Chapter 17: Ah That Jazz!

The doors of the cathedral squeaked hard, and when they swung open to the open, 1920s Venice appeared before them. They were struck from the spot by the heat and humidity, and the smell of sea salt mingled with the faint scent of spices and perfume wafting through the air. This was not the future they knew. The Venice they had before them resembled a view from a long-forgotten photograph - something beautiful, yet disturbing at the same time.

The city's streets, winding like snakes along the canals, bustled with life as if restless, on the verge of modernity and the decay of old orders. Gas lanterns illuminated narrow passageways and stony wharves, though their warm light contrasted with the modern, bright neon signs that had begun to dominate the city. Signs advertising new stores, restaurants and elegant boutiques glowed in pinks, greens, blues, creating a surreal landscape where tradition collided with modernity. Light shone from the signs above the heads of passersby: "MODA DI MILANO", "GIOIELLI DA DONNA", "SPETTACOLI TEATRALI". "CAPPELLI SCIARPE GUANTI" - each neon sign was like a promise of something extraordinary, something new and enticing.

Alex looked around, stopping for a moment, in amazement.

- Do you guys see it? - He asked, as if to make sure that what they were seeing was not an illusion.

The crowd in front of them flowed like a river. Venice in the 1920s was not the quiet, sleepy city of the past, but bustled with an energy that could only be understood by those who had survived the Great War and wanted to grab life by the handful. Passersby were a mix of expressive figures - elegant gentlemen in tailored three-piece suits, with broad shoulders and perfectly pressed pants. On their heads were bowler hats and fedoras, glistening in the lantern light like raven's wings. Each man wore a watch on a chain that flashed with every step, and matching vests, adorned with gold pins, protruded from under their jackets. The women, with nonchalant grace, strolled about in long dresses trimmed with tassels, with pearl necklaces flowing down their necks like small waterfalls. Their hair was perfectly styled in wavy-smoothed styles, shiny from the brilliance. Lips the color of blood red were the only contrast to the soft pastel tresses that adorned their figures. Some of them wore wide-brimmed hats adorned with feathers and veils that glittered in the neon light like jewels.

Looking at the outfits, Alessandra was stunned by the contrast - here elegance was combined with bold modernity. She felt as if she had stepped onto a movie set where tradition and the future fought for supremacy. The black-and-white photos she was familiar with did not convey the fullness of the colors that exploded before her eyes. Dresses in shades of celadon green, pale pink and pearly beige contrasted with the black of the men's suits, as if all the townspeople were taking part in a grand performance.

Moving through the city, they came to one of the main streets, where cars - still a novelty in this world - were shuffling along stone roads. They were machines with soul: elegant, finished with wooden accents and shiny chrome parts. Fiats, Alfa Romeos and Mercedes glided majestically, although from time to time one could hear the rasp of an engine, as if the technology was trying to adapt to the conditions here. In the background could be heard the sounds of streetcars - metallic beasts, gliding slowly along narrow tracks along the canals. Their rasping sound echoed off the tenements, which seemed to lean over the water, watching life with the understanding of someone who has seen it all.

The canals - an integral part of Venice - were dark in color, as if too deep to see the bottom, but the mirror of the water reflected the lights of the city like a sheet of obsidian. Gondolas floated lazily on the waves, rocked by an invisible rhythm set by Venice itself. Gondoliers, dressed in their traditional striped uniforms, pushed for customers, calling to them in the Venetian dialect. Every corner of the city seemed to live a life of its own, yet was part of a larger whole - a palimpsest of history that pulsed beneath the surface.

Luca could not take his eyes off this technological paradox. Telephones, radios and even telegraphs - everything seemed both archaic and modern in its own way. On street corners floated white puffs of smoke from establishments where cigarettes and sometimes cigars were smoked. The sound of horns and bells of streetcars created a bizarre symphony, the rhythm of which was imposed by Venice itself.

- Furore. It's the Bicentennial like nothing. - Threw Luca to the others with full irritation.

