The Headhunter E-Book

Massimiliano Maini

• Herausgeber: Bookness
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A series of unsolved murders shakes the city of Milan. No clues, no motive, no murder weapon: the police investigate only on the basis of the discovery of the bodies of several horribly decapitated women. What all the victims have in common, however, is an appointment, a job interview with a headhunter and a photographer who is always at the crime scene. The case seems unsolved and Inspector Pontremoli's career is at a crossroads: is it better to rely on instinct or try to get inside the headhunter's head and think and act as if he were the murderer?
 
Psychological and emotional thriller, set among the business world, and well-known places in the Milanese, Turin and Roman metropolis, succeeds with its continuous twists and turns, to keep the reader in suspense, and challenge him in the constant search for the motive and the murderer. The frequent change of perspective and the noir atmospheres of the settings lead the reader to share the emotional states, thoughts and feelings of the victim, the murderer and the inspector, making readers to feel as if they're part of the story. The finale is by no means, a foregone conclusion and takes us back to the classics of the genre where nothing is as it seems.

Leseprobe

The Headhunter

Massimiliano Maini

THE HEADHUNTER

The Headhunter

Copyright © 2023 Massimiliano Maini

Tutti i diritti riservati.

Nessuna parte di questo libro può essere riprodotta

senza il preventivo assenso dell’Autore.

Prima edizione maggio 2023

ISBN 9791254891933

Pubblicato con

www.bookness.it

“If the people we love are stolen from us,

the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.

Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” 

Brandon Lee, The Crow

INDEX

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

The Dream

CHAPTER 2

The demon

CHAPTER 3

A walk on the moon

CHAPTER 4

British Heptarchy

CHAPTER 5

The places

CHAPTER 6

Naivety

CHAPTER 7

Legends

CHAPTER 8

The play

CHAPTER 9

Untouchable black

CHAPTER 10

The betrayal

CHAPTER 11

Unbearable loneliness

CHAPTER 12

The gallows

CHAPTER 13

The Delirium

CHAPTER 14

Inspiration

CHAPTER 15

The lady and the child

CHAPTER 16

Rebellion

CHAPTER 17

Suspicion

CHAPTER 18

The Preparation

CHAPTER 19

Patience

CHAPTER 20

The Varesine

CHAPTER 21

Another chance

CHAPTER 22

Via dell’Orso

CHAPTER 23

The leaden sky

CHAPTER 24

Laughter

CHAPTER 25

The two princesses

CHAPTER 26

Locked in a cage

CHAPTER 27

Walking Dead

CHAPTER 28

The burden of guilt

CHAPTER 29

The Flint

CHAPTER 30

The shaman's secret

CHAPTER 31

An anonymous walk

CHAPTER 32

Darkness and semi-darkness

CHAPTER 33

Dark grey, light grey

CHAPTER 34

The Master

CHAPTER 35

The enlightenment

CHAPTER 36

The Ritual

CHAPTER 37

A glow in the dark

CHAPTER 38

Blinding silence

CHAPTER 39

Think, think and think again

CHAPTER 40

The sin of joy

CHAPTER 41

The desert

CHAPTER 42

Nothing as it seems

CHAPTER 43

The corridor

CHAPTER 44

The protagonist

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Milan has always been a city of contorted and changing moods: you can love it or you can hate it simply by turning the corner of a street, looking at its Baroque and Art Nouveau architecture, or sipping an aperitif at the Ambrosiano, while seeing yourself reflected in the camera lenses of tourists making a racket in the Piazza del Duomo.

If anyone knew all the subtle behavioural changes of the Lombard metropolis, it was Valerio Rizzi, 37 years old, heavy physique through laziness and beer drinking and a beard as unkempt as his future. Valerio is the young manager of a public relations and events agency, set up with the savings of his father, who, with the decent salary of a Magneti Marelli workman, had worked all his life so as to enable him to get a degree in the hope of the miracle of being able to see him get a permanent contract as a bank clerk. The dream of him having a steady job, however, daily comes into conflict with Valerio's financial demands and his will to make it big in Milan.

"Hi Gianni, the usual thanks" Valerio's voice is abrupt, dry and harsh as he enters the café where he has breakfast every morning.

"Hi Valerio, cinnamon cappuccino and cream brioche coming up, is that a bad mood you’re in this morning?"

Gianni had been doing this job for as long as he could remember, his mother says she conceived him on a bar counter and gave birth to him at the back, on a soft drinks shelf. He'd always been able to recognize what mood his regular customers were in.

Valerio's account of the previous night begins in the same tone as his greeting, "I went to Tocqueville last night, to meet the manager of that company I was telling you about...."

"The one that makes yachts in Genoa?"

"Yes that's the one, he kept me waiting two hours with a glass of Margarita in hand, then came back dead drunk his arms linked to a couple of go-go dancers, leaving me with a 250 euro bill to pay and telling me to call him back the following week, my dad’s really going to cut me off this time."

