#italian gate motors

[keyautomations-blog]

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[aaronjarnigan]

Attended the Chattanooga Motor Car Festival today to visit with friends and get to see this exact car in person. I went to go through the gate and they said I had to leave my camera in the car because I didn’t have a media pass. It just so happened that on the way back to the car, guess what was getting unloaded? I think I was the only one to capture the only time this car will be unloaded this weekend. A very special moment for me, please enjoy!

[quikoitaly]

Quiko, Italian Brand of ➕ Gate & Door operators ➕ Roller shutter motors ➕ Automatic Barriers & Bollards 📷 Tag your installations 👇 @quikoitalyautomation . . #quikoitaly #gateopeners #electricgates #madeinitaly🇮🇹 #italian #italy #madeinitaly #automaticgates #automation #gate #swing #motors #openers #sliding #slide #barriers #slidinggateopeners #slidinggatemotors #slidinggateoperators #swinggateopeners #swinggatemotors #swinggateoperators #automaticbollards #securitybollard . quikoitaly, gate openers, electric gates, made in italy, 🇮🇹 ,italian, italy, made in italy, automatic gates, automation, gate, swing motors, openers ,sliding ,slide ,barriers ,sliding gate openers, sliding gate motors, sliding gate operators, swing gate openers, swing gate motors, swing gate operators, automatic bollards , security bollard https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp51gShtJpM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[noralia20]

Midnight encounter- Part 1

So here's a little mafia AU, I couldn't see anything else when I saw him in the maserati ad (oh mah god).

I did that last may, I don’t know if I’ll do a second part for now. I don’t have time, plus I wanna see if it reaches a public.

Anyway, enjoy !

Words count : 11k

Being a student wasn't too tough, especially when you adored what you were studying. As a French student specializing in pathology, it always raised a few eyebrows when you introduced yourself as someone fixated on uncovering the stories of the deceased. But for you, it was a passion, especially when it involved unraveling the mysteries behind crimes. You had a unique background; born in Florencia, you were half French and half Italian. Shortly after your birth, your mother persuaded your father to relocate to Paris, where her family resided. Despite the emotional strain it placed on your father to leave his homeland, he agreed, and thus, you grew up as a French girl with a sprinkle of Italian influence, thanks to your father's heritage. Summers were spent in Italy, soaking up the culture and basking in the warmth of your Italian roots. Lately, however, you found yourself succumbing to a creeping sense of burnout, a consequence of pushing yourself too hard. Recognizing the signs, your parents intervened and decided it was time for a change of scenery. Reluctantly, you accepted their decision, grumbling all the way, but secretly acknowledging the necessity of a break. So, with a mix of protest and resignation, you boarded a plane in Paris bound for Rome, where your sweet grandmother awaited. Despite your initial resistance, deep down, you knew that this trip held the promise of much-needed rejuvenation and a chance to reconnect with your Italian heritage.

As you scanned the bustling crowd of people eagerly awaiting their loved ones at the gates, your heart quickened with anticipation. Amidst the sea of faces, you finally spotted her, your grandmother, her hand waving above the throng as she pushed through the crowd, calling out your name in that unmistakable Italian tone that echoed with memories of your father. It had been five long years since you last saw her, the summers of your youth now overshadowed by the demands of your studies. You navigated your way through the crowd, dragging your luggage behind you, and soon found yourself enveloped in her warm embrace. Beside her stood one of your dad's cousins, ready to assist with your luggage. With a smile, he took your bags, and your grandmother immediately took your hand, leading you through the bustling airport towards her car.There it was, the familiar sight of her sweet little red car, a relic from your childhood that had somehow defied the odds and continued to run. You chuckled to yourself, thinking that surely by now the old motor would have given out, but it seemed to possess a stubborn resilience, much like your grandmother herself. Together, you all climbed into the car, settling into the well-worn seats as your grandmother embarked on a flurry of questions, each one delivered in rapid-fire Italian. Gratefully, you responded, slipping effortlessly back into the rhythms of the language, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you embarked on the journey towards your grandmother's house.

Stepping out of the car, you took a moment to absorb the familiar sights and sounds of your grandmother's neighborhood. The air was filled with the gentle hum of life, the scent of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby kitchens, and the soft chatter of neighbors exchanging pleasantries. It was as if time stood still in this quaint corner of Rome, untouched by the passage of years.Your grandmother tossed you the keys with a knowing smile, urging her nephew to hasten with your luggage. With a grateful nod, you caught the keys and made your way towards the small house that held so many memories. It stood as a testament to your grandmother's resilience and love, where she had raised not only her own children but also helped shape the lives of her grandchildren. Entering the cozy abode, you were greeted by the familiar sights and smells of home. The walls seemed to echo with the laughter of generations past, the worn furniture bearing witness to countless family gatherings and shared meals. This was the place where your father had grown up, where your own roots were firmly planted in the rich soil of family tradition and love.

Ascending the stairs to what used to be the girls' room but was now your vacation sanctuary, you couldn't help but notice how much smaller it seemed now. The bed, though old and well-used, still exuded a comforting coziness that beckoned you to rest. Your eyes wandered to the photos adorning the walls, each one a precious memento of summers spent in the embrace of family and tradition.

A dress lay delicately atop the bed, accompanied by a note from your grandmother. "Spero che sia la tua taglia," it read. You couldn't help but smile at her straightforwardness. The dress, a beautiful floral creation, seemed to beckon to you, offering a reprieve from the mundanity of your current attire. With a quick shower, you slipped into the garment, marveling at how perfectly it fit as if it were tailor-made for you. The fabric flowed around you with effortless grace, just as you liked it. Admiring your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but marvel at your grandmother's intuition. How had she known the exact size to choose? Lost in thought, you were startled by her voice calling you downstairs to greet some of her sisters. Descending the stairs, you found yourself enveloped in a whirlwind of Italian hospitality, as cousins and uncles filled every corner of the house. From the kitchen to the living room, the dining room to the garden, the air buzzed with animated conversations and laughter, reminiscent of the familial warmth you had grown accustomed to in France. Embracing each of your relatives in turn, you found yourself slipping effortlessly back into the rhythms of Italian conversation, your language skills returning with each passing moment.

As your grandmother managed to usher out the last of the visiting relatives with her characteristic determination, you both finally found a moment of solitude. Taking a sip of water to quench your thirst, she broached the idea of taking a stroll through the city before the sun set. "Vuoi fare un giro per la città prima che tramonti il sole? Ho alcuni posti da mostrarti," she proposed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. The idea of exploring Rome with her filled you with excitement, and you readily agreed. Quickly slipping on a pair of shoes, you followed her lead as you ventured out into the bustling streets of Rome. It felt like a journey back in time as she guided you to places you had frequented as a child, from the serene park where you had played to the majestic fountain where you had made countless wishes. Your eyes lit up with delight when you spotted a vendor selling gelato, and before you could protest, your grandmother was already making her way towards the tempting display. "Prendiamone un po'," she declared with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Nonna! Non è necessario..." you began to protest, but she silenced you with a wave of her hand. "Silenzio, voglio anch'io il gelato," she insisted, her infectious energy contagious as she stood there, undeterred by any protestations. You couldn't help but smile at her antics, marveling at her unwavering spirit and zest for life. Despite the passage of time, she remained a beacon of strength and vitality, a reminder of the enduring bonds of family and the joy found in the simple pleasures of life.

An unexpected collision jolted you out of your reverie, and as you turned to voice your protest, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. Taller than you, with long sandy blond hair that cascaded around his tired blue eyes, he cut an enigmatic figure against the backdrop of the bustling street. Dressed in black despite the sweltering heat, he seemed out of place, an anomaly amidst the vibrant colors of Rome. His gaze briefly met yours, sending a shiver down your spine before he uttered a simple "scusi" and continued on his way, leaving you standing there, momentarily stunned. As he disappeared into the nearby alley, a cold chill lingered in the air, and you realized you had been holding your breath without even realizing it. Glancing back at the alley where he had vanished, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach. Who was he, and why did his presence leave such a lingering sense of disquiet?

Shaking your head to dispel the lingering unease, you turned back to your grandmother, who had paused to wait for you.

"Everything okay, cara?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern as she noticed the slight tremor in your voice.You nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. "Just a little startled, nonna. Let's keep going," you replied, eager to put the strange encounter behind you. But despite your attempts to brush it off, the memory of the man with the tired blue eyes lingered in the back of your mind, casting a shadow over the rest of your evening stroll through the streets of Rome.

A few days had passed since the unsettling encounter on the street, and now it was Friday evening, and you found yourself dining with your grandmother. When she declared, "Andare fuori stasera," it wasn't a suggestion but a command, and you knew better than to argue. Anticipating your hesitation, she preemptively addressed your concerns, telling you, "Ho lasciato qualcosa sul tuo letto, mettitelo e non svegliarmi quando torni," before whisking away your plate with a playful wink. You couldn't help but smile at her knowing gesture as you hurried upstairs. There, laid out on your bed, was a stunning silver sparkly dress accompanied by matching heels. It wasn't your typical attire, but you knew better than to refuse your grandmother's fashion choices. Trying it on, you marveled once again at how perfectly it fit, as if it were tailor-made for you. With your outfit sorted, you turned your attention to finding a suitable destination for the evening. A quick search led you to The Marlena, a nightclub that seemed both selective and promising. Though your intention wasn't to meet someone, but rather to enjoy the company of friends and lose yourself in the rhythm of the music. Applying makeup, you focused on accentuating your eyes, knowing that the dim lighting of the club would work in your favor. With your preparations complete, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through you as you prepared to embark on a uber towards a night of adventure and possibility.

The sight of The Marlena nightclub left you breathless, its façade a stunning amalgamation of gold, black, and red hues that beckoned to revelers from far and wide. A long queue of eager patrons awaited entry, flanked by imposing bouncers guarding the entrance. However, your moment of awe was abruptly interrupted as someone collided with you, causing you to drop your bag. Turning to confront the source of the disturbance, you were met with a drunken girl who hurled curses at you in Italian before being forcibly ejected from the club by the bouncers. As you stooped to retrieve your bag, you noticed a VIP badge lying next to it. For a moment, you contemplated returning it to the girl, but the combination of the long queue, the insult, and perhaps a bit of sinful temptation led you to reconsider. With a decisive gesture, you pocketed the badge and confidently presented yourself at the VIP line. The bouncer eyed you skeptically, assessing your appearance and the badge you offered. Holding his gaze with unwavering determination, you silently dared him to refuse you entry. After a tense moment, he relented, granting you access with a stern warning: "No photos inside, or out forever." With a nod of acknowledgment, you stepped through the velvet ropes, leaving behind the clamor of the crowd and stepping into the pulsating heart of The Marlene. Tonight, you would embrace the thrill of the forbidden, relishing in the excitement of the unknown as you surrendered yourself to the allure of the night.

As you explored the expansive interior of The Marlena, you couldn't help but be captivated by its grandeur. Multiple levels towered above you, each offering a unique perspective of the bustling nightclub below. Your eyes lingered on the dance floor, where revelers moved in synchrony to the pulsating rhythm of the music, their movements exuding a raw energy that seemed to infuse the very air. However, your newfound VIP status afforded you a glimpse into a world beyond the ordinary. Your gaze was drawn to a staircase marked "VIP," leading to a secluded level adorned with a magnificent glass balcony.

Your eyes followed the staircase that led to the VIP section, tracing its path until they settled on a secluded level with a grand glass balcony. There, perched like an angel surveying the chaos below, was a blond girl with an air of both innocence and mischief. Her gaze met yours, and you found yourself captivated by the intensity of her blue eyes, like she knew people were watching and she was enjoying it. She exuded an otherworldly aura, her wavy blond hair framing her face in a halo of light. Yet, despite her angelic appearance, there was a hint of darkness in the way she carried herself, a subtle defiance that added to her allure. As she smirked in amusement at your mutual acknowledgment, you realized that she, like you, was not a typical Italian but someone from elsewhere. In that fleeting moment of connection, you nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between you. However, before you could dwell further on the enigmatic encounter, another woman with short brown hair appeared and kissed the blond girl, breaking the spell. With a determined resolve, you tore your gaze away and made your way towards the VIP section, eager to explore the levels beyond the dance floor and delve deeper into the mysteries of the night. There was an undeniable allure to the ethereal atmosphere of the upper levels, and you were ready to embrace whatever secrets they held.

