She asked him for something softly and tenderly, clinging to him like a cat. She kissed him and whispered something tender in his ear. Her accent drove Marco crazy, and he tossed and turned in his sleep unable to calm his newly awakened excitement.

And then the flames burst into his dreams again and Marco woke with a muffled cry. Marco did not see the tragedy that happened to his parents personally. All he found was the black, sooty and gloomy parental remains of a house that looked like a cemetery crypt.

His recollection of the process of identifying of his parents was poor. Of course, they showed him what was left of them, but he would not have recognised those charred remains as human had he not been told what they were. Since then, he had often dreamed about fire.

For two years now, fire had been preventing Marco from getting a good night's sleep. Almost every night, the ubiquitous flames penetrated his dreams and woke Marco up mercilessly. They did not take pity on Marco even on New Year's Eve. Marco went to bed at four and at five, the nightmare awakened him. Then, Marco tossed and turned for an hour before finally falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

And at eight, his assistant Vincenzo called. Marco's head throbbed and his body still ached from the previous day’s exertions. Marco was ready to get mad and tear up the contract but then he remembered the size of the penalty and answered the phone.

"I hope you have an important reason for waking me up at eight o'clock in the morning on New Year's Day on my legal free day," he said gloomily instead of greeting.

Vincenzo was cheerful and radiant, to the point of making Marco grind his teeth.

"Ma-a-arco, dear! Buon anno!"

"So far, it's not a good start," Marco growled.

"Don't get angry, Marco!" Vincenzo continued undeterred. "Do you remember that we start filming 'Russian' scenes tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow, Vincenzo! So why a hell are you calling me today and at such an early hour?!”

“We were lucky, my dear friend!”

“Really?!” Marco growled again.

"Quite by chance, an interpreter from Moscow is visiting Rome right now," Vincenzo almost sang. “This girl just yesterday taught my uncle Giuseppe to make wishes when the clock strikes. It is demanded to drink prosecco with the ash of a piece of paper where the wish is written!”

“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."