"You should think seriously about that bank job, listen to your father and earn something to put by for your future."

"The future isn’t about being trapped behind a counter counting other people's money, the future’s about making money and having others count it."

Valerio knows the day’s started badly, he knew it from the moment he opened his eyes in bed. It's pouring with rain in Milan, and when there’s rain, the city comes to a halt. And when the city comes to a halt, it's impossible to get around, people are nervous, and nobody ever gets to their appointments on time. But this morning there aren’t any appointments, work hasn’t been going well for some time now, or maybe it had never gone well. Two months ago the agency had been contacted for a big job for a French multinational company: the production of a fashion catalogue. Valerio had thought of everything, photographer, location, TV spots, and a fashion show inside the Industrial Union, with society's creme dela creme. He had taken their word for it, made contacts, paid deposits without having signed a contract,he had had the feeling that this was his stepping stone.

He’d invested all he had in it, only to be told that the work could no longer be done, budgetary problems and zero budget for such ventures, that was the official response. But he later understood from the sales manager that the job had been given to the son of a well-known MP, who, as board member of the company, had wanted to satisfy the whims of what he himself considered an insignificant spoilt kid. Any attempt made to recover at least part of the investment was futile; he had nothing in writing, no formal commitment from the company, even a lawsuit in court would have just meant expenses with no guarantee of success.

A bachelor's degree in psychology from the Catholic University of Milan and a master's degree in Marketing and Public Relations from Luiss University in Rome: if we were to just consider the grades, certainly not a very brilliant university curriculum for Valerio and besides, both choices may have turned out to be wrong from the start. He had enrolled in psychology because he thought it a good way to find an uncertain answer to his curiosity to discover the most useless reasons for human dilemmas. The Master's degree in Marketing, on the other hand, was the means by which he got to express his creativity, his intellectual and economic independence, an existential whim, as he likes to call it.

His real passion, however, is history. Valerio has travelled halfway around the world to satisfy his curiosity to explore places he discovered in books, those holding onto millennia-old traditions or that are the subjects of the legends of mythical knights or holy men.

And this is what he’s thinking about each time he walks hastily down the road towards his office, and each time he opens the door of his office and meets the gaze of his secretary, who seems to be there to keep watch on the door, like a little dog waiting for its master.

"Hi Chiara, any calls today?"

"No Valerio, nothing new, except that your father wants to know if you’ve remembered you're taking him to your aunt's tonight."

"I’d forgotten, how is it I always have to be the chauffeur, it’s even raining and I’ve got a business dinner this evening, call him and tell him I can't."

Chiara is more than a secretary, she’s a mother, a friend, a sister, in fact perhaps she’s the only person who can get away with saying what she thinks about him, she’s also the only one to still believe in his dreams.

"Valerio, you know your aunt’s the only one left for him now, you shouldn't treat him like that."

It was on a day like this, the one of a few years ago: it was raining cats and dogs in Milan, it was cold and everything was grey. It was a day like any other, but not for Valerio's mother. A car at full speed, driven by a man in his thirties, had overtaken a bus stopped at the traffic lights. An attempt to brake had been futile: the woman had been run over and thrown onto the other side of the road, just as the tram was passing. Her body had remained motionless, on the ground, while her head rolled to the pavement, her eyes open, staring at nothing. All that was left of his mother for Valerio was a long court case and a bitter taste in his mouth, on top of that his father's loneliness. Despair and loneliness, not even he knew the difference any more.

"I forgot, a certain Dr Renzi called, from the Research Centre of I can't remember what" Chiara continued, distracting him from his own thoughts.

"It'll be another creditor, if he calls back tell him I'm not here."

"He said it's important, he left me his number."

"If he calls back, tell him I'm not here."

CHAPTER 1

The Dream

"Good morning with Radio Record. It's 7 o'clock and once again a grey, cloudy sky is here to greet us with the latest hits of the moment, but first an update from the news; last night police forces found the body of..."

The radio always makes the same noise when you turn it off, a 'click' you know by heart and hear even when, in the midst of the darkness, silence blankets all noise. Giulia does this every morning, seven days a week the alarm clock goes off and she reaches her hand out into the darkness to find the button that can definitively silence it. Even at the weekend when she could be enjoying the Sunday quiet, the alarm clock rings to remind her it’s not yet time to rest.

"I can't stand this radio anymore! It’s the worst way to wake up! And to think they’ll have taken a communication course to say good morning like that!" thought Giulia.

"Giulia are you awake?"

"Yes mum, what a drag, don’t you start too."

Today’s a special day, there’s the presentation of the new press campaign, she’d been working on it day and night for months, and at last the day of success had arrived. She’d been dreaming of it since she was a schoolgirl. Giulia’s not like any other girl, she was an ideal student during her years at high school and later at university. she always had to be first In everything, the best. For example, in sports, tennis and golf, the former as a passion and the latter imposed upon her by her parents in order for her to attend the most exclusive clubs; sports in which she always asserted herself, she’s always had to win whether it was a small school tournament or her sports club competition. Her pride has always imposed just one goal upon her, to be first everywhere and at all costs.