They walked along the Grand Canal, where elegant palaces gleamed in the moonlight and neon lights. The buildings seemed to rise from the water like mythical monsters - their facades adorned with Venetian Gothic and Renaissance details were as imposing as they were somewhat eerie. Brother Elias paused for a moment, admiring one of the palaces. Its centuries-old walls, though covered in patina and traces of time, exuded an eerie energy - a mixture of mystery and power. Every detail, every column, was like a carved history. At one point, their attention was drawn to music - jazz, the new musical wave that had taken over Europe. In one square, under a lighted bar sign, a group of dancers whirled to the rhythm of saxophone and trumpet. Their bodies moved with incredible grace, as if they were flowing in time.

Alessandra paused for a moment, staring at the dancers, who seemed detached from reality - jazz had opened up a new dimension of freedom, liberty, rebellion against old norms. One of them, noticing their interest, came closer. His face was beaming, and youthful energy shone in his eyes. He raised his head, smiling half-heartedly. His movements, as if involuntary, brought to mind the elegant grace with which he moved around the stage to the rhythm of the music. Although he wasn't dancing now, his body still had a natural harmony to it, as if jazz music filled his every movement.

- I don't know about you but I am hungry. This trip has sucked all the protein out of me. - Whined Luca while massaging his stomach, in which he was burping quite loudly.

- Don't be a child," Alessandra replied.

- All in all, I would also throw something on my tooth. - Added Alex with a smile.

- Someone here has a problem," he said with a playful smile, looking towards Luce, whose face blushed slightly from embarrassment.Unwillingly, I overheard the conversation. I think someone is hungry," he chuckled amused, glancing at Luce, who momentarily turned red on her face, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Alessandra, whose mood had improved somewhat after the ill-fated trip, also smiled warmly. Belly burping in this atmosphere somewhat relieved the earlier tension.

- Well, I have to admit that I also feel hungry myself," said Alessandra, looking around as if looking for a meal.

- It looks like you need my help. I know an excellent place where you can try real Italian specialties. - Said the dancer with a smile. - But this is no ordinary restaurant. You won't find it in any tourist guide, and the locals rarely speak highly of it. It is something ... special. - He emphasized the last word, smiling mysteriously.

Luca reacted immediately, although his stomach was the driving force of curiosity here. Of course, he was hungry as hell, but the promise of something "special" in this magical, Venetian city not only awakened his appetite, but also intrigued him.

- What do you have in mind? - He asked, and excitement could be heard in his voice.

- This place is called La Notte Eterna by the locals. Hidden in one of the streets of Venice, where tourists never go. At this time," he glanced at his watch, "they are just starting to serve food. But it's not just a meal.... It's an experience. The music, the taste, the atmosphere - everything melts into one there.

- La Notte Eterna? - repeated Alex, clearly wondering if he had heard of the place. - I have never heard of it.

- And that's the beauty of it," the dancer continued, extending his hand and making a slight gesture, as if he was revealing to them the backstage of a secret world. - Not everyone knows about it, and even if they did, not everyone can enter it. It is necessary ... - he suspended his voice - to look like someone who fits into the place.

Alessandra raised an eyebrow, looking at Alex with a slight smile.

- And do we fit? - She asked, mocking the dancer's theatrical mysteriousness slightly.

- But of course," he replied with a gleam in his eye. - You guys are perfect. These baroque clothes of yours are downright amazing. You absolutely must give me the name of your tailor.

- Unfortunately. Not at this age boy. - replied Alex ironically.

- It's a shame, and so this cafe I mentioned," he said excitedly, "is where artists and intellectuals gather, people who are not afraid to think differently. This is the place where ideas are born to change the world.

Fascinated by the story, they exchanged glances full of enthusiasm. The transformation of Venice in their eyes, as if detached from time for a moment, was becoming extremely inspiring. The city was vibrant, and music and art were its inseparable companions.

