaching over, he pressed his fingers over my lips. “You hated me on sight. Looked like you wanted me dead in fact. Iadmit, it has gotten a bit better with maybe you only wanting me to be half dead now.” He smirked at me.
He stood so close I could smell his light cologne. He smelled so good. Now that I was close up to him, I could see his features better. His eyes were dark but they held a spark of something I couldn’t identify. I think I could get lost in this man’s gaze. In his voice too. I could understand it now. The attraction women would have for him. Oh hell, what am I doing here? I stepped back, so he had to drop his hand. “I don’t hate you. I mean I don't even know you,” I told him. “And I am sorry you got that impression.” I thought up a good reason for having shown my true feelings when I first got here. Because he could never know the truth. “To be honest, I wasn’t happy with the hospital administrator sending me out of the ward I was in to be a private physician. It wasn’t personal.”
He stared at me as if assessing my answer. “I wasn’t aware—”
I raised my hand and cut him off. “And I would appreciate it very much if no one knew that I was pissed about it. I could lose my spot at the hospital. My work was going well there.” I dropped my hand. I hoped that would end the subject and this showed me that I needed to watch myself from now on.
“You mean with the comatose?”
Nodding, I replied, “It’s my life’s work.”
He cocked his head at me as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Amadeo!”
He paused and looked over.
His father stood in the hall about two doors down. “Tito said you were on your way.”
“We were,” Amadeo replied as he smiled. “I was just showing your favorite painting to the good doctor.”
I blinked at him then glanced over at Mr. Descalia. That was news to me. We had been looking at old photographs.
Mr. Descalia walked over and gave me a nod as he looked up at the wall behind us.
Turning, I stared at the painting I believed to be his favorite.
“Città dei Canali. Venice. I love that town…” He shook his head. “You can’t really call it a town though. It’s a place. An experience really.”
I stared at it and realized it was a stunning piece of artwork. This one was of a canal where the gondolas were. The brightly painted buildings were colorful. The artist had made them with bright yellows, blues, reds and greens. “Very beautiful.”
“Most people don’t know that Venice is an island, a collection of more than a hundred small, marshy islands, connected by over four hundred bridges and separated by a hundred and fifty canals. And you cannot drive a car there. It is an actual car-free city with canals serving as roads and boats taking the place of vehicles. Can you imagine going everywhere by boat? I enjoyed that immensely last time I was there. Then the world's first public casino opened right there in Venice. It would figure that Italians were the first ones to make money off of gambling!” He chuckled. “I love that whole concept.” He then looked up at me and added, “The first woman in the world to graduate from a university was from Venice. History. Often it is made with small steps by unknown people. I make this a point as I know you are the only female doctor in our hospital and a brain surgeon, no less.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m treated fairly.”
Mr. Descalia gave me a nod. “They’d better treat you fair. Magnelli made sure of that.”
I stared at him. Magnelli was the hospital administrator. “Are you saying that he threatened everyone?”
Mr. Descalia pulled his head back a little and said, “Threatened?” He smirked. “We don’t have to do that, Dr. Ribisi.” He smiled again. “We just state something and that is all. One and done.”
That hospital had lots of issues, like most I suppose, but politics butted its ugly head everywhere. Still. I wanted to leave this subject and fast. “So, were you born in Venice?”
He looked back over at me then motioned for us to follow him as he gave us a short art tour. “No… but I was born in Italy as if you couldn’t tell. I collect these. Rome, the Eternal City,” he announced each painting as he pointed at them. “Florence, the Cradle of the Renaissance. Then Milan, the Fashion Capital. And Naples…You have never had pizza until you’ve had Neapolitan pizza in Naples.” He gave us a nod. “Turin, Bari, and Bologna the Fat One, for its delicious cuisine. Palermo, and Genoa.” He stood still and stared at the last painting depicting Genoa and whispered, “Palazzo Ducale.”
The silence stretched out as I glanced at Amadeo.
Looking a bit pained, he slowly shook his head at me.
“My Bella was from there,” Mr. Descalia spoke softly. “Her and I met in the plaza at one of the best places to eat in all of Italy. Basilica di San Nicola.” He looked over at us. “Legend has it that St. Nick saved the lives of three young daughters of a destitute man, by giving the family a bag of gold coins and thus preventing the girls from being sold into servitude or worse. After his death, the bishop became a saint – the patron saint of sailors and children. I feel like he is the original Santa Claus, despite that other nonsense they came up with.”
“Sir?”
We all turned to see a tall man in a black suit and tails no less. I had been told before this that he was an actual British butler.
“Yes, Max?” Mr. Descalia replied.