To realise a unique, innovative project, a brilliant idea deserving the compliments of the whole board, the double page spread of the financial news, this will make her day truly important. The presentation in which she has placed all her convictions, all her energy. This will be her chance, the moment where it will at last be seen, be recognised as a masterpiece, her very own masterpiece.

"Giulia, are you coming or not? Your coffee’s getting cold and your father’s got to leave in five minutes."

"I'm coming, I'll be right there, just give me time to dry my hair and put some clothes on."

She had been getting ready for that day for some time now, blue Armani suit, white Burberry shirt, shoes by Fratelli Rossetti. She’d always liked to stand out from the crowd, to make her sense of superiority felt, including through making herself seen. She was beautiful and she knew it, grey eyes, black hair with a small fringe adding a more dynamic touch to her serious face, a well-proportioned nose and mouth, a slender physique, shaped by many years of ballet, knowing how to shape not only her body but also her character, with an obsessive severity towards herself.

"You look beautiful today, to what do we owe all this elegance and beauty?"

"Thank you dad, today I have an important meeting that the board members will be attending and you never know if someone might even want to exchange a few words with me."

"Then you'll be seeing Dr Pirelli today, give him my regards and tell him I'm expecting him at the golf course at 10 o'clock on Sunday".

"Phone him and tell him yourself if it means that much to you."

"Giulia, I can see you're very nervous today too, if it's one of those days nobody can say anything to you, I'll say goodbye and see you this evening, anyway since it's an important day maybe you'd better calm down a little."

Dr Pirelli, a cardinal’s grandson, was an old friend of her Dad’s. University friends and both from well-off families, they had spent a good part of their lives having fun, until age and a lack of any further excuses had forced them into working. Her father joined the family business and Pirelli, thanks to a recommendation, the bank. After a few years he was in charge of management control, it took another five years to become Finance Vice President and another ten to reach the position of CEO. In addition to all this he was also member of the board of directors of about fifteen companies, which all, for one reason or another, had interests with 'his' bank.

It was he who’d brought Giulia to the Anton Walker Media Corporation, one of the best media, advertising and information technology companies in the world. He had guided Giulia since her admission, introducing her to the company's top management and paving her way for a brilliant career. He’d always been very fond of her, as if she were a daughter to be raised, cared for and pampered, especially when her adolescent pride led her to be unappreciative and grumpy.

The journey from her home to the office was about 7 km, which in Milan traffic becomes about 40 minutes. This gave Giulia plenty of time to mentally go over her thank-you speech: her boss, who’d allowed her to work on such an important project, her colleagues for their support and the shareholders for their financial investment, and of course the management and board members. She mustn’t forget anyone, because she was well aware that a mistake might generate jealousy and envy which could slow down her rise to the position of commercial director of the Italian subsidiary. Looking at herself in the mirror, she tried to put on a convincing face while repeating the same phrases, the same thanks her boss had repeated two years earlier while they were presenting him with Best Employer of the year award. An award that had brought him into the Olympus of high flyers, the three best talents in the world predestined for a golden future in the company.

She was euphoric or maybe it was tense, an indecipherable state of mind but it wasn’t new, it was familiar to her and gave her the right amount of adrenalin to face up to any situation and detach herself from anything that didn’t serve her purpose. She didn't even mind the grey sky and the light drizzle soaking her shoes and overcoat when she went down to get the car, she felt ready to take what she thought was hers to be had: respect and power.

"Dear colleagues, I thank you for your support, and your esteem... but what the hell am I saying, yuck!"

"Dear friends and colleagues, I wasn’t expecting this important recognition, and my thanks go to everyone who’s supported me in this initiative." She let out a long sigh, glanced at herself again in the mirror as she was about to enter the company's rear car park, waved to the guard at the entrance and slowly, with her usual flair, headed for her office.

CHAPTER 2

The demon

Night is the best or maybe worst time ever, the darkness and silence allow the body and mind to find rest, but at the same time they can deprive us of the energy the day has left us with.

