“What kind of nonsense is this? Vincenzo, are you drunk?”

“I’m totally serious, Marco! Honestly! My uncle told me that his entire staff burned paper at night. The residents of the upper floors have almost called rescuers and firefighters!”

“What a folly!” Marco snorted, desperate to get rid of his assistant.

“So, about the interpreter. She kindly agreed to help you with your text at a reasonable price. And she’s ready to do it today.”

"What makes you think I need help?” Marco muttered.

“Because, Marco, you've only heard Russian language in American action movies and this is a not really good study guide!” Vincenzo replied quickly.

“I trained with an e-translator!" Marco got angry.

"I'd prefer you to get a consultation with a native speaker." the assistant insisted.

"And I’d prefer to sleep!" Marco barked, losing his temper.

"In this case, you are not paid to sleep. If they have to reshoot scenes with your Russian text, the penalty may be higher than your fee. Do you need it?"

Marco howled like an enraged beast; Vincenzo burst out laughing.

"Come on, come on my friend! I've set up an appointment with your interpreter at Largo di Torre Argentina at eleven. You have three hours to make yourself presentable and get there."

Vincenzo hung up, and Marco barely resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall. This was absolutely not how he had imagined a successful start to the year. Grinding his teeth, he finally dragged himself out of bed. The icing on the cake of his anger was the discovery of an empty coffee tin. Marco somehow forgot that supplies tend to run out and had not bothered buying more.

Marco arrived at the meeting five minutes before it was due and decided he could finally satisfy his need for coffee. The interpreter was late and this did not improve his mood at all. He was inspecting the menu when a woman broke noisily into the cafe and began asking for Signor Guerriero. She was led to him, and Marco reluctantly looked up from his menu to see who the hell his assistant had sent to punish him for his sins. As he looked up, a red fog covered his sight.

The same split-tail from the restaurant was gliding towards him. So that was what the accent had been! She was Russian. In daylight, she looked even younger, like a teenager. Her pale blue silk dress elegantly emphasized her slender figure, making her look like a mermaid. She wasn't wearing makeup, and her red hair was tousled.

She looked as if she had just jumped out of bed, where she had been sleeping very restlessly. Or didn't sleep at all. Her full lips formed a surprised "o" and her eyes became wide open. Marco finally saw their colour. Bluish-green, like the shallow waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

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