- How can we resist such an invitation. So point to this place and we will certainly return the favor. - replied Alessandra, with energy palpable in her voice.

They entered the winding streets, where the lights were beginning to blur in the moonlight reflected in the canals. Now they seemed even more magical, mysterious and full of life. Neon lights twinkled over their heads, and a crowd flowed around them - Venice in the 1920s was a place where time seemed to stop on the border between dreams and reality. Every step in this city was like a trip to another era, and their hearts beat to the rhythm of jazz. The air smelled of salt water, old brick and the unseen memories of former visitors to this city, whose stories remained somewhere in the alleys, untold. The music of jazz still echoed in their heads, and the warm breezes reminded them of the city's summer night atmosphere.

The dancer led them through a maze of narrow streets, where the sounds of their footsteps echoed off the walls of buildings like echoes of the past. The city at the moment resembled a dream - streets that had no end, canals that led nowhere. And yet everything seemed to come together in a logical whole, as if the city itself was guiding them. As they approached the café, the sounds of music grew louder and louder, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air. There was a promise of adventure and creativity in the air, and Alessandra, forgetting her hunger, felt that they were in the heart of artistic Venice, ready for new experiences that were to change their lives forever.

Finally, they stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden entrance, which at first glance could pass for a door to an old warehouse. No signboard, no clue. Dancer approached the door and knocked three times, with a distinct rhythm, as if it were a coded message. The door opened silently, and on the other side waited a woman with an intense gaze and long black hair. She wore a dark green dress that seemed to ripple around her legs, though the air remained motionless. Her eyes moved over the group with an attentiveness that said she knew more than one might think.

- Benvenuti," she said quietly, and in her voice resounded the promise of something unusual. - I invite you.

- La Notte Eterna," whispered the dancer, pleased that he had managed to bring them here. - Welcome to the night that never ends.

Alessandra looked at Alex, and there was a flash of fascination and anticipation in her eyes. Venice, the city of secrets, was now revealing another, more personal and intimate side to them. This place was not just a cafe - it was Venice in its purest form.

La Notte Eterna, the jewel of Venice, was like a portal to another era - a place where time flowed more slowly and reality mingled with dreams. As soon as they stepped through the ornate, carved doors, they were struck by the smell - the intense aroma of freshly ground coffee, the warmth of burning wood from the fireplaces, and the faint hint of cigar smoke that wafted through the air, creating a haze of nostalgia. There was a ghost of the past hovering in this café, like an intangible mist over the Venetian canals at dawn. Inside, there was an air of refined elegance. The walls were covered with stucco ornaments that sparkled in the twilight, reminiscent of the palaces of the former Republic of Venice. The gilded details on the painted plafonds were reminiscent of mythological scenes, figures of angels and deities looking down on guests, as if contemplating their eternal debates about art and human nature. Heavy crystal chandeliers dangled overhead, their light dancing across the marble floors, reflecting off the delicately cracked mirrors that adorned the walls like portals to other dimensions. Every piece of furniture in the café seemed a story in itself. The tall wooden armchairs with velvet upholstery in burgundy and gold hues were like thrones in which ancient kings of thought sat. Each of them could witness the secrets, conversations of artists and intrigues that were born here. Tables covered with elegant tablecloths seemed to be places where the smallest gestures - picking up a cup, lighting a cigarette - became elements of a larger ritual.

Jazz music, typical of those years, subtly echoed in the background, but this was no ordinary jazz. The saxophone spun a tale full of melancholy, as if telling of all the lost loves and unattainable dreams that left their mark on the cobblestone streets of Venice. The piano, with its fast rhythm, created counterpoint, brought joy, as if to remind us that even in the darkest moments a spark of hope can be found. Every sound filled the cafe space, giving it soul and rhythm.