Night is the time when you can think, you can fantasise and your mind can wander wherever it wants, it has no limits and no boundaries unless you’re afraid of the night and its darkness. Ever since he was a teenager, the night manifested itself as a demon that could keep his eyes wide open and suck every last drop of sap out of him, down to the last atom of energy, but it also gave him the most brilliant insights, the best ideas, those flashes of serenity that during the day he didn't want to be there. He knows perfectly well that the night is when his moment comes, in the silence his right hemisphere begins to create, to move and pulsate, he can hear it screaming like a chained feline trying to free itself and give vent to all its aggressiveness by creating, giving birth, giving shape to those marketing masterpieces that enabled him to win his first scholarships and numerous photographic awards. Photography, a passion he knew how to make become an integral part of his being, through play and the ability to constantly improve his technique, inventing unique solutions, testing the limits of the puritans of this art who’d always snubbed and marginalised him from any kind of gathering, confrontation or community. But Valerio knew how to go beyond it, he never limited his creativity to just one of the specialisations photography imposes, but knew how to be versatile like no one else, like when he won the Zurich Arts Academy's "Human Trade Picture from the Hell" competition with a photo portraying a child trader in Tanzania, sitting on the bed in a room of the Arusha orphanage with a cigar in his mouth, happily counting the money from his latest deal. This shot forced him to live three days locked up in a Maasai village to escape being hunted down by mercenaries who would gladly have fed him to the crocodiles. Or when, in order to win the much more prestigious "Colours and Lifes Award", he decided to throw bucket loads of paint onto the steps of the La Verna sanctuary, photographing the footprints of pilgrims who, like ants, follow and crowd into each other in an unstoppable frenzy, creating entangled pathways,which in his creation represent the uncertain and incoherent paths of faith.

"Hi Chiara, how are you? Have you had a good start to your day?"

"Good morning Valerio, it began the same way it ended yesterday, I couldn't say if it was better or worse though. Before you shut yourself up in your office I wanted to let you know that Dr Renzi, the guy from the tourist promotion agency, called again for the photo shoot on old trades and workshops of Milan, to let you know that the funding has been released and you can start work."

"But who, the tourism councillor?"

"Yes, he himself, he told me he’ll need the photos for a book he’s writing personally."

"Good news! At least this month your salary won't risk being delayed, assuming it's not the usual bullshit to get me to do a job he’s got no intention of paying me for. Get the province to send you a statement that the fund has been disbursed."

"Okay boss! I nearly forgot to tell you he expressly said to remind you that the work must absolutely be delivered within eight weeks otherwise they won’t be able to get it printed on time."

"If he hadn't taken two months to give me a reply maybe we’d have gained some time, anyway, you can tell him that he’ll have his material within the specified date, photos and ultimate design of the communication campaign included."

Truly good news at a time like this, considering the yacht company deal had fallen through by now, this job would have given him a couple of months breathing space. Milan isn’t so much his city as a reflection of his soul, grey, frenetic, swaggering and not giving a damn, in some ways even more of a bitch towards him than he could ever hope or imagine. But also a lover knowing how to give the right doses of joys and sorrows as would a skilful nurse at a dying man's bedside, administering life’s illusions according to the medicine or drug she intends to inoculate him with. This is an easy job, he knows Milan like his pocket linings, which are forever empty but his hands can fill them when they seek shelter, he knows where to find the shops of yesteryear and those places forgotten by the rhythm and frenzy of a metropolis changing its skin with every season like the snake depicted in its symbol.

"Valerio, did you remember you had to do the photo shoot at that multinational company's award ceremony this afternoon?" Chiara added, her smile turning into a grimace.

'I’d forgotten, please write me a note with the name, address and time, meanwhile I'll get the equipment ready.

CHAPTER 3

A walk on the moon

"Dr Giulia Siniscalchi? Good morning, I'm Dr. Pirelli's secretary, he recommended that I let you know they're waiting for you in the BoardRoom on the seventh floor."

"Thank you Madam, I'll go up straightaway."

The three floors separating her office from the board room were more than enough time for her to go over all her short speech and once more check out her smile in the lift mirror. She felt her heart beating, ticking away the seconds like a war drum, she knew she had to control her emotions so as not to give the impression of being a weakling in front of the management staff.

"Hi Giulia." her boss greeted her immediately as she entered the meeting room.

"Hi Carlo, you're wearing the same suit as you were when you were awarded Best Employer of the year, I bet you haven't even washed it since that day," the smile with which she uttered these words didn’t hide the sourness she felt towards her direct supervisor, but whenever she had the opportunity, she couldn't help taking a dig at him and making him feel the weight of her upper middle class background

"You, on the other hand, have a Mary Poppins look, which wouldn’t be too bad if you were at a Disney movie premiere. Anyway, today’s the day of our department's consecration, our advertising campaign will become the new flagship of the company worldwide, you must be proud to have participated."

"Participated? Carlo, sorry to be blunt, but I created it from start to finish, I spent entire nights and weekends on it and it seems really reductive to use the term ``participate."

"Giulia, we all know your worth, how much you’ve done and how much you certainly still have to do for our company, but we are a team, a team that works together with the sole objective of taking our company higher and higher, the results belong to the group and never the individual, the term participate is the most appropriate from this point of view."

How many times had she read that sentence in university books, in management magazines, in interviews with financial gurus and in speeches by the world's biggest multinational CEOs. The team, the group, the crew, results belong to everyone, but power and prestige to just a few. She had always found these feigned displays of respectability hypocritical; she was firmly convinced that 90% of managers had achieved their careers through recommendations or the ability to ingratiate themselves with the ruling class. Or because of their ability to fulfil whatever desire, be it legitimate or non legitimate, morally honest or better still dishonest, the politician, entrepreneur or manager of the moment was always ready to ask of them. The other 10 percent, on the other hand, consisted of managers who had the ability to do their job and achieve results through their own talents, but these kept quiet, without dreaming of sharing their success with their collaborators.

