Chapter 227: "Independent Study"

The presidential suite at the Palazzo di Notte was occupied that afternoon.

Given the identities of its two occupants, most people would have drawn predictable conclusions about what Isidore Accardi and Ariana Lombardi intended to do behind closed doors.

The reality was considerably less scandalous.

Isidore sat at the table in the suite’s living room, a glass of cognac in one hand, listening to the recording Aren had obtained during her investigation into House Bellini at the Prism Fine Art Gallery.

Aren sat on the sofa opposite him, quietly drinking tea.

Throughout the recording, she watched his face for some indication that he recognized a voice, a phrase, or a detail she’d overlooked, but his expression remained composed.

He didn’t even seem particularly disturbed to learn that House Bellini was purchasing compromising material to use against his family. He merely listened without interrupting, occasionally raising his glass, his gaze resting somewhere beyond the table as he considered what he heard.

When the recording ended, he offered only four words.

"It’s not House Bellini."

Aren lowered her teacup in surprise.

"How can you be so sure?"

"The way they speak." He set down his glass. "Unless they knew you were concealed directly above them, recording their conversation for me, that sounded like a buyer and seller discussing the material for the first time. Not someone negotiating to recover something they’d previously sold to Ombra."

Aren considered his reasoning.

"Could her father have sold the information without telling her?"

"Possibly," Isidore acknowledged. "But I consider it unlikely. For now, I’ll proceed on the assumption that Bellini isn’t B."

Aren nodded slowly.

The uncertainty still troubled her, but she understood his reasoning. There was little value in forcing a conclusion the evidence didn’t support.

"Then how do you intend to find out who B is? Lucilla must have realized the memory card is missing by now. She might tell Ylenia. If Ylenia discovers someone has interfered, she’ll become suspicious. We should probably move quickly."

"Not necessarily." His composure remained undisturbed. "The scandal at the auction should keep House Bellini occupied for some time. Lucilla has considerably more pressing problems than a missing memory card. For now, we’ll concentrate on destroying the recordings."

Aren studied him, weighing the change in priorities.

Identifying B was important, but with the Bellinis distracted, they had an opportunity to eliminate the material that could be used against Isaac before anyone approached Ombra to purchase another copy.

"All right, Master Accardi. If that’s your decision, what’s the plan?"

"As I told you before, there are three storage locations: the main server and two offline backups. We won’t target the main server first. That would be unnecessarily risky. We’ll destroy the two offline backups before attempting anything against it."

"And where are those?"

Isidore took out his phone and opened a collection of photographs he’d obtained from the encrypted data. He slid the device across the table to Aren before picking up his cognac again.

"The first is inside a records-management complex in Moretti District. Officially, the facility handles industrial records and hazardous-waste documentation. Unofficially, we’ve learned that House Ombra rents a secure archive there for its offline recordings."

He indicated a photograph.

"That’s our first target."

Aren leaned forward to examine it.

The complex was larger than she’d expected, with processing sheds and warehouses arranged around service roads. Beneath the aerial photograph was a floor plan annotated to identify the various sections of the property.

"And the other backup?"

This time, he didn’t answer immediately. He regarded her across the table, his expression unreadable.

It wasn’t reluctance, exactly. He seemed to be considering how to phrase his answer, which was unusual enough to make her curious.

At last, he let out a small breath.

"An exclusive sex club."

Aren went rigid.

For once, she was grateful she hadn’t been drinking her tea.

"An exclusive... what?"

Isidore regarded her calmly.

"Sex club. It’s a private establishment offering supervised recreational activities involving sexual stimulation, restraint, sensory manipulation, and dominance and submission."

He had deliberately chosen technical language, knowing her tendency to approach unfamiliar subjects as problems requiring precise definitions. Unfortunately, by the end of his explanation, she was staring at him as though he’d just introduced an entirely unfamiliar branch of science.

’That’s a considerable number of new concepts.’

She raised a hand.

"Master Accardi, I have some questions."

"Go ahead."

"What exactly is the purpose of such a facility?"

"Sexual gratification."

"I understand that part. But why does it require a dedicated facility? People can engage in sexual activities in private residences or hotels."

"Some prefer specialized equipment, discretion, or an environment designed for particular interests."

Aren nodded thoughtfully.

"So it’s similar to a gym."

Isidore looked at her.

"In what sense?"

"People can exercise at home, but a gym provides equipment, supervision, and a suitable environment."

He considered the analogy.

"Structurally, yes. Although the services are quite different."

"Then what is the purpose of restraint? Wouldn’t that be tactically inconvenient?"

"It isn’t intended to provide a tactical advantage. Some people find the exchange of control arousing. Restraint can be part of that."

Aren frowned.

"So they don’t attempt to escape?"