Ascending the stairs into the VIP section felt like stepping into another realm entirely, one where opulence and extravagance reigned supreme. Every surface was adorned with luxurious materials-leather, velvet, and gold-that spoke of wealth beyond measure. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the dance floor below, and for a moment, you felt like a mere pauper in comparison. However, you refused to let yourself be intimidated by the grandeur surrounding you. With a determined stride, you entered the lavish space, adorned in your own semblance of elegance with your black lace gloves. Despite your efforts to blend in, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in this world where people seemed to care only for themselves. As you observed the elite gathering, you noticed that they were engaged in leisurely pursuits-talking, gambling, smoking, and sipping on expensive drinks. It was a scene straight out of a decadent fantasy, where indulgence knew no bounds and money flowed like water. Yet, amidst the extravagance, there lingered an unspoken question: where did all this wealth come from?Making your way towards the glass balcony, you found yourself drawn to the breathtaking view it offered. From this elevated vantage point, you could see the dance floor below, where the masses moved like mere mortals in comparison to the gods of the VIP section above. It was a stark reminder of the stark divide between the haves and the have-nots, a world where money wielded power beyond measure. Lost in contemplation, you couldn't help but wonder about the origins of this wealth and the true cost of such decadence. But for now, you pushed aside your thoughts and allowed yourself to be swept away by the allure of the night, embracing the intoxicating atmosphere of luxury and excess as you navigated the intricate web of intrigue and desire that surrounded you.

Feeling a sense of detachment from the opulent surroundings of the VIP section, you resolved to immerse yourself in the scene unfolding before you. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, an intruder in a world where every move seemed orchestrated with precision. As you observed the elite clientele around you, you couldn't help but notice that you were the only one without a drink in hand. Determined to blend in, you made your way to the bar and ordered a Negroni, watching intently as the skilled bartender prepared your drink with practiced expertise. It was as if every action in the room was meticulously calculated, as though everyone was on edge, fearing the gaze of some unseen authority figure-perhaps the owner of this lavish establishment. Your gaze wandered, and you couldn't help but notice a room concealed behind a heavy velvet curtain. Intrigued, you turned to the bartender and inquired about its purpose. His raised eyebrow and teasing tone suggested that you were indeed new to this environment. "It's where the owner hosts his gambling sessions," he explained casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence. You strained to catch a glimpse of the mysterious room, and as someone slipped through the curtain, the bartender warned you against staring too intently. "Don't stare too much, you'll be hypnotized to go in," he remarked with a hint of warning in his voice. Perplexed, you pressed him for more information."People come here with financial troubles, hoping to win against the owner," he elaborated, his voice tinged with a note of caution. "But if they lose, the owner claims a stake in their existence, ensuring that they are forever indebted to him." His words hung in the air, casting a shadow over the seemingly glamorous façade of the nightclub. As he resumed his duties, wiping down a glass with practiced ease, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine. The allure of the VIP section suddenly seemed less enticing, overshadowed by the darker undercurrents that lurked beneath the surface.

The bartender's words sent a chill down your spine, shattering the illusion of glamour that had initially drawn you into this world of excess. As you attempted to process his warning, he continued, his tone grave and knowing. "Let me tell you, that usually doesn't end well," he cautioned, his words echoing ominously in the air. It was a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of this seemingly opulent world.Lost in thought, you began to study the faces around you, contemplating the hidden struggles and desires that drove these individuals to seek refuge in the intoxicating allure of the nightclub. However, before you could delve deeper into your observations, the bartender interrupted, his voice cutting through your reverie. "Don't get me wrong, most people here know better than to play the owner's game," he explained, his gaze piercing through your facade with unsettling clarity. "The players are usually from your world, the downstairs level." His words struck a nerve, and you felt a surge of panic rising within you as you realized that your cover had been blown. How could he have known? "The downstairs level- how did you-" you began, but the bartender's smirk quickly faded into a sober expression. "I know girls like you," he replied cryptically, his eyes reflecting a lifetime of experiences that you could only begin to imagine. "And trust me, sweetheart, there's only one winner in the game you're currently playing. And right now, you're not winning. Get out of here and don't look back." With a sense of urgency, he slid your drink across the bar towards you, his gesture a silent command to leave before it was too late. "Trust me," he added, his voice tinged with a note of solemnity, "coming from a guy who has seen way too many things around here. On the house." And with that, he turned away, attending to another patron, leaving you to grapple with the unsettling realization that you had stumbled into a world far more dangerous than you had ever imagined.

As you sipped your Negroni, contemplating your next move, you were interrupted by the intrusive presence of a man who seemed to exude entitlement with every fiber of his being. His overly confident smile and condescending tone immediately put you on edge, a reminder of the type of men you had encountered all too often in this world of privilege and excess."Buonasera signorina," he greeted you with a singsong lilt, his words dripping with arrogance. You forced a polite smile in response, though every fiber of your being rebelled against the notion of engaging with him any further. "Good evening, sir," you replied tersely, hoping to convey your lack of interest in further conversation. However, his smile only widened in response, and you cursed yourself for responding at all. "So, you can speak," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. "I've been watching you, and you haven't spoken a word since you arrived." Your heart sank at the realization that you had become the subject of scrutiny among the elite patrons of the nightclub. It was a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that accompanied every move in this world of wealth and privilege. "It's because I only speak when necessary," you retorted, your words tinged with thinly veiled disdain. "No need to waste oxygen on meaningless conversations."

The man's smile faltered for a moment, his confidence momentarily shaken by your blunt response. However, he quickly regained his composure, his eyes narrowing as he studied you intently. "A woman of few words, I see," he mused, his tone laced with thinly veiled condescension. "Perhaps you're more interesting than you appear." You bristled at his insinuation, but before you could formulate a response, he extended his hand towards you. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alessandro," he declared, his voice smooth and practiced. Reluctantly, you accepted his handshake, inwardly cursing your predicament. It seemed that the night was far from over, and you found yourself reluctantly drawn into a conversation with a man whose intentions remained shrouded in mystery.

"A negroni ? Usually ladies take some red wine." The man's teasing remark about your choice of drink made you feel even more uneasy, as if he were probing for vulnerabilities to exploit. You tried to maintain your composure, but his proximity and persistent questioning made you feel increasingly uncomfortable. "Maybe because I'm not like any lady," you retorted, hoping to deter his advances, but to your dismay, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of backing off, he leaned in closer, his presence invading your personal space. "Oh really? I'd like to know more about that," he replied, his tone dripping with intrigue as he closed the distance between you. You forced a smile, trying to mask your unease as you reluctantly engaged in conversation. "But you never told me your name, sweet one," he continued, seemingly oblivious to—or perhaps intentionally ignoring—your attempts to create distance. "I'm Y/n," you responded curtly, hoping to maintain a sense of detachment while still playing along with his game. However, his response only served to deepen your discomfort. "Y/n... Well, allow me to share a drink with you," he declared. Before you could protest, he slid into the seat beside you, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Feeling increasingly trapped, you took a sip of your Negroni in an attempt to steady your nerves. His next comment caught you off guard, causing you to almost choke on your drink. "Something on my face?" you asked, trying to maintain a semblance of composure despite the rising sense of panic. "No, you just don't look like you're from around here," he remarked casually, his words sending a chill down your spine. It seemed that everyone in this world had a radar for outsiders, and you were beginning to realize that blending in might be harder than you had initially anticipated.

"What tells you that ?" you try to keep your voice steady. "I don't know, it comes off of your irresistible aura." He answers winking. As Alessandro continued to flirt with you, his words veiled in charm but his intentions unmistakably predatory, you searched desperately for an escape route. The layout of the nightclub offered no respite—the restrooms were located on the opposite side of the room, far from the exit, and you lacked the pretext of meeting friends to justify your departure. Trapped in this unwanted exchange, you struggled to maintain a façade of composure, all the while cursing your predicament.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself, Alessandro?" you interjected, hoping to redirect the conversation and buy yourself some time. You knew all too well that men like him loved to talk about themselves, and you hoped that indulging his ego might provide you with an opportunity to slip away unnoticed. “Well, I'm the son of a caporegime," he began, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. Mentions of being the son of a "caporegime" left you puzzled, but you dared not ask for clarification, fearing that it might expose your ignorance and blow your cover. Instead, you listened attentively as he regaled you with tales of his family's wealth and influence, boasting of their ownership of Italian vineyards and their esteemed status among the top producers of wine in the world. Throughout his monologue, Alessandro's hand wandered, subtly but persistently, until it came to rest on your knee. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you resisted the urge to recoil, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression even as his fingers began to inch upward, tracing a path along your thigh. Despite your mounting discomfort, you knew that any overt rejection or attempt to escape could provoke a dangerous reaction from Alessandro. So, with a sense of resignation, you continued to feign interest in his stories, all the while plotting your next move and praying for an opportunity to extricate yourself from his grasp.

Feeling increasingly cornered by Alessandro's advances, you desperately searched for a way to escape his grasp. The bartender, who had offered a brief respite from Alessandro's unwelcome attention, was nowhere to be found, leaving you feeling utterly alone and vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment. Your heart raced as Alessandro called your name, his voice dripping with arrogance and entitlement. Startled, you turned to face him, hoping to maintain a façade of composure despite the rising sense of panic within you. "I'm sorry?" you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to find the right words to rebuff his advances. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he repeated his proposition, his hand squeezing your thigh possessively. "You could come and see my manor next to the vines," he murmured, his words laced with a thinly veiled threat. "I'm sure the view would please you." Panic surged through you as he continued to press closer, his proximity suffocating. "N-No, that wouldn't be necessary," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you attempted to maintain a semblance of composure. But Alessandro seemed undeterred by your feeble protestations, his confidence only growing as he whispered in your ear, his words sending a shiver of revulsion down your spine. "Don't play hard, bella," he whispered, his hand grazing up your thigh as he insinuated his intentions. "I have a room upstairs, but I don't remember the number. Wanna help me find it?" You recoiled at his touch, feeling utterly helpless and petrified by the realization of your predicament. Trapped in this dangerous game with no means of escape, you struggled to find a way out of this nightmare, praying for a miracle to intervene and rescue you from Alessandro's clutches.

Suddenly, a throat cleared behind you, causing Alessandro to halt his advances and visibly tense. His expression shifted from annoyance to fear as he turned to face the source of the interruption, ready to curse whoever dared to intrude on his plans. But as he caught sight of the figure behind you, his fiery demeanor melted away, leaving him pale and trembling. As Alessandro's demeanor shifted from aggression to abject fear, you felt a surge of relief wash over you at the arrival of this mysterious figure. With Alessandro's attention now diverted, you seized the opportunity to distance yourself from him, discreetly inching away from his grasp.

"D-Don..." he stammered out, his voice barely above a whisper as he retreated from you, his bravado crumbling in the presence of the newcomer. The title sparked a flicker of recognition in your mind, but before you could fully grasp its significance, the man behind you spoke up. "I'm surprised to see you here, Ales," he remarked, his voice grave and tinged with a pronounced Italian accent. "I thought I made it clear to your father that you shouldn't be anywhere near my business. Or would you dare to disobey me?" Alessandro's response was immediate and deferential, his words choked out as if each syllable caused him physical pain. "Of course not, boss! I was only passing by to deliver an envelope to a capo," he explained hastily, his tone betraying a mixture of fear and regret.

You watched in stunned silence as the power dynamics shifted before your eyes, realizing that you had unwittingly stumbled into a confrontation between two powerful figures in this shadowy world. As the gravity of the situation sank in, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mingled with apprehension, uncertain of what lay ahead in this dangerous game of power and intrigue.

You didn't dare to turn around to face your savior, afraid to intrude on the unfolding confrontation between him and Alessandro. Instead, you remained rooted in place, listening intently as the man's commanding voice filled the air, his words carrying a weight of authority that left no room for argument. "Then what are you still doing here? Bothering one of my guests, I might add," he remarked, his tone dropping to a lower octave, sending a shiver down your spine. Alessandro attempted to stammer out some words of excuse, but his feeble protests were quickly dismissed by the man's stern rebuke. Summoning your courage, you finally turned around to face your savior, your breath catching in your throat as you took in his commanding presence.

He stood before you, tall and statuesque, his dark hair slicked back in a tousled style that added to his rugged charm. His attire exuded an effortless sophistication, a black shirt with a few buttons undone hinting at a casual elegance that suited him perfectly. But it was his eyes that drew you in, pools of molten gold that sparkled with intelligence and depth, captivating you with their intensity. There was a warmth in his gaze, an invitation to trust and confide, that made you feel instantly at ease in his presence. As you observed him, you couldn't help but be struck by his aura of charisma, a magnetic energy that seemed to radiate from every pore. Yet, beneath the surface, there was a hint of vulnerability, a furrowed brow that spoke of inner turmoil and conflict. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was an undeniable magnetism about him, a captivating allure that left you breathless in his presence. And as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a stirring within your soul, a sense of connection that transcended words and spoke to something deeper within you.