It was this class of managers Giulia was referring to when she was thinking about herself, her skills and her career, and she felt this to be the right moment to confirm her theory: her time had come, there was room for her too among the Anton Walker Media Corporation elite.

"Well Carlo, then we’ll toast the team's achievement when the shareholders have seen the results of our work ."

"You can count on it my dear Giulia! But now our time has come, even the CEO from New York has come just to see the fruits of our labour."

Mr. Frank John Hurkwoticz, two years CEO and the company founder’s grandson, represented his grandfather on official occasions away from the company's headquarters. He was often the spokesman of the Steering Committee, the US-based board of directors, when important decisions had to be made or new international assignments given. His presence was justified both for the project’s value and the resulting awards to be presented to the team members.

"Carlo, do you think that Mr. Hurkwoticz's presence will bring some changes to our office organisation as well?" asked Giulia.

Of course she’d never really thought about an international assignment, but at this point she was beginning to see it as a just reward, in the same way as being appointed as Sales Director at the London or Paris office. The question to Carlo was just to know beforehand what she’d be about to hear firsthand in a few minutes.

"I don't know, they haven’t said anything to me, but the reason for him being here could be motivated by our press campaign presentation, anyway we’ll know shortly," he replied under his breath.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of the entire board let me thank you for coming here today. My name is Frank John Hurkwoticz, and today we’ll have the privilege of previewing our great company’s new advertising campaign," his very strong American accent betrayed an almost perfect Italian, a language he’d always loved and listened to since he was a boy, when he’d watch black and white films together with his grandmother all about the Dolce Vita and all Rome’s secrets.

"Therefore, before proceeding with the usual thanks, I invite you all to view the work of our colleagues and experience together with us the excitement these moments bring. I’ll ask the technicians to turn off the lights and begin the presentation, thank you."

The technicians immediately obeyed, as darkness quickly immersed the room. Hip-hop music played in the background, in crescendo from the loudspeakers, until one by one all the slogans, photos and videos that are part of the advertising campaign appeared and disappeared before the eyes and ears of the participants, leaving them with the impression, in an almost imperceptible subliminal message, of the campaign motto "don't dream of being a moonwalker, only Walker can take you to the moon!" and the photo of man’s first footprint on the moon. As simple as it is brilliant. A refrain and an image firmly impressed upon the mind like a drum rolling upon the forehead!

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is what our company’s going to do for our employees and our customers, it’s going to take you to the moon!" The smile on the CEO's lips and the quick look of satisfaction exchanged with Giulia gave her the adrenalin boost she needed for the big announcement.

"Now, after admiring our company's future, I’d like to invite the authors of this masterpiece here by my side, to thank them personally and congratulate them on behalf of all of us." How jarring his constant and arrogant American accent was now, it seemed he was almost flaunting it as a symbol of superiority, dissolving vowels with consonants.

Being the seasoned manager he was, Frank John Hurkwoticz was well aware that people at that moment were focused on his words and not on his hands, which he deftly reached into his pockets in order to pull out a piece of paper indicating all the project team members and their roles, making it seem as if he personally knew them one by one. He very naturally placed it in front of him, as if it were an insignificant shopping receipt, and resumed his speech: "I’d like to start with Dr. Fraschi, a good product manager able to catalyse the needs of our customers and transfer them to our marketing department, a round of applause for our colleague."

"Mr. Fraschi, I’m the photographer, look at me and smile, that's it thank you".

Those neverending moments were tedious, but also exciting and interminable for Giulia, who was waiting for the moment of her consecration, and the long and feigned applause accompanying her colleagues' moment of glory, seemed louder and more vigorous to her as her name came up. She’d gone over that moment a thousand times in her mind,moment by moment, second by second, and the rhythm of her breathing got heavier and heavier, as if it could speed up time and shorten the distance.

"And now it’s time for Giulia Siniscalchi, our creative, what you Italians would call genius and daring, while we Americans would more inflexibly call it genius and intemperance, and I’m sure Giulia will agree with me in recognising herself in the Italian version of the term. A big applause to our genius and all our warmest thanks for you Giulia." At last the moment had come, as she rose from her chair to walk towards Frank's she felt her heart beating hard, so hard, so impetuously that it forcefully squeezed out that tear of joy so unbefitting for someone as proud and tough as she was.

"Giulia, smile towards the room, yes one more like that, good!"

"Can I have a copy of these photos, where can I find them?"

"Yes of course, my name’s Valerio Rizzi. Here's my business card, email me and I'll send them to you, you’re a really beautiful girl, if you want I'll print them out and we can meet in person for a coffee so you’ll be able to frame them faster."