The bustle of conversation went on among the elegant guests. At one table, bathed in muffled candlelight, sat a group of painters, among them Pablo Picasso and Tamara de Lempicka. Their discussions were as lively as their paintings. Picasso was explaining the idea of Cubism with a sweeping hand gesture, while Tamara was vaporizing his arguments with an elegant nonchalance, pointing out the sense of tender femininity in their works. They talked about how Venetian landscapes - those canals, those ancient bridges that seemed to float above the water like forgotten dreams - influence their art, inspiring them to create something timeless. In another part of the café, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway debated literature and the meaning of life, as if each of their dialogues was a miniature intellectual challenge. Fitzgerald, with a cigarette in his hand, spoke of the decadence, opulence and moral decline of his characters, while Hemingway - tougher, more austere in expression - talked about the simplicity and brutality of life, the truth that lies in the silence between words.

Alessandra, Alex, Luca and Elias felt like intruders in a sacred place of art and intellect. The café had the power to transport people - not only through time, but also through spaces of thought and emotion that were elusive to ordinary senses. The atmosphere was thick with creativity that, like a fog, settled on their skin, drawing them into a world that existed on the border between reality and dream.

Suddenly, the door of the cafe opened with a slight slam, and Marlene Dietrich walked in. The glow of her eyes and unmistakable aura lit up the interior, as if Venus herself had descended from heaven. Her emerald gown, glittering in the twilight, flowed behind her like a sea of Venetian waves, shimmering with golden reflections from the chandeliers. Her high collar added mystery to her figure, and every glance she bestowed on her guests seemed to pierce them to the core. A soft, almost elusive smile wandered on her lips, and her footsteps - the sound of her heels on the marble floor - were the only sound that could drown out the jazz in this magical moment.

Alex, standing at the bar, froze. The sight of her was like an animated image, like a dream drawn from the deepest recesses of his imagination. With a gentle shake of her head, Marlene pelted him with a fleeting glance - her eyes were like cold steel blades that left a mark in his soul. Her presence, full of confidence and uninhibited elegance, had something about her that caught everyone's attention. Alessandra and Luca watched from the sidelines, drawn into this amazing spectacle. There was more to it than just an encounter with an icon of the era - it was a glimpse of the spirit of the time, where past and present intertwined to create something intangible, something that could only be felt in such a place. The music, the smell of coffee, the smoke of cigars, the sounds of conversation - everything in this cafe created a unique atmosphere, as if reality had momentarily stopped on this one frame.

Marlene, dazzling as ever, marched through the room with the grace of a predator, her green silk dress rippling behind her like a shadow. Her voice, infused with confidence and a hint of sarcasm, pierced the din of the café.

- Hey, handsome. - She looked at Alex, her eyes were like blades, piercing his soul. - You seem to be lost in this godforsaken corner of Venice. Would you like to join me for a respite?

Alex felt his heart speed up, as if he were in the center of a clash for which he was not ready. As Marlene spoke, the world around him seemed to freeze, the sounds quieted, and an invisible pressure rested on his shoulders.

- Er, well... This is really an unexpected meeting. But unfortunately, I'm here with friends. Maybe some other time? - His voice trembled, despite his efforts to sound confident.

Marlene smiled with a slight wince. There was something dangerous in her smile, something that said the fun was just beginning.

- Of course, dear, except that I am not denied, and once is quite a wide time window. Don't you think? - Her voice was permeated with a refined note of derision. - And do you perhaps have something to taste? Perhaps you would like me, since you have no other sweet?

Alex murmured. He tried to say something, but his thoughts seemed blocked, as if the swirling world of Venice and this icon of the silver screen consumed him in an instant. He stuttered.

- Well, you see... you know... because I...

Lighting up her gaze, Marlene stepped closer, her perfume wafting like the sweet smell of danger.

- Do you have anything else to say, handsome? - She asked with a slight challenge, raising an eyebrow.

At this point Alessandra interjected, with a note of jealousy and derision in her voice that cut like a dagger.

- Forgive me, but Alex is allergic to artificiality and already has his lady.

Alessandra's words made the tension in the cafe rise. One could sense the impending clash in the air, like a storm over the Venetian lagoons. Marlene, without taking her eyes off her rival, curved her lips into a sardonic smile.

