1. FRANCESCO MANZO - Double room

2. ROBERTA MINGHETTI - Rebecca

3. ANDREA CATTANEO - The Saint in procession

4. SILVIA SERACINI - Majorelle Blues

Download the collection in PDF format

Otherwise, download each individual episode separately:

1. FRANCESCO MANZO - Double room

Alberto will be here in a few hours.
After five years, he'll come down to the Miló hotel once more.
Ever since I saw his name on the list of reservations, I keep going back over the evening I met him.
It was the day when I rebelled against the rules and put my job and my future on the line.
Yet today I still don't know if Alberto guessed at my role in the episode that involved him. Nor would I be able to say if he ever knew my name or could remember my face.
I only hope that what I did for him was not in vain after all.
But what's the point of wondering too much.
He'll soon be at the Miló. I'll soon know. [to be continued...]

Download eBook (PDF)

I like listening to two types of story - those brought by time-wearied footsteps and those that have yet to be born.

I have a dead-weight girl in my arms and two wide-open eyes staring at me from the other side of the reception desk. Anna, the owner of the eyes, quickly recovers from her astonishment and starts to shower me with orders. "The girl has just checked in, her name's Rebecca, put her down on the sofa while I call a doctor, Pietro! Don't just stand there, try calling her name! Lay her down!"
[to be continued...]

Download eBook (PDF)

He arrived at the Miló from Bali at five in the afternoon, with five hours jet lag and a swarm of bees buzzing in his head. At the airport, he had waited at baggage reclaim for three quarters of an hour before discovering that they had lost his bags. All he had was the photographic equipment he’d carried as hand luggage, but he was too tired make a fuss and anyway, he would be able to replace it all in Lacerna.
[to be continued...]

Download eBook (PDF)

Flashing. First, a rustle like that of distant fronds, then a less and less shrieking hiss from the few centimeters-wide metal mouth that gradually faded to silence, though remaining wide open. A long, long curve, whose gold and steel arc had illuminated the whole city for what could have been no more than a fraction of a second. But why then had it seemed an endless corner of the eye vision of a shooting star sucked from a fifth floor window of the Hotel Miló to the few resistant couples still entwined on the benches along Murata Avenue?
[to be continued...]

Download eBook (PDF)