As your savior's gaze briefly crossed yours, you detected a subtle shift in his expression, a fleeting glimpse of something indefinable that seemed to flicker and fade in an instant. But before you could decipher the meaning behind the change, his eyes grew dark once more as he assessed the scene before him with a cool detachment. With a nod towards one of the men at his side, he gave a silent command, and they moved swiftly to handle the situation. Alessandro was roughly seized by the shoulder, his protests falling on deaf ears as he was dragged away from the scene. You watched in silence as he disappeared from view, feeling a mixture of relief and unease at the abrupt turn of events. As the commotion died down and the party resumed its festivities, you couldn't help but feel a sense of embarrassment wash over you. All eyes seemed to be on you, and you wished nothing more than to disappear into the shadows and escape the scrutiny of the crowd. Sensing your discomfort, your savior turned his attention back to you, his demeanor softened slightly as he addressed you directly. "I'm sorry he bothered you," he apologized, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "I had made sure my bouncers wouldn't let him in. Turns out I wasn't specific enough." Your savior's steely gaze bore down on one of his bodyguards, who lowered his eyes in shame under the weight of his employer's disapproval.

You felt a pang of sympathy for the man as he apologized, recognizing that he was shouldering the responsibility for his subordinates' oversight. However, you quickly reminded yourself of the role you needed to play and the necessity of leaving as soon as possible without causing offense. "It's no worries, truly," you reassured him, offering a small smile of gratitude for his concern. You reached for your Negroni, intending to take a sip to calm your nerves. As you prepared to take a sip of your Negroni, a hand suddenly snatched the glass from your grasp, causing you to startle in surprise. You looked up to see your savior's concerned expression as he inspected the contents of the drink. "No, it's spiked," he stated firmly, his voice laced with urgency as he gently placed the glass back onto the table. With practiced efficiency, he produced a small vial containing a red powder and poured it into your drink, the telltale sign of an unwanted substance detected.

Your stomach churned with disgust and horror as you realized the implications of his actions. Alessandro must have spiked your drink while you were distracted, a sinister attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. The thought sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards your savior for intervening before it was too late.With a grimace of disgust, you pushed the tainted drink aside, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you at the mere thought of consuming it. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the danger lurking in the shadows of this glamorous facade, and you resolved to remain vigilant and cautious in this unfamiliar world of power and intrigue.

You blushed at your own clumsiness, feeling embarrassed by your lack of awareness in such a sophisticated setting. Turning back to your savior, you struggled to find the right words to express your gratitude, stumbling over your words as you realized you didn't even know his name. "Thank you, again... sir, Don..." you began, your voice trailing off uncertainly as you faltered over his title. His reaction caught you off guard, his eyes widening before he erupted into a warm, hearty laugh that filled the air with its infectious warmth. "No need for such formalities, signora," he reassured you, his laughter subsiding into a gentle chuckle as he regarded you with amusement. Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson at his easy demeanor, feeling out of place amidst his effortless charm. "You're not used to these kinds of events, are you?" he asked softly, his tone now gentle and understanding, a stark contrast to his previous stern demeanor. You shook your head slightly, feeling a pang of insecurity at being so transparently out of your depth. "No," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence. He simply nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "I figured. But don't worry, people around us are just putting on airs. They may act like they know what they're doing, but deep down, they're just as unsure as you are." His words offered a small comfort, easing some of the tension that had coiled in your stomach. You met his gaze once more, finding solace in the warmth and kindness reflected in his eyes.

"And I won't bite you, miss..." he trailed off, waiting for you to fill in the blank. And as he waited patiently for your response, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude towards this enigmatic stranger who had shown you nothing but kindness and understanding in your moment of need.

As the need for an excuse pressed upon you, the memory of the badge flashed in your mind, providing you with a convenient alias: Bianca Mazzoti. Gathering your wits, you confidently supplied the name to your savior. "Mazzoti, Y/n Mazzoti," you declared, hoping to deflect any further inquiries with a semblance of authority. He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly lost in contemplation. "I had no idea Mazzoti had another daughter. You don't look anything like Bianca," he remarked, his gaze piercing as he studied you intently. You maintained your composure, weaving a web of lies with practiced ease. "Mr. Mazzoti adopted me when I was sixteen. I only take Bianca's place when she cannot attend to certain obligations," you explained smoothly, your words flowing like silk.His curiosity seemed piqued by your revelation, prompting him to delve deeper into your past. "Which explains why you're not used to this. Where were you born? I sense a familiar accent," he inquired, his tone gentle yet probing. The truth was tempting, but you knew better than to reveal your true origins in this precarious situation. Instead, you offered a half-truth, drawing upon your French heritage for a convincing answer. "Florence," you replied, the name slipping effortlessly from your lips. It wasn't a complete lie, but it veiled the truth behind a facade of ambiguity. "La Bella Firenze," he mused in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he contemplated your response. You breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve as you navigated the delicate dance of deception in this intricate game of intrigue.

As the realization dawned upon you that you still did not know his name, you decided to take a bold step and inquire about it. After all, if he had asked for your name, it seemed only fair that he reciprocate. "You asked me my name. Wouldn't it be formal for you to give me yours?" you ventured cautiously, aware of the potential risk in probing further. His men visibly tensed at your words, their eyes darting nervously as they awaited his response.His gaze intensified, the golden flecks in his eyes shimmering with an otherworldly brilliance as he regarded you with a penetrating stare. For a moment, the air crackled with tension, the weight of his scrutiny bearing down upon you like a heavy cloak. Finally, he spoke, his voice resonating with quiet authority as he revealed his name to you. "You can call me Damiano," he declared, his words carrying a weight of significance that left you breathless with anticipation.You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his response. Nodding in acknowledgement, you mentally filed away his name, committing it to memory for future reference.In a swift motion, he flicked his finger, summoning a nearby barman who swiftly brought two cups of champagne to the table. You watched in astonishment as the bartender moved with lightning speed, awed by the seamless efficiency with which Damiano commanded the room.As you sipped your champagne, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer power and presence that emanated from Damiano. Like Hades presiding over the realm of the underworld, he seemed to wield an invisible authority that permeated every corner of the room. The comparison to Hades sparked a curious thought in your mind, and as you studied Damiano's flawless features—the dark eyes, the tousled hair, the enigmatic smile—you couldn't help but see echoes of the mythical deity in his demeanor. There was a certain allure to him, a magnetic charisma that drew you in and left you captivated by his enigmatic presence.

As you zoned out, lost in your thoughts, Damiano's voice jolted you back to the present moment. You blinked, realizing that you had been staring at him absentmindedly. Flustered, you attempted to regain your composure. "Oh, nothing, just thinking," you stammered out, hoping to mask your momentary lapse in attention. Damiano's lips twitched with amusement, and he coughed lightly to hide a laugh before shifting the conversation to a different topic. "So you're only here to replace Bianca. What do you do in life?" he inquired, his gaze fixed intently on you as he awaited your response. “I-I’m a violinist.” That wasn’t truly a lie. You were one, and was part of an orchestra. But your main life was being a student, but he didn’t need to know that.

Damiano's eyes flicked down to your fingertips, where faint dents marred the skin—a telltale sign of years spent mastering the instrument. His keen observation did not go unnoticed, and you couldn't help but tense slightly at his perceptive gaze. "Which explains the small dents on your fingertips. It could be mistaken for the calluses of a habitual gun holder," he remarked casually, his words sending a chill down your spine. The implication behind his observation was clear, and you found yourself growing increasingly wary of this enigmatic man before you. As a future forensic doctor, you were well-versed in analyzing physical evidence, but to have your own marks scrutinized in such a manner by a simple nightclub CEO left you feeling unsettled.

"Usually, people don't pick up on it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to mask your unease. "Are you perhaps a musician too?" you ventured, hoping to divert the conversation away from his unsettling observation. Damiano took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable as he considered your question. "Some of my close friends would say so. My best musical arm would be my voice," he answered cryptically, his words tinged with a hint of mystery. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Damiano than met the eye. As you studied him, you couldn't help but wonder about the secrets that lurked beneath his polished exterior, and the true extent of his power and influence in this shadowy world of intrigue and deception. "Ooh, a singer?" you echoed, the hint of amusement in Damiano's tone contagious as you chuckled softly along with him. His attention remained focused on the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the scene before him with a sense of quiet contemplation.

"What about you? What led you to become the manager of such an intriguing place?" you inquired, curiosity lacing your words as you watched him closely, eager to unravel the mystery behind this enigmatic figure. Damiano didn't bother to look back at you as he spoke, his attention still fixed on the intricate details of the nightclub's structure. A slight smirk tugged at his lips, hinting at a deeper layer of amusement beneath his composed exterior. "I like extravagance, as you may now know," he began, his voice carrying a note of wistfulness as he spoke. "But I also find people of the night more intriguing. The night is a place where despair creeps in, and people let their masks fall. I love to be here and watch. It's like trapping flowers as they close in on themselves."His words sent a shiver down your spine, the imagery of darkness and deception intertwining with a sense of morbid fascination. It brought to mind the hidden rooms behind the curtains, the secrets that lurked within their shadows. "You're talking about the rooms behind the curtains?" you ventured, your gaze flicking back to the concealed alcove that the bartender had mentioned earlier. Damiano's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes darker than ever as a devilish smile played at the corners of his lips. "Precisely. But I'd be pained to find you there," he remarked cryptically, his words tinged with a hint of warning that sent a chill down your spine.You tilted your head in confusion, your mind racing with questions as you tried to decipher the meaning behind his enigmatic words.

"How so?" you pressed, your curiosity piqued by Damiano's cryptic remarks. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze distant as he contemplated his response. "People who go there are despaired, Y/n," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of solemnity. "I've encountered such great sorrow that hides behind the veneer of wealth. Sometimes, they feel they have no other option but to seek me out." You found his words bold, the stark admission of human suffering amidst the opulence of the nightclub's surroundings leaving a bitter taste in your mouth."And you let them lose your challenge?" you couldn't help but ask, your voice tinged with skepticism. Damiano's gaze shifted to meet yours, his eyes taking on a stormy hue as he regarded you with a mixture of intensity and resolve. "I always give them a chance to win, don't ever doubt it," he replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm not a man who traps." You held back a scoff at his words, unconvinced by his assurances. "So you're a saint?" you couldn't help but challenge him, the skepticism evident in your voice. For a moment, Damiano seemed taken aback by your question, his expression momentarily faltering as he searched for the right words. He opened and closed his mouth, his gaze flicking down to his drink before meeting yours once more."I don't think you could say that," he finally replied, his tone measured as he chose his words carefully. "But I have my own morals and values." His response left you with more questions than answers, the enigma of Damiano's character deepening with each passing moment. As you studied him, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye, and that beneath his composed exterior lay a complexity that defied easy categorization.

As you took a deep breath to calm yourself, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. You realized you had been unfair to Damiano, judging him based on preconceived notions without truly understanding the complexities of his character. With a sense of regret weighing heavily on your shoulders, you turned your attention back to the bustling crowd, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the ambiance of the night."And do people often win?" you asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Damiano's smile was enigmatic as he met your gaze, his eyes holding a glint of amusement as if he knew something you didn't."Not really. It only happened once, years ago when the club was just new," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia as he spoke. There was a distant look in his eyes, as if he were lost in the memories of times long past."And did it cost you a lot?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by the hint of mystery in his words.Damiano let out a chuckle, his laughter carrying a warmth that belied the severity of his past. "Ah, that bastard did cost me a lot," he admitted with a wry smile, shaking his head slightly. "But most of all, he became my best friend after this."You couldn't help but smile at the unexpected turn of events, the realization dawning on you that there was more to Damiano than met the eye. Despite the darkness that seemed to surround him, there was a glimmer of humanity beneath the surface, a warmth that shone through in moments of vulnerability.As you looked back at him, you found him staring at you with a gaze that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny like a tangible presence in the air.In that moment, you wondered what lay hidden beneath the surface of this enigmatic man, and what secrets he held within the depths of his soul. But one thing was certain—you were inexplicably drawn to him, captivated by the magnetic pull of his presence and the mysteries that surrounded him.