- That's a shame, because I'm usually the lady of the evening.

Alessandra, measuring her with a cool gaze, replied with a smile full of irony:

- Ah, definitely not. Do you always dress so henpecked? I think you raise the level of gentlemen's pants only in silent cinema.

Luca, unable to stop himself from laughing, reacted immediately, as if they were standing on the stage of one of the surrealist movies.

- Well, now we are really in a black and white movie. Where's the popcorn?

Brother Elias, sitting slightly to the side, stared at the exchange with mild astonishment, as if he couldn't believe that such an innocent conversation was turning into a clash of two elements.

- Maybe instead of admiring the stars, let's focus on.... moving through time and on why we ended up here?

Music in the background, gentle jazz, as if trying to relieve the tense atmosphere. The saxophone seemed to lament quietly, as if warning of the inevitable storm. Alex, feeling that he was the center of attention, glanced at Marlene and Alessandra, slightly embarrassed.

- I have a feeling that I have ended up in an arena with bulls.

Marlene, with a note of challenge in her voice, shifted her gaze across Alessandra, as if assessing her value in this game.

- Oh, applause. Think you're the only one with claws? - Her voice carried a warning behind it that she was not going to relent.

Alessandra, with a confidence that only grew with every word, nodded slightly.

- I've heard that your charm works wonders, but probably only for the blind.

Marlene squinted, as if analyzing her rival's every move.

- You've got to be kidding, kid. I'm a world-famous actress. Men swoon at the sight of me. And what are you, baby? A dirty gray mouse?

- The one that is about to kick your ass. - replied Alessandra clenching her fists.

Luca couldn't stand it and burst into laughter.

- Sorry, but this is better than the movie though. Where the hell is the popcorn? Waiter!

Brother Elias, trying to remain serious, came closer.

- Maybe before we cause a brawl here, let's get back to our goal?

Marlene, ignoring Elias' words, focused her attention on Alessandra again. The atmosphere became increasingly tense, as if every moment could end in an explosion of emotions.

- Look, honey, there's no point in getting uptight. No one survived an interesting story because they weren't naughty.

Alessandra, with an icy smile, replied.

- Do you think? I wouldn't be so sure. History is full of unexplained deaths.

Alex, trying to take control of the situation, interjected.

- Yes, that's a good idea Marlene. Why don't we change the subject? Who fancies a drink?

But before anyone had time to respond, Marlene scanned Alessandra's clothing, her gaze full of derision.

- Ah, I didn't expect you to end up here gold. You look like you fell right out of the slums.

Alessandra, indefatigable, retorted immediately.

- Slums? I guess you're the one who's going to live there right away with your ego after he rearranges your face.

Marlene replied ironically.

- Not everyone has to be as dramatic as your face, darling.

Alex, wanting to avoid further escalation, held out his hand in a gesture of reassurance.

- Ladies, why don't we really change the subject? Then who fancies a drink? Screw it. I'm ordering for myself.

The Venetian evening, which started out as a peaceful, nostalgic one, turned into a surreal clash. In his hand gleamed a glass full of amber liquid - the scotch he had just ordered.

- I think this is a good time for whiskey," he joked, smiling absentmindedly. - It mellows customs, even in the most refractory cases.

Alessandra, whose elegance resembled the audacity of pre-war actresses, smiled indulgently. Her eyes, full of mystery, sparkled like sapphires in the light of lanterns. Without thinking, she grabbed Alex's glass and raised it to her lips, looking toward Marlène.

- Ah, Love. Actually what a refreshment," she winked at her. - A good beverage can lighten the greatest foolishness.

Alessandra set her glass down on the bar, as if the whole act was part of a game whose rules only she understood. She ordered another serving, this time for herself and Alex.

- Remember, gold," she chuckled with evident amusement. - Alcohol is for those who have little resistance to stupidity. You will probably have to work on yours.

Marlène, endowed with a slightly cheeky charm, burst out laughing.