"Usually not."

"I see."

He wasn’t entirely convinced she did. He watched as she reached for her tea, took a thoughtful sip, then set it down again.

"And what about dominance and submission?" she asked. "Are those positions of authority within the establishment?"

By the time their impromptu question-and-answer session ended, she felt as though she’d acquired an entirely new category of vocabulary.

’That was very helpful. Master Accardi really is an excellent teacher.’

"All right," she said, satisfied. "I think I understand the basic concepts now. Please continue."

Across the table, Isidore maintained his usual expression of perfect composure. Internally, however, he was confronting a problem for which he had no satisfactory explanation.

’She knows how to kiss that well, yet she doesn’t know any of these things?’

He remembered their previous encounter in this very suite with considerably more clarity than was convenient. He remembered the weight of her on his lap, the warmth of her mouth, and the disconcerting ease with which their supposedly practical exercise had begun to feel like something else entirely.

Her questions now suggested a level of sexual inexperience that seemed almost impossible to reconcile with that memory.

The contradiction baffled him.

He allowed none of it to show.

"The establishment is in Leone District," he continued. "House Leone operates it and admits only a select clientele. House Ombra somehow managed to rent an entire section adjacent to the private wing."

Aren looked down at the information on his phone. Given what she’d just learned about the establishment, she could already anticipate the general direction of their next assignment.

"Does that mean we’re going to...?"

"Correct."

Isidore swirled the cognac in his glass before taking another sip.

"I’ll reserve a private suite under both our names. Given the relationship we’re supposed to have, the booking itself shouldn’t arouse suspicion."

"I see."

Aren considered the situation with complete seriousness: a private suite in an establishment devoted to intimate activities; a secure archive located nearby; a mission that would require them to behave convincingly as a couple while searching for a way to access the recordings.

There was an obvious practical concern.

"Then, Master Accardi, shall we resume our previous practice in preparation for the mission?"

Isidore nearly choked on his cognac.

Years of cultivated composure allowed him to swallow without coughing, although the effort required considerably more concentration than he would ever admit.

Of course she would ask.

She was even looking at him with those earnest eyes, clearly prepared to resume their training as though they’d merely scheduled another lesson in hand-to-hand combat.

Strictly speaking, he had no grounds to object to the suggestion. After all, he’d been the one to tell her they should continue their kissing practice at their next meeting.

At the time, it had seemed a reasonable way to prepare for maintaining their cover. Now, sitting opposite her in the same suite, with the memory of holding her on his lap still inconveniently vivid, he found his opinion had changed decisively.

"No."

Aren looked confused.

She hadn’t particularly been looking forward to another practice session, but his refusal seemed inconsistent with their operational requirements.

"Why not?" She gestured toward his phone. "Considering the nature of that establishment, I imagine we’ll need to display a considerable amount of convincing intimacy. That’s precisely why you requested training last time."

"I’ll conduct independent study."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Independent study? You can do that?"

"There are instructional videos." He delivered the explanation with complete composure. "I’m a good visual learner."

She studied him, not entirely convinced.

For a brief moment, she wondered whether he had found a more suitable training partner, but Isidore had generally been straightforward with her. It seemed more reasonable to assume he had reconsidered his training methods.

’Can that really be learned through observation alone? Then why did he even ask for training last time?’

She considered asking, but the finality of his tone suggested he had no intention of discussing the matter further. She decided not to press him.

"All right, Master Accardi. If we’re targeting the Moretti facility first, when do you want to proceed?"

"Tonight," he replied in the same matter-of-fact tone. "There will be an unfortunate electrical accident that starts a fire. It will spread out of control and, regrettably, destroy the archive room."

"That sounds efficient."

"And discreet," Isidore added. "But it’s still too early to go."

His gaze shifted almost casually toward the small cloth bundle Aren had brought with her.

"Did you bring the stew?"

The question was hardly necessary.

He’d noticed the bundle when she arrived. It was the same sort she’d carried during their previous meeting, and he had a fairly good idea of what was inside.

Nevertheless, Aren’s expression brightened immediately.

"Yes!"

She rose from the sofa, already reaching for the bundle.

"I made mutton stew for you today. Shall I heat it up?"

"Thank you."

She smiled, plainly pleased, and headed toward the kitchenette with her usual brisk efficiency.

Isidore watched her go.

Only moments earlier, she’d been asking detailed questions about sexual restraint and dominance without the slightest embarrassment.

Now, the prospect of serving him something she had cooked seemed to make her more flustered than either subject had. There was even a faint flush on her cheeks as she carried the bundle away.

He found the contrast difficult to explain. Yet as she disappeared into the kitchenette, the faintest smile touched his lips.

He didn’t bother suppressing it.

She wasn’t there to see it anyway.