"Did I ever tell you that people of the night fascinate me?" Damiano's smirk held a hint of mischief as he directed his gaze solely at you, his eyes probing yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel like he was speaking directly to your soul.You let out a small laugh, attempting to mask the flutter of nerves that danced in your stomach, and took a sip of your champagne in a feeble attempt to regain your composure. "I'm not really a woman of the night. The violin sounds better when you play in the sun," you replied, attempting to deflect his attention away from you.But Damiano's gaze remained fixed on you, studying you like you were a rare and precious discovery. "I'm sure you are. And playing violin in the night makes things more... dramatic," he remarked, his voice dripping with a tantalizing allure that sent a shiver down your spine.You chuckled nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze like a tangible presence in the air. "But who said I'm dramatic?" you quipped, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of playful banter. "We're Italians," he shot back with a grin, and you couldn't help but laugh at his response. There was a magnetic charm to his presence, an undeniable allure that drew you in despite your better judgment. As he extended his glass to toast with you, you found yourself unable to resist, raising your own glass to meet his in a gesture of camaraderie. The soft tinkling sound of the colliding glasses echoed through the air, a melodic symphony that seemed to encapsulate the magic of the moment.

He was a vision of effortless charm and casual elegance, dons a crisp white shirt, its top buttons left open in a gesture of relaxed sophistication. With every step, he exudes an air of confidence that effortlessly draws admiration. His demeanor speaks volumes of a man comfortable in his own skin, at ease with both himself and the world around him. With his hair gracefully tied back in a loose ponytail, he exudes an air of relaxed confidence, as if effortlessly striding through the currents of life's challenges.His presence commands attention, not through ostentation, but through a magnetic charisma that emanates from within. There's a grace to his movements, a fluidity that mirrors the calm confidence he exudes. It's as if he moves through life with a quiet assurance, navigating its complexities with ease and grace. As he leaned in to whisper something in Damiano's ear, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Damiano's expression, his eyes darkening with a hint of seriousness. "I'm sorry, signora," Damiano's voice broke through the momentary silence, his tone tinged with regret. "It seems our encounter must be cut short. Duty calls me."

You felt a pang of disappointment at the sudden turn of events, but you nodded in understanding, masking your emotions behind a polite smile. "Of course, Damiano. Thank you for the wonderful evening." With a graceful bow, Damiano pressed a kiss to your hand before disappearing into the crowd, followed by the enigmatic stranger and his retinue of men. Left alone once more, you couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious man who had interrupted your conversation with Damiano, his presence leaving an indelible impression on your mind.

You snapped out of it, checking the time and deciding it was late enough. You took your stuff and walked out of the VIP section, not without a last glance where Damiano had disappeared earlier. As you stepped out of the vibrant atmosphere of the nightclub, the cool embrace of the summer night enveloped you, a stark contrast to the pulsating energy you had just left behind. With your phone battery dwindling and your funds depleted, you made the decision to walk back to your grandmother's house, which fortunately wasn't too far away.The streets of Rome at night held a unique charm, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and adorned with the whispers of history echoing through the ancient cobblestones. Despite the late hour, the city seemed alive, bustling with the occasional passerby and the distant murmur of life.However, as you ventured further from the bustling heart of the city and closer to your grandmother's house, the streets grew quieter, until eventually, you found yourself walking alone in the stillness of the night.With each step, the only sound accompanying you was the echo of your own footsteps against the cobblestones, the rhythmic beat of your heart matching the cadence of your journey homeward. Yet, as you turned onto a small side street, a haunting whimper pierced the silence, sending a shiver down your spine.The sound was so faint, so ethereal, that it could easily be mistaken for the mournful cry of the wind weaving through the narrow alleyways. But deep down, you knew it was something more, something tangible, something that demanded your attention.

Despite the trepidation gnawing at your senses, your innate curiosity propelled you forward, drawing you closer to the source of the haunting whimper. With each cautious step, you called out into the night, your voice trembling slightly with a mixture of apprehension and concern.As you rounded the corner onto the deserted street, your eyes widened in shock and horror at the sight that greeted you. There, sprawled on the ground, lay a man, his form illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead. Crimson stained the pavement beneath him, a stark contrast to the serene beauty of the night.Reacting on pure instinct, you rushed to his side, your heart pounding in your chest as you assessed the severity of his injuries. Blood seeped from a wound, staining his clothes and pooling ominously on the ground. With trembling hands, you pressed against the source of the bleeding, desperately trying to stem the flow and keep him conscious."Sir! Can you hear me?" you called out, your voice laced with urgency and fear. "Come ti chiami? What's your name?" you continued, hoping to elicit any response from the injured man. But there was only silence, save for the labored rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to cling to consciousness. Frantically, you reached for your phone, your fingers fumbling with the device as you attempted to summon help. But before you could complete the call, a sudden, searing pain erupted at the back of your head, stealing away your senses in a cruel wave of darkness. As the world around you dissolved into blackness, the last thing you felt was the cold embrace of the pavement beneath you, a silent witness to the unfolding drama of the night.

Damiano's pov

Damiano stood in the dimly lit room, flanked by Ethan and Thomas, the weight of their collective concern hanging heavily in the air. They awaited the arrival of Vic, their trusted associate, knowing that her presence would signal the beginning of a crucial discussion that could shape the fate of their organization.As the door swung open, Vic entered, accompanied by Luna, her expression grave and her demeanor tense. The severity etched upon her features spoke volumes, a stark contrast to the warmth and lightness Damiano had observed earlier. They all took their seats around the table, a somber atmosphere settling over them like a shroud."Thomas, tell us," Damiano urged, his voice steady but tinged with a sense of urgency. They leaned in attentively as Thomas began to recount the grim details of their missing soldato's fate."We last heard from him a week ago," Thomas began, his tone heavy with regret. "Initially, I assumed he had either betrayed us or fallen victim to a rival faction. Lavinia and I conducted a thorough search, scouring every corner of the city in search of his body, but we found nothing."He paused, his expression pained as he continued, "According to our sources, he was captured two days prior to his disappearance and subjected to unspeakable torture." With a heavy heart, Thomas played a video that had been sent to them, depicting the brutal murder of their soldato, a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Damiano's stomach churned as he watched the gruesome footage, his features hardening with a mixture of anger and determination. He exchanged a grim glance with Ethan and Thomas, their silent communication speaking volumes about the gravity of the situation."Who sent this?" Luna's voice was steely, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched the video unfold. She radiated an aura of authority, her presence commanding attention and respect from everyone in the room."We're not sure yet," Thomas responded, his voice tinged with frustration. "But we're working on tracing the source. It seems like a direct challenge from the other mafia, a blatant act of aggression aimed at provoking us."Damiano's jaw tightened as he absorbed the implications of Thomas's words. This wasn't just an attack on one of their soldati—it was a declaration of war. And war was something they couldn't afford to lose, not when the stakes were this high."We need to respond," Ethan's voice cut through the tense silence, his expression resolute as he met Damiano's gaze. "We can't let them get away with this."Damiano nodded in agreement, his mind already racing with plans and strategies. They needed to strike back, to send a message that they wouldn't tolerate such brazen acts of violence against their own."Prepare a team," he instructed, his voice firm and unwavering. "We're going to find out who's behind this, and when we do, they're going to regret ever crossing us."As the room buzzed with activity, Damiano couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that lingered in the air. This was just the beginning of a battle that would test their strength, their resolve, and their loyalty to the very core. And he was determined to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.

As the clock ticked past 2 am, the atmosphere in the room was tense with concentration. Vic, Thomas, Ethan, and I had been poring over documents and maps for hours, piecing together information and formulating strategies in response to the recent attack on our soldati. Despite the gravity of the situation, Vic couldn't resist injecting a bit of levity into the proceedings."So... Dami, how was your evening?" Her tone was teasing, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her playful insinuation. "What do you mean by that, Vic?" I replied, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Vic leaned against the table, her lips curved in a smirk. "Oh, come on, don't play dumb. I saw you flirting with that woman." I narrowed my eyes at her accusation, feeling a slight twinge of irritation. "I wasn't flirting," I insisted, though I knew my protests would likely fall on deaf ears.

But Vic wasn't easily deterred. "You so were!" she countered, her voice laced with amusement. Ethan, ever the voice of reason, chimed in without looking up from his work. "You even laughed," he remarked, his expression neutral. Vic's eyes widened in disbelief, and Thomas, sensing an opportunity for some lighthearted banter, looked up from his spot at the table. "You laughed?!" he exclaimed, his tone incredulous. I winced inwardly at their teasing, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. It was true that I hadn't been entirely stoic in my interaction with the woman at the club, but to suggest that I had been flirting was an exaggeration.

I found myslef trapped in the playful banter of his colleagues, their teasing relentless as they poked fun at my rare moment of levity. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the weight of their jests bearing down on me. "Three times," Ethan repeated, his tone laced with amusement. I shot him a glare, silently cursing Ethan for his telltale poker face. Vic's eyes sparkled with mischief as she joined in the ribbing. "You haven't laughed for the past decade, despite my best attempts!" she exclaimed, her teasing tone echoing in the room. "Do you even know how to laugh? The sound of it?" she added, her laughter infectious as it filled the air.

I clenched my jaw in annoyance, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. "Alright... It was the alcohol working," I admitted begrudgingly, searching for an excuse to deflect their teasing. But Vic wasn't about to let me off the hook so easily. "The alcohol? More like her pretty eyes tantalizing you," she remarked, earning a frustrated sigh from me.

Thomas chimed in with his own brand of mockery. "I still can't believe the boss knows how to laugh," he mused, his tone light but his words carrying a hint of disbelief. I shook his head, trying to regain his composure as Ifocused on my work. I couldn't deny the truth in their words—my encounter at the nightclub had stirred something within my, a flicker of long-forgotten emotion that Ihad buried deep within himself.

I shifted uncomfortably under Vic's scrutinizing gaze, feeling a slight flush creep up my neck. He glanced around the room, hoping to find an escape from the teasing interrogation. "It wasn't like that," Imuttered, my tone defensive. "We were just having a conversation." Vic's eyebrows shot up in mock disbelief, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "A conversation? At a nightclub? At two in the morning?" I sighed, realizing I was fighting a losing battle. "Fine, maybe there was a little bit of... friendly banter," I admitted reluctantly.

"A little bit?" Vic scoffed. "More like you were ready to serenade her with a love ballad." Ethan finally looked up from his work, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I wouldn't go that far," he chimed in, earning a grateful nod from me. Thomas chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, I guess it's good to know the boss still has some charm left in him."

I rolled his eyes, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement at the playful teasing from my friends and colleagues. Despite their banter, I couldn't deny that I was grateful for their camaraderie and support, especially in moments like these. As I delved back into my tasks, the memory of her face lingered in my mind, a tantalizing reminder of the unexpected connection I had shared with a stranger in the darkness of the night.

"Ok, sorry Dami," Vic said, her tone softening with genuine remorse. "Could you at least tell us who she was..?" I paused for a moment, considering her question. Despite my reluctance to divulge too much, I couldn't deny the curiosity burning within my friends.

I sighed, realizing I wouldn't be able to escape the relentless questioning from m colleagues. He glanced around the room, noting the amused expressions on their faces, and relented with a resigned chuckle."Her name is Y/n Mazzoti," he confessed, his tone tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "She said she's a musician, a violinist."Vic's eyes lit up with interest, her teasing demeanor momentarily replaced with genuine curiosity. "A musician? Sounds intriguing.""Yeah, and she's not from around here," Damiano added, his thoughts drifting back to the enigmatic woman he had encountered earlier that evening. "She mentioned she was from Florence."Thomas raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Florence, huh? That's quite a distance from Rome."Damiano nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed. She seemed... different. Not like the usual crowd you'd find in a place like that."Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying Damiano with a knowing look. "Well, it sounds like you had an eventful evening, boss."

[filmkaosz]

Movies where actors speak Hungarian | Budapest Reporter

https://www.budapestreporter.com/movies-where-actors-speak-hungarian/

Hostel 3 cockroach scene

Gordon Michaels was born in Detroit, Michigan. His father is of Italian, Irish, and Jewish decent and his Mother is of Cuban ancestry. Michaels spent most of his youth in Michigan and graduated from John Glenn High School where he played basketball for the Junior Varsity and Varsity teams and still holds the school record for most rebounds in a game (27). As a teenager, Michaels spent a lot of after school time practicing and performing as lead singer for his Detroit garage band Flash Experience. The group performed at some high school events as well as various venues around metro Detroit. Michaels love for both writing and performing music is something very close to his heart. In fact, he's written a number of songs over the years and looks forward to taking them into the studio to record.

After attending a performance of a community theater production of Man of La Mancha, Michael's was stung by the acting bug. In 1986 Michaels became a graduate of the prestigious Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theater in New York City where he studied under world renowned acting teacher Sanford Meisner. Michaels spent a number of years under the tutelage of Uta Hagen and Herbert Bergoff at the renowned HB Studio in New York City.