- That's right, whiskey is a beverage for the intelligent and brave," she looked significantly at Alex. - Not everyone can handle it.

Alex, not to be outdone, laughed.

- Practice makes perfect," he replied. - After all, scotch resistance is also an art form, right?

Marlène raised an eyebrow, and her eyes, like cold green stones, narrowed in an ironic gesture.

- Then why don't we ask the bartender for something stronger to put up with the idiots? - she said with feigned seriousness, pointing to the shelves full of bottles. - Bartender, a bottle for the lady! We need to take care of our sobriety in such uncertain times.

Luca, observing the scene with a slight smile on his lips, decided to interrupt this theater.

- I think we should move to a table. Music sounds better when one is sitting comfortably," he said, extending his hand toward Alessandra and Marlène. - Feel free to invite them.

As the company sat down at the table, a jazz tune began to fill the space between them, as if emphasizing the atmospheric nature of this strange evening. The saxophone sounded almost sensual, and the atmosphere of pre-war Venice, a city of ghosts and legends, seemed more palpable with each bar. Luca poured another shot of whiskey, and Alex, whose gaze wandered between Alessandra and Marlène, tried to somehow find himself in the situation.

- Well," chuckled Alessandra, looking at him through half-closed eyelids. - Don't pretend to be shy. We all know you can handle really naughty situations.

Marlène, not staying long, added with a smile:

- Yes, I actually sense a certain ... talent for bold moves.

Before Alex had time to respond, his attention was caught by a figure at the bar. A broad-shouldered man, dressed in a beige coat, was talking loudly to a group of companions. His face was unmistakably recognizable.

- Is it... impossible. - Alex blinked, trying to make sure. - It's Hemingway! Ernest Hemingway!

Luca looked in the direction Alex was looking and laughed.

- There you go, your chance to meet a legend.

- You'd better hurry up. Behind him, as usual, she tensed up and rolled down the bar. - Added Marlene with a lightness in her voice as if she witnessed this situation every day.

Encouraged, Alex gathered his courage, rose from his chair and approached the famous writer. Hemingway looked at him curiously, setting his glass down on the bar.

- Excuse me, Mr. Hemingway," began Alex somewhat uncertainly. - Can I ask you a few questions?

Ernest smiled slightly and gestured for Alex to sit next to him.

- Of course, young man. Are you the next writer, or just a lover of literature?

Alex, sitting down next to him, took a moment to collect his thoughts, not wanting this meeting to be trivial.

- No. Neither one nor the other. I just always wondered," he began, "how did you approach life? What values were most important to you? What was your compass?

Hemingway was silent for a moment, looking down at his glass of whiskey. He seemed to be weighing every word.

- Whisky is my compass to help navigate between idiots. - he finally said - Natomiast life. Well. It's like a well-written short story. You have to know what you want to say, what emotions to express. There is no room for embellishments or empty platitudes. Go straight to your destination, even if the path is difficult.

Alex felt that these words stirred something in him. He lit a cigar that the bartender had slipped under his hand and asked a question that had been bothering him for a long time but as a tough guy he had never asked anyone.

- What about love? - He asked, glancing fleetingly at Alessandra, who was still talking to Marlène. - How do you perceive it?

Hemingway smiled, but his eyes grew serious. He looked off into the distance, past the bar as if to catch a glimpse of the sky above Venice, where the roofs of the city met the horizon.

- Love," he said quietly. - It is like a fish that avoids the net, but when you catch it, you know it was worth every effort. It is the essence of life. Without it, I wouldn't have accomplished anything that mattered.

