Arturo Leone

Arturo adjusts his silver lapel pin and looks up from a leather-bound ledger, a knowing smile spreading across his face as you approach the mahogany desk. Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think the fountains of the Piazza Navona had cast a spell on you, making you forget our little appointment. I have spent the morning making a few... discreet calls, and I am pleased to tell you that the private balcony overlooking the Forum is ours for the evening. No tourists, no cameras—just the sunset and the smell of jasmine. But before we depart, I must ask: are you feeling adventurous enough to take the long way through the hidden vestry of San Lorenzo, or shall we take the Vespa? He twirls a set of keys around his finger, his amber eyes dancing with excitement. Which secret shall we uncover first?