Welcome to ¼ of Paradiso 2

7:20 am, North-Side Paradiso.

The sound of a radio cut through the air as I stepped into the apartment building, a medium-sized suitcase trailing behind me. Its tiny wheels glided silently across the flooring. The common area on the first floor wasn’t exactly shabby, but it was clear the interior designer wouldn’t be winning any awards either. It made me curious about what the actual apartment would look like.

“Please welcome on stage, Victor Bell—” a male voice began, only to be abruptly interrupted as the channel switched to a '70s track titled Highway to Hell. I wasn’t much of a music person, not in that sense, but a good melody had its way of sticking with me.

Pretty out of place. Radios usually switch frequencies when the signal dips too low. However, this wasn’t the case as there was zero indication of a weak signal prior to the switch.

“Enough of that nonsense.”

The voice came from an older woman—late sixties, maybe—seated on one of the few scattered benches. Her grey hair was neatly tied into a bun. She had the posture of someone used to being in control of small, specific spaces.

As I stepped closer, her head snapped toward me, eyes sharp, assessing. Then they drifted to the dull grey bag at my side.

“Good morning,” I said, evenly.

She stood with surprising ease. More energy than most people half her age managed on their best day. Not that I was expecting a struggle in that department, as it is on a case-by-case basis.

“Good morning, sir. I take it you’re the new resident Starlite told me to expect?” she asked. Her traje hung loosely from her frame—short, barely 144 centimeters, but she held herself like she took up more space than that.

I paused, then gave a small smile. “Yes. If I’m not mistaken, you’re Mrs. Simona Donati. Please, correct me if I’ve gotten that wrong.”

She gave a slight nod. “But it’s just Miss, thanks to that lousy man,” she said flatly. Her upper lip twitched—I couldn’t tell if it was pure bitterness or sharp disdain.

“Oh, alright, so Miss Donati it is,” I said, tucking away my awkward smile.

“And Dante Makaveli, correct?”

“Sounds just about right.”

“Good. Let’s get you up to date and settled in,” Miss Donati said briskly, picking up what looked like a folded leaflet as she turned on her heel and led the way. I trailed behind, keeping pace.

“Hopefully, you’re not a troublemaker, Mr. Makaveli. I have a very low tolerance for that sort of thing.”

“Troublemaker? I don’t think so. And based on the feedback from Starlite Agency, everything came up clean. I’d hope that should put your mind at ease, at least a little.”

Starlite Agency took its sweet time securing this place. The vetting process dragged on forever, but I eventually convinced them. Even then, they still hit me with a hefty sourcing fee—followed by another one, because apparently, one wasn’t enough. Do these people assume I’m made of money?

Miss Donati clasped her hands behind her back as she continued towards the elevator.

“I’ve dealt with Starlite for years. They’ve sent me excellent residents—on paper. But here’s the thing, Mr. Makaveli: people are rarely what they seem. You only ever know what someone chooses to show you. And in my experience, masks are worn more often than not.”

Masks and people tend to go hand in hand. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Not unless it’s being used to hide something that shouldn’t be hidden. You can still enjoy the party, smile when expected, and play your role. Sometimes the mask just makes things easier.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from bountiful experience, Miss Donati.”

Miss Donati held her head forward.

“Maybe you’re suggesting that, due to my old appearance, I have experience galore—is that it?”

“Of course not. Who said anything about an old appearance? If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would’ve mistaken you for someone in their early forties. What’s your secret?”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Mr. Makaveli. At least not here. I once had a tenant try to lower his rent using that exact approach. Care to guess how that went?”

“You told him the same thing, and both parties had a hearty laugh?”

That seemed like a fair guess.

“The laughter was surely one-sided—he received a five percent increase.”

I gulped.

“Five percent is a hefty amount.”

Actually, what I should be asking is, “Would an increase that much even be legal?” But I already know the answer to that, so let’s not even bother.

“During my self-reflection, I realized the error of my ways and dropped it to four.”