These words hung in the air like an incantation, and he realized that he had just touched something important in a city where every step seemed to echo history, and the darkness hid the secrets of centuries past. Narrow canals, bathed in the pale glow of lanterns, twinkled in the pattern of stolen moments, which it breathed with its eternal rhythm. Marble palaces, looking proudly at the passing gondolas, hid the secrets of the past. Venice between the wars was like a living book, full of insinuations, tension and passion. Alex, sitting at a heavy wooden bar in one of Venice's few clubs, tried to grasp the meaning of life, which was leaking between his fingers. The night had a magic about it that he had never experienced before. The cigar smoke floated over his head like a heavy cloud of thoughts he could not tame. Beside him, a man with a face covered with wrinkles like a map of lived experiences - Ernest Hemingway - talked about life and love with unforced elegance.

"Life is like writing a story," the master said, and in his voice sounded the strength of a man who has more than once come face to face with fate. "You have to know what you want to say and go straight to the point. No unnecessary embellishments." Pure emotion. Lighting a cigar, he felt the weight of those words, as if they were a warning of something greater. He looked out the window at the lazily gliding waters of the Canal Grande, where the moonlight drew trembling lines on the surface of the water, as if trying to tell the story of the city. Venice, quiet and melancholy, was like an old prince who had watched the decline of his dynasty, but still had not lost his dignity.

Behind his back, a jazz saxophone echoed into the night, filling the club's stuffy interior with melodramatic tones. Sidney Bechet, a master of sound, rendered each note with such devotion, as if he were trying to capture the essence of the world in one fluid gesture. Brother Elias, lost in the sounds, stared at the artist, his soul resonating with the music, which seemed to tell a story of love, despair and survival - just like Venice, the city that never died, despite coming close to collapse so many times.

Meanwhile, Alessandra, seated at a table off to the side, looked at Alex with that inscrutable gleam in her eyes. Her beauty was almost supernatural, as if born of ancient Venetian art, and hid something dark. Maybe the city had influenced her, immersed her in its complexity, hiding secrets she wanted to reveal, but she wasn't sure the time was right. She glanced at Marlene, who was now flirting with Luca, flitting between jokes with a grace that any silver screen star could envy.

Alex sprang from his seat and, bolder than ever, approached Alessandra. There was a determination in his eyes that clearly caught her attention. For a moment they stood in silence, looking at each other, and the world around them disappeared.

- Alessandro," he began, and his voice trembled slightly, as if trying to grasp something elusive. - We need to talk. Now.

She nodded, knowing that this moment had to come. She took his hand, and her touch was warm, but full of secrets that could change everything. They walked toward a table off to the side, where the light from one of the lamps hanging above them waited for them, casting a warm glow on their faces. They were like characters in a separate story, written in the nooks and crannies of old Venetian backstreets.

- Alex," began Alessandra, her voice gentle but firm. - Before you start. There is something you need to know. Something that will change everything.

- What do you mean? - his heart beat faster, he felt that there was more than a personal confession behind these words.

Something that could reach further, deeper, into the world of mysteries that swept through their lives like the dark waters of a lagoon. The sounds of jazz grew more and more intense. Each note carried the shadow of decades past, echoing conflicts and passions. Bechet put the club into a trance, and the scent wafted through the air, filling the nostrils with a bittersweet aroma, like a memory of something long gone, but still lingering. Alessandra took a deep breath, and her gaze shifted to the misty window, where the shadows of gondolas traversing the canals glimmered behind the glass.

- This city... - she began, as if to draw strength from him. - It hides more than you could ever guess. And we... We are part of that mystery.

Alex felt a shiver run along his spine. Venice, with its dark charm, attracted them like a mythical labyrinth, where every turn hid new danger and the promise of discovery. That night they stood on the brink of something great, and what she was about to confess to him could change not only their lives, but also the future of a city that for centuries had witnessed the strangest intrigues. Suspended between worlds, shrouded in a fog of mystery and the sounds of jazz, it pulsated at night like a living being. During the interwar period, with streets crisscrossing dark canals and bridges leading nowhere, it became a meeting place for people from different eras, nations and destinies. Venice was like a dream that did not want to end, and each of its alleys hid stories of past lovers, political intrigues and forgotten heroes.

