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.