In addition to writing, producing, and staring in the film Unbeatable Harold, which featured Henry Winkler, Phyllis Diller, Charles Durning and Dylan McDermott, Michaels can also be seen in the Miramax released, This Must Be The Place with Sean Penn, Fox Searchlight's Conviction with Hilary Swank and Sam Rockwell, Love and Honor with Liam Hemsworth, Warner Bros Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Some of Michaels other film credits include; Out of the Furnace with Christian Bale and Woody Harrelson, Hostel Part 3, Street Kings Motor City, The Cooler, Joe Dirt, Seduced by a Thief, Leaving Las Vegas, and Gifted Hands, with Cuba Gooding, Jr.

Michaels is also recognized for his work on ABC's award winning legal drama The Practice, and can be seen in the up-coming feature Escape Plan 2: Hades with Sylvester Stallone and Dave Batista. Michaels is founder and President of the motion picture company Brandon Street Films, an independent production company dedicated to creating an artistic home for filmmakers.

- IMDb Mini Biography By: Anonymous

Trivia

While studying acting in New York City, Michaels worked for a high profile limousine company where he was personal limo driver for a number of celebrities, billionaires, radio personalities, political figures. That list includes, Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Diana Ross, Don Imus, Bill Gates, Michael Jackson, Leonard Bernstein, Luciano Pavarotti, Madonna, Fernando Botero, Rudy Giuliani, supermodel Iman, Tommy Hilfiger, Jim Belushi, and James Taylor.

Gordon Michaels has been personal acting coach to some of Hollywoods biggest stars, including Dylan McDermott, Snoop Dogg, and many others.

Michaels grew up in a rough section of Detroit, Michigan and began to smoke cigarettes at the age of 7. He decided to quit after his mother made him eat a cigarette when she caught him smoking after school. She promised him he would have to eat one every time she caught him.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 12.30 (before 1940)

534 – The second and final edition of the Code of Justinian comes into effect in the Byzantine Empire. 999 – Battle of Glenmama: The combined forces of Munster and Meath under king Brian Boru inflict a crushing defeat on the allied armies of Leinster and Dublin near Lyons Hill in Ireland. 1066 – Granada massacre: A Muslim mob storms the royal palace in Granada, crucifies Jewish vizier Joseph ibn Naghrela and massacres most of the Jewish population of the city. 1419 – Hundred Years' War: Battle of La Rochelle. 1460 – Wars of the Roses: Lancastrians kill the 3rd Duke of York and win the Battle of Wakefield. 1702 – Queen Anne's War: James Moore, Governor of the Province of Carolina, abandons the Siege of St. Augustine. 1813 – War of 1812: British soldiers burn Buffalo, New York. 1816 – The Treaty of St. Louis between the United States and the united Ottawa, Ojibwa, and Potawatomi Indian tribes is proclaimed. 1825 – The Treaty of St. Louis between the United States and the Shawnee Nation is proclaimed. 1853 – Gadsden Purchase: The United States buys land from Mexico to facilitate railroad building in the Southwest. 1890 – Following the Wounded Knee Massacre, the United States Army and Lakota warriors face off in the Drexel Mission Fight. 1896 – Filipino patriot and reform advocate José Rizal is executed by a Spanish firing squad in Manila. 1896 – Canadian ice hockey player Ernie McLea scores the first hat-trick in Stanley Cup play, and the Cup-winning goal as the Montreal Victorias defeat the Winnipeg Victorias 6–5. 1897 – The British Colony of Natal annexes Zululand. 1902 – The Discovery Expedition under Robert Falcon Scott attained a Farthest South at 82°17′S in Antarctica. 1903 – A fire at the Iroquois Theater in Chicago, Illinois kills at least 605. 1905 – Former Idaho Governor Frank Steunenberg is assassinated at the front gate of his home in Caldwell. 1906 – The All-India Muslim League is founded in Dacca, East Bengal, British India (later Dhaka, Bangladesh). 1916 – Russian mystic and advisor to the Tsar Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin is murdered by a loyalist group led by Prince Felix Yusupov. His frozen, partially-trussed body was discovered in a Petrograd river three days later. 1916 – The last coronation in Hungary is performed for King Charles IV and Queen Zita. 1922 – The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) is formed. 1927 – The Ginza Line, the first subway line in Asia, opens in Tokyo, Japan. 1935 – The Italian Air Force bombs a Swedish Red Cross hospital during the Second Italo-Abyssinian War. 1936 – The Flint sit-down strike hits General Motors.

[creativeera]

Low Harmonic Drives: Driving Towards a Greener Future How Clean Power is Empowering the Automotive Industry

Over the past few decades, variable frequency drives (VFDs) have become widespread in industrial and commercial applications for their ability to control motor speed and torque. Traditionally, VFDs utilize pulse width modulation (PWM) techniques to vary motor voltage and frequency. However, PWM generates high harmonic currents that can damage motors, heat up transformers and power cables, and potentially cause voltage distortions on the utility grid. To address these challenges, a new generation of low harmonic drives has emerged based on advanced switching algorithms. What are Harmonics? In electrical systems, harmonics refer to sinusoidal voltages or currents having frequencies that are integer multiples of the fundamental power supply frequency, usually 50 or 60 Hz. Harmonics are produced by non-linear loads like adjustable speed drives that draw non-sinusoidal currents from the power source. The extra frequencies generated interact with the system impedance and generate losses, heating, vibrations, torque pulsations and can even cause misoperation of protective devices if sufficiently high in magnitude. Harmonics cause additional power losses in distribution transformers and overvoltages that reduce insulation lifetime. They can also interfere with communication lines. Traditional PWM Drives and their Harmonic Impact Traditional PWM VFDs employ insulated-gate bipolar transistors (IGBTs) or thyristors to rapidly switch the motor voltages on and off, generating quasi-square wave voltages to control motor speed. However, when these non-sinusoidal voltages are applied to the motor windings, they produce harmonic currents in the supply lines that are integer multiples of the fundamental supply frequency. Specifically, PWM drive techniques generate dominant 5th and 7th order harmonics that can propagate back into the utility system if not properly filtered. The harmonic currents not only stress motor windings but also increase I2R losses in the supply feeders and distribution transformers. Low Harmonic Drives can cause overheating in older transformers not designed for harmonics. Harmonic distortions also increase circulating currents within delta-wye grounded transformers. To mitigate these issues, dedicated harmonic filters need to be installed, increasing overall system costs. Excessive harmonics if left unchecked can even cause protective relays to malfunction. Advancements in Low Harmonic Drive Technology To address harmonic pollution from VFDs, innovative drive manufacturers have developed new low harmonic drive technologies based on advanced switching algorithms that naturally minimize the generation of lower order harmonics. Pulse-Density Modulation

One such technique is pulse density modulation (PDM) where the IGBTs are switched at high frequencies using narrower pulses compared to traditional square waves. By spacing the pulses closer together over time, PDM produces quasi-sinusoidal drive output voltages that inherently contain lower harmonics. PDM drives generate less than 5% total harmonic distortion (THD) without additional filters. Active Front End Drives

Another option is active front end (AFE) drives with a front-end rectifier consisting of IGBTs or MOSFETs instead of diode bridges. The AFE rectifier actively shapes the supply current waveform to follow the voltage waveform and provide near unity power factor without harmonics. AFE drives come with integrated DC chokes to absorb any remaining higher order harmonics internally, keeping them well below 5% THD.

Get more insights on Low Harmonic Drives

Also read related article on Ransomware Protection Market

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[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"ITALIAN BANKER'S SON DENIES HE IS LIABLE," Toronto Star. October 30, 1933. Page 2. ---- Claims That He Was Only an Employee of His Father's Enterprise ---- Guy Gatto appeared before Magistrate Coataworth in police court to- day to face another charge in a series of alleged thefts from Italians. He is alleged to have stolen $856.54 from Mrs. Mary Amato. A remand until Nov. 8 on bail of $2,000 was ordered.

With his father, Guiseppe, Gato is alleged to have operated a steamship ticket agency and private bank which transferred money from Italy here. Last week the father pleaded guilty to all but one of a number of charges.

Guy pleaded not guilty to all charges on the grounds that as he was only an employee he was not responsible.

The Italian consul, A. Ambrose, was called as a witness but failed to appear.

It was in January this year that Mrs. Mary Amato first met the accused, she testified. She said she business had done business him and wanted 15.000 lira transferred from a bank in Rome. A certain sum of money had been paid to the Gates for this service, she said. "The money arrived from Italy, but all I got was $96.83 in August.

"How did you know the money me?" asked the crown. "Because it only takes two months."

G. A. Atkinson, manager of the Canadian Bank of Commerce where the Gatos did business, was called. "Do you know if this company was registered at the bank?" asked Mr. Malone. "Yes it was registered in the father's s name, but the son, Guy, did all the business."

"In that way the one could do all the stealing, while the other sat back." "Yes."

"And this 21-year-old boy did all the business." "Yes." "He is a pretty smart boy, has been around and knows the banking business." "Yes, but as far as we know the father was the sole owner of the business."

At this point it was decided to remand the case.

"I'm not satisfied with this Armstrong case. He's dodging this court. Magistrate Coatsworth told counsel for Sam Armstrong, accused of having drunk in a charge of an auto. The lawyer had produced a certificate in police court to-day to the effect that his client was sick in Christie St. hospital.

"This is the third time it has been called and remanded. Last week I said the doctor would have to appear in person," said Mr. Malone. "He is not here." A further remand until Nov. 6 was given with the warning that either accused or doctor have to be in court.

Sentence Modified "I'm willing to do anything to wipe out that record, but I've never had a chance," pleaded Tony Lommenin, appearing for sentence for stealing an overcoat, in reply to a long record of previous convictions.

"Yes, a fellow when when he he gets into your position is always willing to do your anything," Magistrate Coatsworth answered. "Where do you come from?" "My home is north of Edmonton." "You should be there now. It will be the reformatory. Three definite and 12 Indeterminate.

"Your lordship I can never get a parole with a record like that," Lommenin protested.

"I think think three and six would be sufficient," Mr. Malone suggested. The magistrate therefore made the sentence three months definite and six indeterminate.

Furs Recovered Alleged by police to have broken into the premises of the Lions Fur Co.. Adelaide St. W., and stolen several furs, valued at $1,000, t two men, who gave their names as Maurice Hershoran, Grange Rd.. and Isador Weinreit. Baldwin St., two former employees of the company. were arrested Saturday night.

Detectives Nimmo and Mumberson motored to Hamilton, they claim they recovered the furs which, they state, were in storage there.

The accused were remanded until Nov. 7 on $2,000 bail such.

Wounding Charged After being given treatment at the Toronto Western hospital for wounds, said by police to have been received in a fracas Saturday night. two men, StanleyRochinsky, Richmond St. W.. and Stanley Jolyuck, Claremont St. were arrested by Sergeant Vernon and both were locked up on a charge of wounding. To-day they were remanded until Nov. 3 on bail of $500 each.

According to police of No. 3 division, Rochinsky walked into the police station and told Sergeant Vernon that he had been wounded at a Claremont St. hume during a fight.

Leaving the injured man to get first aid, Sergeant Vernon proceeded to the scene and found Jolyuck bleeding profusedly from wounds, which he claimed body he received when beaten by a broom-handle. Sergeant Vernon placed him under arrest on a charge of wounding and was taking him away to the police station when he found a long-bladed knife covered with blood lying on the front front lawn. None of the wounds were considered serious

Placed on Probation John Moncrieff stole a small satchel from a large store. "Where's your liquor permit?" asked the crown attorney. "I destroyed it Saturday night, it," was the answer.

"It's the first time you've been here, and my advice is to keep out those stores, especially when you are drunk," the crown attorney told him. The prisoner was placed on probation for one year.

Cyril Minaker, who stole a suit-case full of clothes, was also placed on probation for one year. He was out of work for a long time and was discouraged," said defence counsel.

Gets the Minimum Amos Parke was sentenced to seven days in jail for driving a truck while under the influence of liquor. His wife said they were on relief.

"Where did he get the firewater?" asked Mr. Malone. "I don't know," she answered.

"Well, we'll give him the minimum -seven days, pronounced the magistrate.

"There's not much good in sending him back to his parents. They've apparently given him up as a bad job," said Mr. Malone, speaking of 16-year-old Frank Rosso, convicted of stealing an automobile from Packard Motors, Ltd. Rosso was fined $50 or two months in jail.

Had Sweepstakes Tickets "What'll you have for the races today, boys?" Harry Wolfish asked a group in a pool room as he spread out a number of sweepstake tickets. Unfortunately for Wolfish one of those present was P.C. Train.

