Chapter 72: La Classe II

Chapter 72: La Classe II
Isla
"Where are we?" I was confused as he led me down from the SUV.
"We are in the heart of the city." He said what I had already known. He took my hands in his, smoothing my vein with his thumb as he felt I was tensed. His curly hair unraveled as the night air rushed through his strands. His towering presence as we walked into the building made everyone disperse from our path. From the simplistic design of the open space, it was clear it wasn't open during the daytime. This was a night event or something...

The city softened at night. Palermo lost its sharp edges, its watching eyes. The streets grew quieter. The chaos folded into shadows and the world became something else entirely. Something closer to the truth. This surreal place, situated between night and day, was where he took me.

"It is not what you think." He completed my thoughts as I drove myself mad into confusion. We strolled in front of an old building tucked between two forgotten structures. No sign, no name.

"Dante, if this is a secret operation you are taking me to. I would rather stay in the car and wait. I am not ready to be a witness to a crime." All there is to this building is worn-out stone walls and a heavy door that looks like it has lived through centuries.
"It's not that."
I glanced at him, "Then what is this place?" He didn't answer, he stepped out first and I followed.

The door opened with a slow creak. The moment I stepped inside, I knew this place didn't belong with Cosa Nostra. Warmth hit me first. Not heat. Not the polished warmth of luxury.

This was...alive. The place stretched wide open, its high ceilings lined with exposed coloured beams but bright enough. Soft golden lights hung from above, uneven and intentional. Like stars placed with symmetry. The walls were covered with art, not the kind you see in galleries, framed and untouched. This...

This was raw.

Paintings covered paintings. Murals that bled into each other. Charcoal sketches scrawled directly onto plaster. Words hidden behind every brush, too many half-finished thoughts in colours. Poetry, longing, and anger are etched into these walls like confessions no one dared to say out loud.

People moved through this space...quietly.

Some painted, some sculpted. Some simply sat, watching like they were trying to understand something inside themselves. No one looked up at us.

No one cared Dante just walked in and that felt more shocking than anything else.
I looked up at him, and he sighed as if he could read the question on my face. Dante walked ahead of me, his steps slower now. Lighter.

"Welcome to La Classe!" He said, then after a pause. "At least that's what they call it now."
"La Classe," I repeated softly like I could understand the meaning from the aliveness etched on these walls.

"It doesn't have an official name." He added. "It wasn't meant to."

I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. A woman stood on the platform in the far corner, posing while an artist sketched her. She wasn't fully dressed just draped in fabric that barely covered her. But there was nothing vulgar about it. It felt...scared. like she was part of the art itself.

"Muses," Dante said, noticing where my gaze had travelled. "No judgment here. No rules just expressions." There was a way Dante walked around like he owned the place but in a way no one knew. He blended in like anyone else here but they could tell he was different they just didn’t care. An average man walked up to us, stretched out his arms with a big smile on his face.

"My boy!" Dante hugged him, with a small smile on his face. You could tell they were happy. "It's been a while. I thought you weren’t going to show up again, now that I hear you are stepping up." The man's accent didn't do justice to his English. You could always tell a native speaker whose first language was Italian. He winked at Dante who ignored the conversation altogether.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Matteo." His eyes wandered to meet mine. "Isla, meet Matteo. He owns the place."

Matteo took my hands in his patting them gently, as a father would to a daughter. "Please don't listen to him. Without him, this place would have closed down years ago. He is more of the owner than I am."

"I've told you to stop saying that, Matteo. " Dante chimed with a threat underlying in his words. Matteo ignored him.

"He has never brought anyone here before, you must be special."
"Nice to meet you, Signor."

"Oh please, stop with the formalities. Call me Matteo." Matteo wandered in the selected crowd. He excused himself, mentioning matters that needed his urgent attention.
"I should have known you funded this place. You are the only odd one out." I said, as he moved closer to a private studio, which had his signature around it. It was like his...aura.

"What do you mean, I'm the odd one out. I'm a delight to be around." I scoffed, hiding my laughter. He half glared at me, fixing a new canvas on the stand.

"Can I ask a question?" I didn’t know why I was being polite.
"Since when did you need permission?" He freed some buttons from their place, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up his brushes and paints, then some pencils.
"If I didn't know better, I would say Matteo was your father."

"That is not a question, Tesoro."

My face contorted as he avoided my most obvious statement. "How did you come to fund this place?" He gestured to a seat directly opposite him. I moved to sit, not realising why.

"I was a troubled kid. We moved from Colombia to San Francisco. My mother died and later on, my dad died too. Padrino just took us to Italy where we spent most of our lives. I was a troubled kid, and I kept to myself often. I met Matteo who worked in one of the groves. He was going to be framed by a fraudulent accountant who worked for us then. To cover his tracks. I have a knack for numbers so I did my findings and saved him from Padrino's wrath. Matteo met me in the garden to give his thanks, he saw my drawings. He took me here, said I could come here when I liked without charge. In later years, I owned a few territories, and I was not in the game. Matteo came to me with money problems, he needed to keep this place afloat. I wanted to give him a job at the casino, but he said no. So I offered to be his partner. The building used to be rented but I bought the place. As far as money was coming in, street art auctions and displays. He hasn't been able to shut his gratitude since then." Dante concluded as he loosely, moved his brush against his canvas.

"That's really sweet of you. Helping him like that."

"He had a good reason."

"What was his reason?"

"He opened La Classe for his wife who was an artist at the time. It was her private studio."

"She must be proud to have a man like him."

"Yeah, she was. Too bad she died."