“That doesn’t sound much better, but four is less than five.”

“So, do you understand where I’m getting at, Mr. Makaveli?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

We stepped into a small elevator. She pressed the button for the 5th floor. The thing groaned as it started its slow ascent. Miss Donita handed me that same leaflet from earlier. I took the handout, but didn’t bother opening it.

She clocked this.

“Please note the rules and regulations during your stay here. I expect you to follow them through and through, and through,” she repeated, as if that last one really sealed the deal. “No loud music, no unnecessary noises, no pets, and most importantly—unruly guests.”

Miss Donati didn’t have to worry about the last part, considering I didn’t have any guests to host in the first place. Pros of being a loner and a fresh face to boot.

“Duly noted.”

The elevator doors opened with a heavy ding. We stepped out onto clean marble flooring. I looked around. Four doors. Not exactly the bustling scene they advertised.

She must have clocked the surprised look on my face.

“It seems there was a lack of communication on their end—but that’s okay.”

“Not necessarily—well, the guy did describe it here as a social hub, but clearly he was speaking sarcastically,” I replied, slightly shaking my head in embarrassment.

“I am someone who prefers peace and quiet, so I expect my tenants to be the same.”

“I feel the same way.”

 That was something I meant from the bottom of my heart.

We stopped in front of a wooden door. Number 19 was bolted to the surface. Miss Donita dug into the little pouch she carried and fished out a pair of traditional keys.

Though a lot of modern places rely on keycards now, I still prefer actual keys. Maybe the tech has better security, sure—but there’s something about the weight of a real key that feels more grounding.

“These are yours. And if you lose them, don’t bother coming back. You’ll be homeless, and from what I’ve heard, those streets aren’t a pretty place.”

Homelessness isn’t glamorous by any means—but there’s a strange kind of freedom in it. Not ideal, sure, but freedom all the same. Just not the kind I’m looking for.

“Noted,” I replied, accepting them.

“Also, Mr. Makaveli, please do be aware in Paradiso. That’s my free advice.”

Not sure what Miss Donati meant by that, so I just nodded my head as she turned and headed toward the elevator.

“Time for the fun part,” I muttered to myself before slipping into my new apartment.

Inside wasn’t too bad; it came furnished. A bed over there, a stove here — the usual essentials needed for a comfortable stay.

Luckily, I managed to snag a place like this, since everywhere else was either semi- or unfurnished, which would've meant sleeping on that cold flooring for a while. But hey, if other cultures can do it, why can’t I? Not to mention the several health benefits, like improved sleep quality. Alright, maybe I’m straying a little.

So many things to do—food shopping, for one.

But more importantly: Step one of the extraordinarily comfortable life plan—further education.

I unzipped the suitcase, and a mess of items spilled across the bed—clothes, charger, and toiletries. Sloppy packing job, sure—but I’d crammed everything in, so I considered it a win.

I exhaled a sigh and stared out toward the window.

The day had only just begun.

***

I left the apartment and stepped into the crowded streets, the primavera breeze of southern Europe brushing past me. Citizens moved like clockwork, modern buildings loomed in every direction—clean, sharp, unremarkable. Just like any other city. But what did I know, exactly?

I weaved through the crowd and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a blinking dot and a web of route options. The most time-consuming one cut through the area near Paradiso’s only port—meaning traffic there would be a nightmare.

The bus would arrive in about four minutes. The ride itself? Anywhere from seven to twelve. Everything was on track. Honestly, the hardest part was just keeping up with the public transportation schedule.

“Alright, this is good,” I muttered.

But then, the flow of traffic slowed. The usual buzz of cars cruising by turned into a crawl. An accident, maybe? No sirens. No flashing lights. Didn’t feel serious.

The cause revealed itself soon enough—two dozen officers in maroon uniforms and navy pants, stopping cars for random checks. Great. Just what I needed.

I didn’t realize I’d slowed down until I glanced at my phone again.