"I searched him and found three books of the tickets in his pockets," witness said.

Wolfish had to face a charge of receiving lottery tickets. He was convicted and fined $10 and costs or one month.

For keeping a betting house, Edward Lakeman was fined $35 and costs or one month. So was Charles Mitchell.

[bethestaryouareradio]

Roots Matter

“The Land! That is where our roots are. There is the basis of our physical life.” Henry Ford

As a gardener, I spend copious amounts of time thinking about roots. Healthy roots are critical indicators of the overall health and survival of plants and trees.

StarStyle® Empowerment is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Why are roots essential?

Anchorage: One of the primary functions of roots is to anchor the plant firmly in the soil so that it is not uprooted by wind, water, or other forces of nature.

Absorption: Roots absorb water and nutrients essential for growth and development. The extensive network of roots maximizes the plant’s ability to access these resources.

Storage: The root system also stores energy in the form of starches and sugars which can be utilized during periods of drought or new growth.

Transport: The vascular system extends from the roots to the leaves to the stems facilitating movement of water and nutrients.

Stabilization: Roots reduce erosion by binding the soil particles together making the plant strong and stable.

Microbial Support: Roots contribute to improving soil structure by promoting microbial activity and organic matter decomposition. Mycorrhizal fungi and nitrogen-fixing bacteria enhance nutrient uptake and protect plants from pathogens.

Aeration: Roots create tiny channels in the soil as they grow. These channels allow oxygen to penetrate deeper into the soil, which promotes a healthier ecosystem. Roots also prevent soil compaction which aids in better water infiltration and growth.

Drought Resistance: Periods of drought are survival because of deep root systems and taproots.

Without healthy roots, all plants would struggle to survive.

Human roots are also important.

Recently friends invited my husband and me to a picnic and a private wine tasting at Beringer Brothers in St. Helena. “How fun,” I responded. “It will be great to be back in my stomping grounds.” Although we had been friends for years and they knew that I’d grown up in the vineyards, they didn’t know the story of my roots. I’ll share a snippet of my heritage with you.

My paternal grandfather, Fred Abruzzini, was the son of Italian immigrants who emigrated to America via Canada at the turn of the century. As a boy, he began working with my great uncle at Cribari Winery in Madrone where he became the winemaker. Between Prohibition and the Great Depression, many California wineries closed. Beringer Brothers was faltering. Federal agents suggested to Bertha Beringer that she hire someone with integrity and knowledge, someone like Fred Abruzzini. He motored up to St. Helena and when he saw the caves, he believed that he could make some excellent wine. 

(Photo from Fortune Magazine, May 1941)

In 1932 at the age of 28, in exchange for free rein, he was hired to be Beringer’s manager, wine maker, and chief promoter. He gambled that Franklin Delano Roosevelt would be elected President and end prohibition, so he began crushing more grapes, making wine and port. Prohibition ended in 1933 and in 1934 Grandpa had the innovative idea to open the cellars to the public for tours, and on special occasions, free tastings. For the 1939 Golden Gate International Exposition, a World’s Fair held at Treasure Island, he created the first colorful map of “one of California’s most delightful one-day trips” where all roads led to Beringer. 

Clark Gable, Carol Lombard, Charles Laughton, Tom Mix, Ginger Rogers, Roy Rogers, Abbott and Costello, Max Baer, Rudy Vallee, and a bevy of other luminaries visited often and became friends. He mentored the “youngsters” as he called them Robert and Peter Mondavi as well as other winemakers. Fred became a legend in California with his publicity for the wine industry of Napa Valley and literally put Napa Valley on the map.

As children, we rode horses, barbecued, roamed the caves, and played at the winery. For many years, the grapes from our vineyards were crushed into Beringer wines. Grandpa was killed in 1988 when a gigantic elm tree toppled on him while he mowed his lawn. He would be proud to know that the roots he planted as the first person to offer tours and tastings to the public have grown into Napa Valley being the beautiful and renowned wine destination it is today.

Cuttings from those first grape canes planted by my grandfather are rooted and thriving in my garden. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren have continued his legacy.

Roots. Yes, they are the basis of our physical life.

The Goddess Gardener’s September Gardening Guide

ü  DEEP SOAK roots of trees in need with a soaker hose during dry spells.

ü  HARVEST apples, Asian pears, Bartlett pears, grapes, blackberries, tomatoes, prickly pear, and quince.

ü  CUT and dry big heads of hydrangeas for indoor bouquets.

ü  PLAN to plant cover crops to add maximum benefits to your soil over the winter. Fall mixes can include seeds of legumes, grass, grains, brassica, vetch, rye, clover, and radish. These will suppress weeds, add aeration, and increase soil aggregation.

ü  SEND a plant off to college with your student to keep the indoor air clean while offering memory and concentration improvement.  Prayer plants, peace lilies, pothos, and snake plants are easy-to-grow specimens that will acclimate well to dorm rooms.

ü  SAVE seeds from your favorite perennials.

ü  DEADHEAD roses for several more flurries of blooms before January.

ü  PRUNE a shrub into a creative topiary!

ü  ENJOY the bright colors of impatiens in borders and beds.

ü  RELISH your roots!

Happy Gardening! Happy Growing!

Read at Lamorinda Weekly: Read Lamorinda Weekly: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1715/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-Roots.html

Listen to Cynthia talk about her Roots on StarStyle at the Voice America Network, Empowerment Channel: https://www.voiceamerica.com/episode/146591/roots-dog-lessons-anger-angst

More at Press Pass: https://www.vapresspass.com/2023/09/13/garden-and-family-roots/

Mark Your Calendar:

On Saturday, September 30th, Be the Star You Are!® will host a booth sponsored by the Lamorinda Weekly Newspaperand  MBJessee Painting at the Pear and Wine Festival in Moraga. Stop by to plant seeds and pick up bags of free potpourri. More info at  https://www.bethestaryouare.org/e

vents-1/2023-pear-and-wine-festival

Hire Cynthia for writing projects, garden consults, and inspirational lectures. Cynthia@GoddessGardener.com  

©2023 Cynthia Brian, Photos and Text, All Rights Reserved.

Share StarStyle® Empowerment 

StarStyle® Empowerment is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

[cctv-aura]

#GateAutomationKerala #AutomaticGatesAlappuzha #AutomaticGateOpener #Palakkad #Pathanamthitta #Kottayam #Kollam Aura Business Solutions is a leading gate automation dealer having Italian automatic sliding gate openers and automatic swing gate openers capable of pulling small domestic gates to heavy industrial gates. We also have automatic rolling shutter motors, parking barriers etc to provide complete entrance security solutions. Unlike other companies, we undertake full electrification, cabling, welding and finishing works of the gate installation as Aura Business Solutions believes in comprehensive, customized and quality automation and security solutions to our clients. Currently our services are available at Trivandrum, Kollam, Pathanamthitta, Alappuzha, Kottayam, Ernakulam, Thrissur, Palakkad, Malappuram, Coimbatore, Dindigul and Tirupur districts of Kerala and Tamilnadu.

[tuliprry]

asthore (h.s)

summary: "yn and harry have been married for 3 years now, still a secret to the public. this is a comfort story, going back and forth of how they met and their married life and a lot of sweet drama in between. very full of love, fluffy, safe. "

asthore main post

word count: 3.3k

warnings: death, anxiety, depression, christimas time, sex mention, fluff

sunday, 17 of december 2022, 3:36pm 

the cold breeze from christmas approaching in the small italian village almost freeze y/n’s bones as she’s cruising through the christmas markets, the ligurian sea facing her as she hands a 5€ bill to the italian man that just finished filling a jar with taggiasca olives, “grazie! buone feste!” y/n says as she puts the jar back in the jean tote bag and covering her right hand with the black comfy glove once again. the humidity has driven y/n to have her hair constantly covered by a beanie or her curls would be so tangled she would spend an eternity in hair masks trying to salvage it. the phone pings. 

soupy

“just passed passport control, 30 minutes and i’m home. i love you x H”

y/n smiles, feeling her cheeks blush up from thinking about seeing her husband after nearly two months since halloween in los angeles, the butterflies from being apart fly more in her stomach as she rushes to their italian home, this was the first christmas both their families would spend in the home they have been building in the small coastal village of sanremo, y/n had done her masters in  the university of verona and absolutely fell in love with the country. and here she is, buying olives for christmas eve dinner, the first ever she’s hosting herself. 

the white gate opens up as y/n presses the button attached to her keys, she sighs at the car standing in the driveway as harry told her to try and get used to it and he would teach them how to drive but y/n has a unreasonable fear of cars, even when she had to drive the bumper cars, she would cry and her dads would end up picking her out of the car. she walks down the darkened stone (by the raindrops) path, the automatic light shines, lightening up the whole entrance area, y/n opens the green heavy front door and is greeted by patata and notte, their two cats, “ahh my two girls!! daddy is about to be home so mama is gonna heat up the soy lasagna and light some candles!” y/n is used to only talking to the two kittens she had rescued with harry, she takes her gloves and beanie and her long brown coat, hanging them by the door as she closes it behind her. 

soupy

“it’s raining really bad, i’m at the petrol station right by the theatre, 10 minutes i’m all yours, sweet bunny. god i miss you x”

bunny

“i already threw your jammies in the dryer so they’re warm when you get here, turned the ac on and i’m watching british news, just for you”

soupy

“you’re an angel!!!!! my angel wife”

y/n wrapped herself in a black silk robe that matches her pyjama set and sat on the sofa, heart heavy awaiting for harry to open the front door and them reuniting, her stomach was seriously going through it, she could barely work in the morning and had cereal for lunch as she felt too eager to even think about eating. the news were mentioning winter wonderland in london and how crowded they were after the pandemic, y/n missed london a little bit, being her home for most of the year and 2022 being the first time she’s not having a hot cocoa by the london eye just staring at the tourists. her stomach growls again, her anxiety is leading up to not knowing if she should even eat or stay pretty by the door so she can immediately kiss harry. 

she opted to fill up the kettle with water so they could have a tea and harry could warm up, as the water boiled the sound of a car motor makes its way into the house, meaning harry was home, in unicorn slippers y/n gets out of the house in a rush. harry is parking his car next to his other one and y/n is regretting being outside in slippers but she couldn’t wait one more second. 

and there he was…

he stood tall leaving the car, wearing light blue jeans and black vans, his upper body was covered by y/n’s favourite coat of harry’s, the multitude of greens and how long it looked y/n genuinely wanted the coat for herself, his hair clipped back with his regular black clip and his smile, y/n felt her entire body relaxing as she sloppily ran to his arms under the humidity of sunset. “fuck, fuck, you’re real” his arms wrap around the short figure in front of him, “fuck, my y/n” he sighs in relief and keeps the embrace just as tight. y/n places her chin on his upper chest and looks at him, his face structure coral-ish like the sun just about to set. “i missed you” their lips meet, a kiss they had been longing for almost two months, yet as their lips collide it’s like no time as passed, they went to sleep and woke up together, just like their meant to be. “harry i love you but i came outside in my jammies and i’m freezing” y/n shivers as she speaks up, he can’t help but keep a stupid smile on his face, this was his most normal, his wife saying she was cold begging them to go inside, his brain filled with deja-vu, “goooo inside, dummy” he says, opening the boot of the car, taking his suitcase out of it, y/n had already grabbed his backpack and made her way into the house, making harry stand a few meters from the door, feeling nothing but relief, to be home.