She could barely control her feelings as she looked into the photographer's lens intent on capturing every single moment. In her mind’s eye, the image of that photo would have dominated the largest wall of the house, right there on display, visible to all who entered.

"Sorry, what did you say? No, I really don't think so, I'm too busy and I think my first day off is going to be maybe in a year’s time."

Not a very polite way of declining the invitation, after all, that’s what she’s used to, she must have everything from life, but only what she wants.

"And now last but not the least, Carlo! Or if you wish from now on you can also call him Mr. France manager! Thank you Carlo for your splendid work and for having contributed, through your fantastic intuition, to shaping the future of our company with the promotional campaign you’ve all just seen, and congratulations of course for your new assignment which I’m sure will just be the start of your international career. Gentlemen, let's give Carlo a round of applause and then we'll all go and celebrate at the restaurant!"

Darkness, silence, anguish, anger, disappointment, all these feelings, these emotions made Giulia's go cold. How come her dream of being on the front page of the financial news, being appointed as manager, the fame and the glory had vanished and collapsed in an instant because of her boss stealing her project and its merits? But that’s exactly what had happened and the reality was far worse than she’d imagined or been prepared for all this time, milling it over in her mind each day, night after night spent coming up with the campaign slogan, all her weekends spent reviewing the video advert’s images, editing each single frame and trying to get it into perfect synchrony with the music.

"Carlo, you really are a right sod, and I'm sure you won't mind me taking a few days off starting from now" Giulia was furious, so angry she didn’t notice the tone of voice getting high-pitched and shaky, she was wheezing, as if she’d done an obstacle race in apnoea. Her body leaning forwards, her lips tight, held in and her eyes deep and narrow, she’d never looked so angry.

"Giulia I don't know what you’re talking about, it was a great success for the whole team."

"But you’re the only one getting the credit, on top of the nominations and various acknowledgements, when the work was all done by me and you didn't put anything into it at all! I always thought you weren't exactly gratitude in person, but I’d never have thought you’d be such a bastard!"

"What are you saying? Are you out of your mind? The whole campaign is fruit of my creativity and experience and I think you need more than a few days off, stay at home until you’ve made up your mind to apologise to me and all your colleagues."

"Don't bother Carlo, I’d rather die than apologise to you. And now, if you don’t mind, I'll be off, I'm sure you'll be able to justify my absence to Hurkwoticz with another fib, that’s if anyone notices my absence."

On her way out of the company, a single recurring thought was screaming in Julia's head: "Screw the lot of them, them and the whole company, if they think it’s all going to end here, they're sadly mistaken. Now they'll realise who they're up against, the competing side will be willing to go to any measures to get the managers of Anton Walker Media and I don't give a damn about them, I want to make them pay dearly for it."

CHAPTER 4

British Heptarchy

"Good morning, do I have the pleasure of speaking to Dr Giulia Siniscalchi?"

"Yes, it's me but who is it?

"May I have just a minute of your time? My name's Bandini and I work for a head hunting company. We’re looking for a commercial director with a strong creative component for an important client of ours, your name was brought to my attention by a colleague of yours, who nevertheless prefers to remain anonymous. Unfortunately I can't say anymore, but if you are interested we can arrange an appointment and discuss the project underway."

"Yes of course, tell me when it would be most convenient for you, I’d be free this afternoon."

"Good, can you forward me your updated CV via email? If you’ve got a pen and piece of paper handy I'll leave you my contact details and will be available at five o'clock."

“Yes, no problem for me”

Actually, she’d never needed to write a curriculum vitae before, thanks to her father's friendships and her great self-confidence, she’d always considered it unnecessary; all you needed was to spend a couple of minutes with her to sense her undisputed capabilities and be fascinated by her communication skills. Giulia's room reflected many aspects of her character and, like geological eras, all the fashions, passions and moments of life were layered one on top of the other. Paintings by Andy Warhol and Keith Haring alternated on the walls and what certainly couldn’t be missing among them was a Max Main original, a graduation present parting from tradition but that she’d desperately wanted. Beneath the paintings were still signs of Take That, Queen, and Ligabue posters, together with the tape that had been used to stick up her first drawings, photos of her first boyfriend, the day out at the beach, to remember and highlight the time from adolescence to maturity. She’d never wanted to erase any traces of her past, even when, every couple of years, her parents insisted she repaint the room, she’d always resisted so her memories could stay just as they were, laid over what had been there before. The bed was spacious, double since she’d decided it was time she too became a woman and experienced freedom between the sheets. She’d chosen it in wrought iron, handmade by a craftsman because she wanted it to be unique, as if to reaffirm the inviolability of her feelings. The same for the bedside tables, they too handmade in wrought iron to recall the rustic character of old wash basins. She’d preferred them to others, thinking of the Emilia countryside, of the midday sun, and that they’d bring her a ray of light and warmth each time she awoke.