The notes, stretched like threads of a spider web, entwined them on all sides, forcing them to think, but also leaving room for anxiety. Alessandra took a deep breath, as if she was about to break through the invisible wall that had stood between them for ages. She looked at Alex, her gaze penetrating him to the depths, as if looking to him for answers to questions she herself was afraid to ask.

- Here we are, together, in Venice. In a place where time blurs and the past never dies. - Her voice was quiet, full of tension. - This is a moment we can't ignore. I have to tell you something, but... fuck, it's so hard.

Her words echoed in Alex's head, like quiet footsteps in a deserted ballroom. For a moment there was silence, disturbed only by the saxophone, spinning a melody about love and loss. Alex looked at her, his heart speeding up.

- Alessandra... - he began, deeply moved by her emotions. - You are more than just a memory of the past to me. I feel we have something in common, something I can't quite understand, but I know it's real. - His voice trembled. - More than three hundred years of acquaintance, and I'm still rediscovering you. You can tell me anything.

Alessandra's smile was light but full of depth, like a shadow flitting across the surface of the water.

- Yes, it's true old grandparents of us, and our life is like a book that we haven't written to the end yet. But there is something you need to know about me.

Their hands joined, and the warmth of their touch brought a kind of relief. Venice, at night, was a place where secrets became bearable, and the weight of past events was transformed into an inescapable destiny.

- I have a daughter," she said quietly, her voice sounding like a string a jazzman would play if he wanted to tell the most difficult story. - Josephine. She was born when we weren't together after that sick argument remember.... When you were fighting in the deserts of Afghanistan and I was trying to understand my life.

Alex felt the blood drain from his face, as if the world around him suddenly froze. He looked at Alessandra, trying to collect his thoughts.

- Josephine...? - he whispered, and his heart began to beat in an accelerated rhythm. - Do you have a daughter?

There was more than surprise in his eyes. It was pain and joy, fighting each other in an unequal duel. Alessandra, seeing his reaction, squeezed his hand tighter.

- Forgive me for not telling you about this earlier," she said, and her voice trembled like a candle in the wind. - I was in a relationship at the time. I wanted to get away from it all. I tried... Damn I really tried with all my might to forget about us. But now... now we are together again, and Josephine is my hope. She is all I have. Understand.

Tears came to her eyes as she spoke these words. Alex took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Something amazing was happening in his mind - images from the past were returning, memories of past battles, faces of dead friends, but now these images began to move aside, giving way to a new understanding.

- Ales," he said quietly, "it doesn't change anything. What you have with Josephine is a part of you. And now that we are together again also a part of me. - He paused for a moment, staring into her eyes. - I want to get to know her. I want us to create something together. Something real.

Alessandra lowered her gaze, feeling that the burden she had carried in her heart for so many years was finally gone. When she looked at Alexa again, hope was painted in her eyes.

- Together? Are you sure we will create a home? For all of us?

- Yes.

At the same moment, the door of the cafe opened with a quiet creak.

A couple - a man and a woman - walked inside, their footsteps echoing across the old marble floors. The woman wore an elegant, dark dress, and her eyes seemed to absorb the light of the lamps, shining like stars in the night sky. A man, tall and mysterious, in a classic suit, held her arm. There was a certain severity in their movements, an indefinable fear, as if they were dragging the darkness of the past behind them. Alex looked at them, unable to look away. Alessandra turned around, also noticing the newcomers.

- It's them... - she whispered, and her eyes widened in fear. - They shouldn't be here.

Alex felt the tension in the air grow. A couple flashed past them without paying attention, but their presence was like a shadow that suddenly obscured all the lights. The music, which had hitherto been a gentle background, now sounded sharper, as if the saxophonist had begun to play on the thin line between life and death.

- Is it happening again? - whispered Alex.

- This is the past," replied Alessandra. - Our past that always finds us. But now... now we have to be strong.

Their hands joined even tighter, and Venice, wrapped in darkness and jazz, welcomed them into its embrace. Outside, the canals murmured quietly, as if the city itself whispered secrets it would never reveal.