☆

monday, 18 of december 2023, 4:13am

harry woke up almost jumping from the sofa, looked at his phone, 4:13am, y/n was passed out in the sofa as well, their cats asleep between them and the electric fireplace still on as well as the bbc 1 still playing out the news from throughout the day. 

a big yawn escaped his lips as he slowly got off under the covers to grab a chocolate brioche from the kitchen, he knew y/n like the back of his hand, keeping the chocolate brioches at hand for a lat night craving of something sweet. harry for the first time in a few months felt genuinely at peace, not that he doesn’t love tour, he does, he can’t stop touring and seeing the familiar and unknown faces he hold in his heart with so much love but just sometimes he misses home, home isn’t exactly a place for him, because harry has a lot more houses than he could explain, but he only has one y/n, a short irish and scottish teddy bear in a human form that writes her fingers off and spends too much time in front of her computer and totally belongs to the generation he longs to understand. he walked back into the living room, y/n’s now sleepy eyes open, petting the cats, “harry! we fell asleep on the sofa…can we go to bed?” his heart skipped a beat right there, her curls messy from the sofa pillow, eyes droopy, cheesy smile on her lips from having him home. home. she was home.

the sleepy couple headed off to bedroom with their two cats following them, y/n and harry have always allowed their kitties to sleep in bed, even though sometimes the cats do bite harry off the bed, “how are patata and notte doing at night?” harry asks as he slides under the covers with small roses that y/n picked and he loves so much, “well patata sleeps on top of my feet and notte well… she likes to stay under the covers” y/n admits not changing notte’s behaviours, “y/n! she’s gonna bite me off the bed! again!” y/n gets under the covers as well and kisses his lips softly, “god i missed having you home”, y/n places her self on top of him, “oh bunny.. you almost make me forget the jet lag” harry kisses y/n, this time more abruptly, almost raw. “fuck! i missed you”

10:46am

the regular sunny beach town’s sky was covered in dark, heavy clouds, ready to burst at any given second, harry was aware of this, he was in the middle of his run and upset that the rain was going to interrupt his so beloved routine, he was running along the giardini municipali, his favourite place to run while they’re in their sanremo home, he checks his watch when a raindrop falls exactly on top of it, harry groans, he has left 20 minutes ago and his run was being cut short by an angry christmas weather rain that the old lady that lives next door has told him… or what he understood from his beginners italian. running back home in hopes to not get soaked was truly in vain. when he opened the green front door he was soaked through his entire clothes, he thought of y/n, likely still wrapped in the duvet, he almost envied her for a second but he knows y/n’s medication makes her crave her bed a little longer than he does. after a much needed shower harry walks quietly into the bedroom, curtains still closed, loud purring coming from the bed, a little night light on y/n’s side, still on, his hands gently rubbed through y/n’s cheek, a way he learned to wake her up without startling her, “mmmm too early” she moaned, still with her eyes shut close, “baby.. c’mon sweetheart, i made coffee and pancakes, i didn’t know if you wanted eggs” he says almost whispering, lowering his body, squatting down next to the bed, “oh the banana pancakes? with pecan nuts?” y/n opens her eyes, looking directly in his, “exactly those ones”, harry smiles doing the gentle rub on her cheek again, “okay i’m listening” y/n yawns, turning on her side to look directly at harry, “well..after breakfast we could start decorating the house maybe even finish our christmas shopping?” his hand now travelled to her hair, gently running his fingers through it. “mmmmm give me a kiss?” she asks, getting closer to the edge of the bed, “always, as many kisses as you want, bunny.”. 

the kitchen smelled exactly as y/n had hoped, of harry, banana, coffee and fresh bread, their kitchen was a little sanctuary for the both of them, the floor was almost like honeycomb, brown, yellow and dark red, usually very cold, the walls white, the cabinets a sage green y/n and harry fell in love with, a white oven that seemed too complicated at first and all of the kitchen adorned with gold details, the handles, the pots… the countertops were wood like, matching the kitchen table with mismatched chairs, the other side of the kitchen still with the sage cabinets, a window right on top of the big white sink and golden faucet, decorated with tulips, y/n’s favourite flower. the cat’s food bowls filled, the eggs sizzling in the frying pan, y/n begged her brain to take a screenshot of this moment and remember it forever. her happiest place, her and her husband. 

y/n sat on one of the mismatched chairs as harry placed the food in front of her, “vip treatment huh?” y/n mocks due to him being the one used to vip treatment, “for my wife? anything.. also i got super soaked in my run earlier” harry comments as he takes the eggs out of the pan to another plate, “you did? why didn’t u call me i would’ve.. well i would’ve cheered u up” y/n speaks with her mouthful with a pancake bite, harry thought it was cute, how her mind was always racing, y/n hates it, harry in the other hand thinks it makes her special, her brain never shuts off, more time he gets to spend with her in her little world. “well baby i knew you were asleep and this jet lag is so weird, woke up, fell asleep, woke up and then couldn’t sleep so i went and fed the cats and then i came back still couldn’t sleep so i went on my run without checking the weather app and well yeah but i’m okay” y/n felt hypnotised, yes she knows she’s married to him but just sometimes when he goes on his rambles, y/n likes to stare at him, his lips, his lips now covered with honey from the pancakes, she doesn’t know what power over her has given her the chance to be here, staring at her husband eating her favourite breakfast. “if you feel like you get a cough i have those cough drops from when i had covid, they were pretty good” her lips press together in worry, “baby i came home, took a shower and woke you up, i’m okay. i promise” 

promises were something big in their relationship, from harry’s perspective he needed someone he could trust blindly and from y/n’s perspective she has always been an open heart ready to trust anyone, so they met half way, keeping promises. promises that they wouldn’t hide stuff from each other, promises that they’d always be honest about their health, promises to stay in contact even if the signal is one bar in the middle of nowhere. right here, right now, their home is a promise from harry’s vows: 

“i promise, even when i’m far to always come back home to you, my love, i promise to make our home the most beautiful place that ever existed, just for you and me.”

the rain hit the kitchen windows pretty strongly, soothing the couple that was still eating breakfast,  “i don’t think going out is a very smart idea, soupy, look at the weather!” y/n says, calling harry by his nickname when they started dating, soupy, he had soup every day on facetime and y/n just came up with it, soupy and now even her family calls him soupy, “don’t call me soupy! and we are still doing stuff because decorating the house for christmas doesn’t require leaving” harry affirms, holding his plate and mug placing them on the sink, “the christmas decorations are in your studio harry and i’m not going to the other house” y/n pouts, “i love rain when i’m inside! not when i’m outside and need to do stuff!” she complains. a few meters away there’s a small house that harry converted into his studio while he was stuck in italy with y/n because of the pandemic, y/n stored the christmas things there and never touched them again, in all fairness it was a beautiful sunny january day and she was in a good mood. “fine, i’ll get them, you’re lucky i’d do anything for you”, “oh!!! can’t wait to tell my friends my husband would walk in the rain for me, what a man!” she mocks giggling against the mug, “mrs y/n styles you’re very sassy today!” he says in the same mocking tone, “it’s what happens when you fuck me to sleep, i wake up feeling like a spoiled princess” she keeps laughing, waiting to catch her breathe to finish her coffee. harry gets close and kisses her forehead and sighs in relief, “i love seeing you like this” y/n knew what harry meant, her depression and major anxiety really sprout up in the first few months of their marriage, making the first year even rockier than what they had anticipated, y/n is still medicated, for awhile harry felt like he had lost his y/n, until everything started piecing together like a puzzle, her smile, her jokes, her collection of books, her arguments in irish with one of her dads, it’s like his y/n had never left, she just needed a little boost that harry alone couldn’t give.

“wonders of antidepressants and a good loving night with my husband, you should know i’m always better with you around” she whispered against his lips, “i love you, bunny”, “and “i love you, soupy”.

☆

to better understand this story, we have to go back to almost 40 years ago years ago, when y/n’s parents, cormac and callum first met, they were both 15, had the same classes, did everything together in their hometown of sterling, a true high school love story that lasted their entire lives, they considered themselves lucky, falling in love at a time it was no longer illegal to love each other in scotland, their love only grew with time, moving in together, dreaming of getting married, dreaming of having children.. which eventually happened when they were 25, elsie and ewan, their families thought they were insane, adopting twins at 25 and all the repercussions of only one of them actually being able to be “legally” their father, but they still did it, elsie and ewan were 1 year old when they were officially adopted by callum but they always taught them cormac was their father regardless of what any paper said. 

the year 1998 came along, cormac’s younger sister orla was pregnant, cormac was so excited that his children would have a cousin and nothing prepared him for the next months of his life, the day that should be of joy was clouded by sadness as his sister died while giving birth, making y/n immediately orphan with half a second of life in her body so cormac stepped up, christmas being the first holiday they all spent together, the 5 of them. just them.

when same-sex marriage became legal in scotland they did get married. even though, in their hearts they had been married since they were 15.

but before that, as the siblings grew, y/n had friends that didn’t have the best family environment, and cormac and callum had no luck trying to adopt them because their parents wouldn’t allow it, so as adults it did happen, simon and flora became the 6th and 7th member of the family. harry knew this story, y/n had told him this story a million times but he’s hearing it again as they get the christmas tree ready, he looks at her with an amount of love in his eyes that he’s not able to express if not by poetry in his hidden notebooks, “and well the rest you know, elsie is a teacher at the same school as my dad mac, ewan plays football in torino, simon is a tattoo artist in manchester and you know flora better than anyone” y/n explains once again as she places the handmade ornaments she got from and italian charity shop, “flora.. the baker that purposely calls me soups” harry goans as he makes sure the christmas lights are all working before placing them on the tree, “i didn’t know she was gonna give you hell for my nickname for you, harry, she’s the baby, i don’t like getting angry at her… are those lights ready?” 

“they’re ready”

“then help me put them on, soupy”

“kiss me first, under the mistletoe” 

“you’re so sappy!”

“thank god i found you then, to love all this sappiness”

“and i do. every single inch of you, tha gaol agam ort (i love you)”

“and i love you”

taglist: @grapejuice-rry @theekyliepage @madgracee @iamahallucinationnn (anyone else please tell me if u wanna be tagged in the next chapters!)

[keyautomations-blog]

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[random-imagines-blog]

They Speak the Language {Tech Boy x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2181 Summary: Tech-Boy’s bad mood is starting to get to you, so you start to look for inspiration to turn it around. Notes: Contains bad language.

You knew it was a bad idea to get involved in the war between the old gods and the new. You were somewhere in the middle, along with a couple of others, who could very well tip the scales. And it wasn’t that you believed that one side was better than the other either. But one side had someone that you cared for more than the others. And that was the dangerous, marvelous, grumpy little thing that you knew as Tech-Boy. Of course you had thought that he was a bit of a douche when you met him for the first time, shortly after his emergence into the world. Everybody did. It was a part of his charm. But deep down, yeah, there was a heart there. After all, not all technology is meant to be cold. Most of it was built to help others, or to improve lives. He just took the functional part of it a little too seriously at times.

You took a lot of rides with him in his special car. Sitting in the back with him as it drove itself - or rather, one of the faceless minions drove - around the different cities. Anywhere you wanted to go, you could. New York one minute, LA the next. Technology had no bounds, no limits, and so - neither did Tech-Boy.

“Why are you wearing your shirt like that,” You scoffed once you realized what it was that he was wearing. The jacket itself was nice, but he only had the top three buttons fastened. The rest were undone, showing off the red shirt underneath. “You look like you’re preparing for a huge dinner or something. You don’t even eat. What gives?”

You poked at his thin stomach, and he shoved your arm away. He adjusted the coat so it was exactly how he liked it, the open flaps down. “It’s the new look, y/n. Not that you know anything about what’s new.”

“Wow, someone’s being fucking harsh,” You said, folding your arms around yourself. You’d grown used to his rather ... delicate temper over the years. You knew not to take offense. “What crawled in your vape and died?”

“New Media,” He grumbled. You nodded, knowing that was a pretty good reason. The bubbly but bitchy new form of Media was a pain in the ass. You preferred the old. At least she had class. And a pretty good David Bowie impersonation.

“Say no more,” You said, sinking into the interior of the seat. You made yourself comfortable as the car went. You didn’t know where you were, nor did you know where you were going. It was more so about the journey than the destination. And with this teched-out car, the journey was definitely in style. “Just don’t forget that she owes her existence to you. Without the printing press, smartphones, internet - all that you have created - she’d be nothing. Lord it over her. I do it all the time.”

“You talk about me to her?” He asked, eyebrows shooting up towards his curls.

“More like I brag about you to her,” You snorted. “Okay, she might be a bit more superior than I am in the hierarchy, I’m barely anything, but you? Bitch is kidding herself if she thinks that she’s better than you. And guess what, you like me-”

“Barely fucking tolerate-” He muttered.

“-way more than you do her, so in her stupid face.” You didn’t allow his interruption to bother your momentum. You knew that behind that hard, technological, douchebag exterior was a heart wrapped in microchips. A soft, beating heart.

“She just doesn’t have to be so fucking smug,” He said. You could still feel anger coming off of him like heat waves. You just chuckled at his attitude - he really let things get under his skin. And he tried so hard to pretend to be this big tough guy.

“Don’t worry about it,” You said, patting his knee. “You’ll be around for the rest of time, and media is just going to be a fad. Especially her kind of media. She’ll get reborn again and again, as media changes. So -- forgedd abou-it.” You attempted your best accent, trying to sound like the Italians in the movies.

“You’re fucking horrible, you know that?” He said to you. But before he turned his head, you could just make out the corner of his lips going up into a smile. You would call that a success.

“So where are we off to, today? Silicon valley to go and mess with the nerds? Seattle to go and talk to Bill Gates? Come on, hit me with something fun.”