She’d changed wardrobes several times, almost as if they too were one of the dresses kept inside them. She didn’t care about the colour, the shape, the size, it just had to be useful for what she’d thought of putting inside. Invariably, it followed her phases, changed with her moods, followed her whims. Maybe because it was the most visible piece of furniture, the most voluminous and the most binding. It was frustrating for her not to be able to do without something so cumbersome, to the point that it almost became an obsession. So she was glad to see the astonishment on people's faces at the umpteenth change of furniture in her room.

"What a useless and pointless thing to write a CV, it’s what you do that’s important and not what you write about. After all it was they who came looking for me, if they want to know something about me they can ask me at the interview. But where do I start now? So... first I want to put down my achievements at work, my projects, so they’ll get an idea of what I’m made of straightaway!" Organising your experiences, putting down your skills in a logical order and illustrating your motivations convincingly is certainly one of the most difficult things Giulia had had to consider as she tried to give shape to that CV that was to present herself to someone she didn’t know. Similarly there was the strange feeling she felt moving inside her while waiting for the interview, time never seemed to pass and there was the excitement and trepidation of her first university exam. Every time she thought about that first university exam, a bitter smile came to her face. She’d chosen a complementary subject to start with, to test her ability to study free from preconceptions, mediaeval history was her first choice also because of time, as the first exam session had been programmed just a month after enrolment and she didn't want to miss the chance of putting herself to the test right from the start.

"Good morning miss, what a beautiful smile you bring with you, have you studied the course notes?"

"Of course professor, it’s my first exam and I’m well prepared for it, I’m keen to get off to the best possible start."

"Good, tell me about the British heptarchy after the year 1000." In a split second a shiver went down her spine, she’d never heard the word heptarchy before, straining her memory she tried to search for it among the books, the notes she’d written in class, but it was of no use, nothing came to mind that might lead back to the question. She’d been told that this professor had no qualms about publicly showing his preference for female students who’d paid particular attention to him during and after class, but it was only then she realised she hadn’t fallen into that category.

"Professor, I don't think the question is relevant to the subject, I’ve taken all the notes, but I’ve never heard of British heptarchy."

"Well, I explained this topic in my lectures in September, it’s your duty to inform yourself on everything related to the course, including the previous lectures, I therefore assume you don't know how to answer the first question, at this point speak to me about anything you want, but you’re certainly not setting out on the right foot!"

"But I enrolled at the university in October, how could I have known? The course content is on the history of Europe from the 5th century to the year 1000, and I’ve prepared myself for that."

The humiliation of that first exam had never left her, twenty-one the final mark, which, according to the professor, was the average between an excellent thirty on the exam in general and a ten for the answer she hadn’t given.

But now she had to clear her mind for the job interview, it was an opportunity she couldn't afford to miss, to flaunt in her boss's face and prove she could take her leave at any time. She opened her wardrobe decisively and chose a very elegant, yet understated dress, suitable for a formal occasion, but not too uncompromising. Now she had to concentrate and prepare her presentation. She was used to doing this, going over every move, every experience, every moment in her mind, nothing must escape her control, she was the one who wanted to always have the situation under control, whatever it may be.

The rendez-vous was near the Piazza del Duomo, which was about half an hour from her home, so Giulia decided to walk there, to relax and look at some of the shop windows, as the project she’d been working on over the last few months had often taken up her weekends. As she walked she realised how much she’d missed because of that project, the change of seasons, the days getting shorter, the aperitifs in Milan, and she hadn't realised that even fashion had changed its taste and colour since she’d made her last chic purchase.

The building they had the appointment in was very elegant, in one of the most beautiful quarters of Milan, halfway between the Castello and Piazza dei Mercanti, on the sixth floor as the head hunter had told her. One last look at her hair and make-up in the lift and the time had come at last.

As she was about to ring the bell, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath and with a voice between her teeth uttered: "Let's breathe deeply and let them know what we’re made of!" The sound of the doorbell matched the cream colour of the walls on the landing, muffled you could hear it faintly in the distance, as if it was on the opposite side of the office.

"Miss Siniscalchi I presume, pleased to meet you. I’m Teodoro Bandini, I’m the one who phoned to make the appointment, welcome in, I’ve been expecting you, will you have some coffee, water or juice?"

"Thank you, I was slightly early and had a coffee in the café below, a glass of water is more than enough."

The office was very elegant though minimalist, it had no plaques, no names, no pictures on the walls signed by well-known artists. It looked almost like one of those offices you rent by the hour with a secretary. It had that mysterious charm that comes with unanswered questions. All the doors along the corridor were closed, the dark grey carpet was in sharp contrast with the cream-coloured walls, as were the grey and black desks. She liked that mixture of new and old provided by the furniture and the building.

"Well Doctor, as I anticipated to you on the phone, I have an important project for an important client and from the credentials given to me, I feel your professional experience, along with your personal skills, may be just what my client is looking for, so I hope you don't mind if before telling you more about the company and the position, I’d like to know a little bit more about you, so start wherever you wish."