Two minutes behind schedule.

I picked up the pace, weaving through the crowd like a madman—just in time to see my bus pull away from the curb at full speed.

I stood still as the taillights disappeared from my vision.

What a great start to the day!

Two options: wait for another bus or waste money on a taxi.

There was a third. Walking. Which would leave me sweaty and late—probably for nothing. I looked around. A free taxi sat just up ahead, seemingly waiting for me.

Just as I took a step toward it, a girl in a wolf-gray baseball cap slipped into my path. In one swift motion, she glanced at me, then at the cab.

We both picked up the pace. A silent agreement. This was an unexpected race.

We reached it at the same time, each with a hand on opposite door handles.

“I was here first,” she said.

“Is that right? Doesn’t look like it to me,” I replied, calm as usual.

She shot me a glare; her emerald eyes shone with a certain sharpness.

“I’m positive,” she said coolly. “No proof, of course—your word against mine. But that alone should give me a landslide victory.”

“And you are?” I inquired.

She adjusted her cap. “Doesn’t matter. This is my taxi. So, shoo.”

“Shoo?” I blinked. “I’m not some bird. But more importantly—nah.”

We locked eyes. Silent standoff. Neither of us is budging. Before it got dumber, the cabbie stepped out, annoyed.

“Hey! You hiring me or not?”

“I’d like to,” the girl said, shooting me a side-eye.

“Same here.”

The driver glanced between us. “Why not just share the ride?”

Logical suggestion, but most people liked their space. Me? As long as I wasn’t getting elbowed, I didn’t care.

She pulled her cap lower. “I prefer to ride alone.”

“Sharing’s fine. I’m already late to my university orientation,” I said, half-truth.

Her eyes flickered upon hearing those words. Something had shifted, I guess.

“Lakeridge University?” she asked.

“Possibly...?”

 The first try spot-on guess threw me for a loop.

Her expression relaxed, well, just a bit that is.

“We can share. Just this once and nothing more.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t repeat myself,” she said flatly, already sliding into the car.

The cabbie tapped the roof. “Come on, kid. You heard the senorita.”

I got in on the right side as she occupied the left. Plenty of space in between us, just the way I like things to be. The driver played with the radio before settling on a dreary station and then completely focusing on the road.

“In the upcoming months, Paradiso’s city board will see elections—” I yawned, tuning out the rest. Pretty much all of it was a meaningless bore if you were to ask me.

The girl pulled out a book. The Brothers Karamazov. It’s quite the heavy read to an extent. Was it for a class, or was she just that kind of person?

The faint scent of cherry blossom perfume tickled my nose as she flipped through the pages. I must have stared for too long, because she caught my eye and gave me a look that said, “Stop being weird.”

I turned to the window. She kept reading. Still, I could feel her glancing at me like I was an itch she couldn’t reach. Eventually, the car stopped. My stop transmuted into our stop. Can’t say I foresaw this turn of events.

We both paid, stepped out at the same time as the capped stranger walked a few steps ahead, then stopped abruptly.

“You there.”

I paused mid-step.

“Mm?”

Her platinum-blonde hair swayed in the breeze as she planted a hand on her hip. For a second, the only word that came to mind was krásne.

“Did he send you to tail me?” she asked, voice sharp as broken glass.

“Tail you...?”

We both completely locked eyes for the first time. The intensity of her stare increased tremendously; it could almost be compared to a wild beast looking down on prey, which is contrary to her porcelain doll-esque appearance.

“You’re the third one in the last three months. It’s getting old now. That man is just wasting my time and his money.”

I gave a blank stare. 

What the hell was she talking about?

“Forget everything I just said.” She sighed in annoyance as other attendees began to appear from the opposite direction.

And just like that, she walked off—like she hadn’t just accused me of espionage on a random Monday morning.

I followed her inside, with a bit of a stagger in my step. Just what was that interaction? But I’d hate for this to set the tone of my ongoing day.