He just shrugged in retaliation. “I don’t feel like fucking with anyone today. I just want to .... go.”

“Okay, then let’s go...” You said, eyebrows furrowed. It really didn’t feel like it was a success anymore. He was closing off from you again, and you didn’t have any other choice but to let it happen.

-

You drove around for hours. There wasn’t anyway to measure the time, and the windows were permanently dark so you couldn’t see if it was day or if it was night out there. It didn’t matter. You had nowhere that you had to be, nor anywhere that you would rather go. He did slowly start to open back up. He bitched a lot, but he was well known for doing that. You would be much more concerned if he suddenly started to be positive. But he was slowly getting there.

It must be hard for him. He always provided what the people wanted, and what they needed. There was a difference between the two and he gave both. But there was always so much pressure to do more. To be better. He could outdo himself on one thing, and the next day, people would be clammering for bigger and better. He never got to actually enjoy what he gave.

Even those who had helped to bring into this world, like Media, and New Media. They came from him. They wouldn’t be here without him. And yet, they also just asked for more, more, more. They took, and they took. And gave nothing in return. They claimed some of his gifts to this world. They made it all about them. Look what I can do! If you worship me, you’re worshiping yourself! Narcissism at the touch of a button! Look at this celebrity’s ass! Look at these tits! Oh, a dick pic! Look, look, look.

What a lonely existence that he must have, you thought, as you watched him take puff after puff out of his vape. You don’t really know what he did outside of these drives with you. He never talked about it - only mentioned World and Media in passing. Not what he did with them. Not how the war plans were going. He tended to keep you separate from that part of his life.

“Fuck it,” You said, leaning forward in your seat. “Pull over.”

The driver did what he, or rather it, was told, and pulled the car over to the side of the road. You didn’t even know where you were. It could have been in a field, or a dark and creepy alley, or the suburbs of Albuquerque.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tech asked, looking at you like you had suddenly gone insane.

“You’re acting like an asshole,” You said, shrugging, and opened your door. “And it’s honestly killing my vibe so... I’m going out to find it again.”

“Find your vibe? Here’s your vibe check-” He said, making a gun with his fingers and pointed it at you. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“And?” You got out of the car, and felt the cool night breeze on your face. It blew through your hair, and it felt pretty good after the staleness of the inside of the car. You looked at your surroundings, and grinned as you saw some lights not too far in the distance.

A movie theater. Absolutely perfect.

Tech-Boy slid out of the car as well, and stood in the middle of the street. His facial expression left you no doubts that he was doing this against his will. He didn’t want to be out here. “What the fuck are you doing?” He finally asked.

“Come on, you big grump,” You said, taking hold of his hand and started to pull his thin frame towards the theater. He grumbled, but he walked along. Once you were inside, you noticed that there was an arcade area, for those who came too early for the movie. “Let’s have some fun. You really seem like you need it.”

Eventually, you had him paying air-hockey. He only half-ass played until you scored on him three times in a row, and then his more competitive streak started to show. He was moving back and forth, using his striker to block off all of your attempts. And just when it seemed like you were slowing down, he went from defense to offense. The puck shot across the table and straight through the slot on your side. The table let out a clang, and added one to his score. You picked out the disk with amusement as you watched him do a little shimmy dance. His thin little hips stuck out of his designer jeans, making you chuckle.

“I’m still ahead, douche,” You said, putting the puck down and shooting it while he was distracted. He was quick though, and blocked it, sending it back your way.

You played five games, until best three out of five, which he ended up winning. You hadn’t let him either - that wouldn’t have been fair. You then went onto the motor-races, with the chairs and the steering wheels. This was also something that he was better at than you were, but you didn’t mind losing. It was seriously so good to hear him laugh. And to hear him say ‘fuck’ in joy when he won, rather than annoyance at someone else.

You got a bag of popcorn and some soda just to watch him play Pacman. “Little - color - fuckers -” He mumbled when they came too close to his circular, yellow character. Only to let out barks of laughter when he got the big pellet and was able to eat them down. “Eat my ass, losers.”

Eventually you were both thrown out due to Tech-Boys language, but you didn’t even care. You didn’t even know which city you were. The likelihood that you would come back was slim to none. You got back into the car, the good mood still going.

“Well, this has been fun,” You said, resting your head on top of Tech-Boy’s shoulder. You were starting to get tired - even some of the minor Gods needed to sleep at times. “I should probably go home though.”

“Okay,” Tech-Boy said, and with a snap of his fingers, the car started to head in that direction. The rest of the ride remained silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Once in a while, a little laugh slipped through as the energy of the night stayed with you.

Eventually it all came to an end as the car stopped outside of your place. You reluctantly took your head off of his shoulder, and got out of the car, but paused before you would close the door. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” He said with a nod, picking up his vape once more.

“Okay - bye Techie. Love you!”

He looked at you like you were crazy, then did a shooing motion to try to get you on your way. But you didn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” You questioned, leaning on the top of the door as it swayed under your weight. He curled his nose at you, and then tried to dismiss you again. But you didn’t move, just stood there grinning at him. “Not gonna leave until you say it back, big guy.”

He mumbled something under his breath. You cupped your hand around your ear. “What’s that?”

“Love you too,” He said, finally in a voice loud enough for you to hear. “You fucking freak.”

“Aww, you’re such a softie,” You grinned, sticking your tongue out between your teeth. You finally closed the door and made your way up to your place, the car idling outside until you were safely through the door. Tech-Boy held up his hand to snap his fingers, but didn’t until he saw the light in your window come on. Despite being alone, he smiled, chuckled, then finally told the car to keep on going. He might as well head home - the best part of his night was over.

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[kimzplace]

Home of the Week: Country Superstar Kenny Chesney Lists His 56-Acre ‘Tennessee Tuscan’ Estate for $14 Million

By Howard Walker1d

https://img.particlenews.com/image.php?url=3eeRIB_0biSLruU00

With one of his biggest hits entitled “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”, and with his Franklin, Tennessee , estate sprawling over 56 acres, you would expect country music legend Kenny Chesney to know a thing or two about tractors. In fact, in a recent interview, the six-time Academy of Country Music Award winner and four-time Entertainer of the Year admitted to owning not one, but two.

Just don’t expect to find them on his recently listed property.

“I think he liked his tractors so much that he took them with him,” explains realtor Laura Stroud of Nashville -based French King Fine Properties, who together with colleague Lisa Wilson holds t he listing for Mr. Chesney’s spectacular Nashville-area home.

Chesney, 53, bought the Tuscan-style villa as a spec build back in 2009 for a reported $9.25 million. Called Bella Luce, Italian for “beautiful light”, it was designed by local Nashville architect Brad Norris, who was given free rein by builder Jimmy Franks of Old South Construction to use some of the most authentic materials available.

For the exterior walls, he specified 150-year-old brick and carved stone, along with Santa Fe clay barrel tiles for the multitude of roofs. Inside, it’s all rich, reclaimed walnut floors, hand-carved Mesquite -wood doors and massive cedar and Douglas fir exposed wood beams.

“What makes my heart sing are the exquisite Venetian plaster walls throughout the entire house,” says Stroud. “It involves a remarkably time-consuming, and expensive, process where several layers of plaster are hand-troweled and then given a wax finish to produce this beautiful luster and sheen.”

Naturally, for such a high-profile artist like Chesney, the original appeal of the property was no doubt its security and privacy. Imposing gates off Franklin’s Lake Valley Drive open to a half-mile-long driveway leading to the tree-shrouded home’s stunning, brick-paved circular motor court.

When Chesney bought the estate it included more than 30 acres of land but, according to Stroud, over the years the singer quietly acquired additional plots for added privacy, as well investment. “If a buyer wanted to, there are parcels that could be developed and sold off while still keeping the property as a very sizable estate,” she says.

Talking of size, the home comes with over 12,000 square feet of living space spread over four, elevator-connected floors. The main ground floor includes a spectacular reception room with soaring beamed ceilings, giant wrought iron chandeliers and two 25-foot-high limestone fireplaces, one at each end of the room. An archway leads into the home’s cavernous yet cozy kitchen/dining room/family space with its huge center marble-topped island, professional-grade appliances and stone fireplace.

This ground floor level also includes the stylish master suite with huge wooden beams, vaulted ceiling and Romanesque stone pillars. Here, you’ll also find a sitting area, dressing room and French doors that open on to a private patio.

A wood and hand-painted tile staircase leads up to the second floor with three more ensuite bedrooms, each with its own balcony overlooking the grounds. One more elevator ride upwards takes you to a whimsical lookout tower offering 360-degree views all the way to Music City in the distance.

The cavernous 2,538-square-foot basement area was outfitted by Chesney—often referred to as “the fittest man in country music”—as a state-of-the-art gym. Other stand-out features of the main house include a movie theater with oversized leather recliners, a billiards room and an elegant office with built-ins and arched glass doors leading out on to covered terraces.

In total, the home boasts over 3,000 square-feet of covered terraces and walkways, an infinity-edged saltwater pool with a waterfall feature, and a covered outdoor kitchen. “The outdoor spaces are truly exceptional,” explains Wilson. “Because the home sits on a hilltop, the views across the meadows to the large pond are spectacular. There is a real feeling of peace and serenity here.”

One major addition Chesney made to the home was building a detached four-car stone garage in addition to the existing attached six-car garage. He also added two 500-gallon fuel storage tanks—one for diesel for those tractors, the other for gas for the singer’s car collection.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.27 (before 1960)

1096 – Count Emicho enters Mainz, where his followers massacre Jewish citizens. At least 600 Jews are killed. 1120 – Richard III of Capua is anointed as Prince two weeks before his untimely death. 1153 – Malcolm IV becomes King of Scotland. 1199 – John is crowned King of England. 1257 – Richard of Cornwall, and his wife, Sanchia of Provence, are crowned King and Queen of the Germans at Aachen Cathedral. 1644 – Manchu regent Dorgon defeats rebel leader Li Zicheng of the Shun dynasty at the Battle of Shanhai Pass, allowing the Manchus to enter and conquer the capital city of Beijing. 1703 – Tsar Peter the Great founds the city of Saint Petersburg. 1798 – The Battle of Oulart Hill takes place in Wexford, Ireland; Irish rebel leaders defeat and kill a detachment of militia. 1799 – War of the Second Coalition: Austrian forces defeat the French at Winterthur, Switzerland. 1813 – War of 1812: In Canada, American forces capture Fort George. 1860 – Giuseppe Garibaldi begins the Siege of Palermo, part of the wars of Italian unification. 1863 – American Civil War: The first Union infantry assault of the Siege of Port Hudson occurs. 1874 – The first group of Dorsland trekkers under the leadership of Gert Alberts leaves Pretoria. 1883 – Alexander III is crowned Tsar of Russia. 1896 – The F4-strength St. Louis–East St. Louis tornado hits in St. Louis, Missouri, and East St. Louis, Illinois, killing at least 255 people and causing over $10 million in damage. 1905 – Russo-Japanese War: The Battle of Tsushima begins. 1915 – HMS Princess Irene explodes and sinks off Sheerness, Kent, with the loss of 352 lives. 1917 – Pope Benedict XV promulgates the 1917 Code of Canon Law, the first comprehensive codification of Catholic canon law in the legal history of the Catholic Church. 1919 – The NC-4 aircraft arrives in Lisbon after completing the first transatlantic flight. 1927 – The Ford Motor Company ceases manufacture of the Ford Model T and begins to retool plants to make the Ford Model A. 1930 – The 1,046 feet (319 m) Chrysler Building in New York City, the tallest man-made structure at the time, opens to the public. 1933 – New Deal: The U.S. Federal Securities Act is signed into law requiring the registration of securities with the Federal Trade Commission. 1935 – New Deal: The Supreme Court of the United States declares the National Industrial Recovery Act to be unconstitutional in A.L.A. Schechter Poultry Corp. v. United States, (295 U.S. 495). 1937 – In California, the Golden Gate Bridge opens to pedestrian traffic, creating a vital link between San Francisco and Marin County, California. 1940 – World War II: In the Le Paradis massacre, 99 soldiers from a Royal Norfolk Regiment unit are shot after surrendering to German troops; two survive. 1941 – World War II: U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt proclaims an "unlimited national emergency". 1941 – World War II: The German battleship Bismarck is sunk in the North Atlantic, killing almost 2,100 men. 1942 – World War II: In Operation Anthropoid, Reinhard Heydrich is fatally wounded in Prague; he dies of his injuries eight days later. 1950 – The Linnanmäki amusement park is opened for the first time in Helsinki. 1958 – First flight of the McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom II.