"Well... I’d say the best thing would be to start with my latest project, a communication campaign that will be my company’s image for the next few years."

She immediately felt at ease and began talking. As time went by, the interviewer proved himself able to intersperse the questions with a few witty jokes, and you could easily hear their laughter beyond the closed door. Time passed quickly, much faster than she imagined, so much so that she hadn't even noticed that outside the night had already caused the lights of the shop windows and streets to be turned on .

" I must admit that your experiences are really fascinating and you are also a very agreeable person, but determined and decisive, with precisely that touch of finesse our client is looking for. As far as I’m concerned, assuming you’re interested, I’ll certainly include you in the candidate shortlist I’ll be presenting, but now it’s time to reveal the secret of who initiated this important inquiry. If you'll wait a minute, I'll go and get the material I need for the presentation."

"Yes, with pleasure."

"I can imagine that for someone like you and with your experience, this isn't the first time you’ve dealt with a recruitment company is it?"

"To tell you the truth, it’s only happened to me on a couple of occasions before now."

"I'm sure the other companies will have asked you to keep the first interview as confidential as possible too, this is extremely confidential information and through myself and the headhunting company not even the most inexpert of people would have problems in tracking down my client's company, moreover confidentiality is one of the most important skills required for the position."

"Of course, I'm really glad you liked my application and I’ve been so discreet I haven’t even told my parents. I’m a manager and I know what confidentiality means."

"Perfect one more minute then and I will show you all the material. In the meantime, I’ll leave you an ancient volume on the history of Milan to leaf through. Let me ask you the courtesy of reading aloud the sentence you’ll find written in red. I don't know Latin and it would be a great opportunity for me to hear how it's pronounced and translated. Would you be so kind as to do me the favour?"

"Yes it is no problem for me."

It was the first time she’d held a book like that in her hands; it looked at least 500 years old. It immediately reminded her of her grandfather, of whom she was very fond, a grandfather like many others, but one who took her to visit all the museums in the city, showing her the differences between real works of art and what he called "misunderstood or useless works", helping to transmit to her that sense of taste that over the years had become a determining factor in her personality. The cover was made of a thick layer of dark brown leather, slightly curved and imperfectly crafted at the sides. A snake was embroidered on the cover and a dragon's wing and a fountain of water were drawn at its feet. On the right hand side at the bottom was inscribed, in letters of pure gold, 'with this sign we shall win'. She immediately realised the book was one of great value, the workmanship, material and care with which it had been produced was unparalleled and she couldn't remember having ever seen anything like it in any of the exhibitions or museums to which her grandfather had taken her. The pages were yellowed by time, but the watermark was well preserved and at the corner of each page there was a pure gold decoration executed with singular mastery; the last pages didn’t however show such evident signs of time and seemed to have been added at a later date, which was really strange for a book like that which would have lost a lot of its value for those additions and casted doubt on its authenticity. Even before reading a few points, she thought the head-hunter's client must probably be a very well-known auction house and the book was certification that they were a very important and financially solid international group, probably that ancient artefact represented their business card. She quickly flipped through the first few pages written in a very old form of Latin, mixed with languages or dialects unknown to her, but one detail attracted her attention. Amidst the various unknown words and Aramaic letters she read Augusta Flavia Mediolanum, the first name of Milan, and the final words written in red.

"Doctor, I’ve found the sentence, shall I read it out loud?"

"Proceed."

"Septum fores, septum virginis, septum animae quam descendi irrepis inferas. Noctem convertit in sanguine draconis spiritus in lucem aqua vita, vitae in aeternum."

The phrase was inserted above a drawing of a fountain where a Templar soldier was washing a woman's scalp. Those words, the letters, their pronunciation in her mind were like a stimulant, as the drawing seemed to come alive on the page, the unease she found herself in made her blood run cold. That sentence seemed to have such a familiar meaning, even though she was sure this was the first time she’d read that text, but despite her profound knowledge of Vulgar Latin, she couldn't find an adequate translation.

At that moment she heard the door open behind her and the voice of the head-hunter saying: 'Well, I see you’ve found the reason for our meeting'. A feeling of warmth enveloped her, as well that of the unpleasant sensation of not knowing how to react, she felt an arm grasp tighter and tighter around her neck and her muscles stiffen in search of a foothold. A cloth with a strong, penetrating smell pressed against her nose and mouth, preventing her from breathing, she couldn't even send her lungs the minimum amount of air needed to react.

"Let go, you’re about to begin your journey to immortality."

From that moment on she no longer felt anything, darkness descended into her eyes, as if night had entered the room, she no longer had the strength to hold on to life and slowly felt her dreams and desires leave her. The beating of her heart, which until a moment before had been out of control, gradually got weaker and weaker, and she counted the last seconds of what, until that moment, had been her personal vanity fair.

Mercanti Square Milan