Chap. 23: The phone call, museums, Blaise, shopping, dirty dentists, and the casino.
Saturday, May 6, 2000
Harry had just came from the bath, and was drying his hair when he walked into the bedroom of their suite. Daphne was almost ready for the day, and they were going to head downstairs for a buffet breakfast at the Club del Doge. Next, they had plans to visit several museums, and do some more shopping. Harry had found a shop selling fine wines, which piqued his interest, called the Enoteca Boldrin Sambo Loredano, which was close to the opera and Marco Polo's home. They sold luxury wines, especially a Rothschild from 1945, he was told, and he thought that he might take a few bottles back, but it was according to the price. He looked to profit from it in the future.
Just as Harry started to mention this to Daphne, his secure cell phone rang. He looked thoughtful for a moment, sighed, picked it up, and flipped it open. "Hello?"
Daphne overheard a man's voice in the receiver.
"Ahhh, Mr. Zabini," Harry said, causing Daphne to give him a surprised look. "Where are you?"
After a few "uh-huhs," Harry gave a slight shake of his head toward his wife. "Still in Nice?" Harry listened for a bit, then looked back at Daphne, "You'll be here for lunch, you say?" Here, Harry shrugged his shoulders at Daphne. "We'll find you at the Longhi? Uh-huh, see you then Mr. Zabini."
Daphne gave Harry a skeptical look. "What's Blaise up to coming here?"
"He said that he had to take a longer stay," Harry explained, "and that the 'wash and rinse cycle' took longer than expected. He said that was why he was heading to Monte Carlo in the first place, before we put him up in Nice."
Here, Daphne began to finish getting dressed. "Really?"
"He said that he would explain when he arrived," Harry said, as he started putting on his underwear, "and he went on to say that he would meet us at the bar, downstairs, at noon."
"Well," Daphne said, after she blotted her lipstick, "let's hurry and have our breakfast, then see the museums. They're all close by so, we'll come back here for lunch, unless Blaise has other plans."
The Potters took a tour of three museums that morning, and only two of the three they cared anything for, which were the Museo Correr at Saint Mark's Square, which they visited first, and the Ca' Rezzonico, which had been their last stop. The postmodern art at the Collezione Peggy Guggenheim, which was their second stop, simply appalled them. There were no better words to describe it, as both found much of it to be vulgar and obscene. Both knew that the art represented destroying the old, to bring in the new, which was, quite frankly, a radical ideology that started in Revolutionary France, which became Marxism, the Paris Commune, and Communism. Each, also, had a direct link to organized crime.
"You know, Harry," Daphne commented, while thinking about the Guggenheim Collection, as they were taking a water taxi back to the Gritti, "Astoria, when she was two, was a much better artist, even when using finger paint."
Harry snorted. "Even Dudley was better than that at school, and that's saying something. Worse, every statue was ghastly, and I thought we had terrible art in London! That isn't art, dear, that's pure Troll shite."
The two deboarded the water taxi at the Giglio dock, and made their way to the side door of the Gritti Palace, which came out onto the Campiello Traghetto. This street was the main thoroughfare where they were staying. It was now 11:55, so they made their way to the Bar Longhi, where they saw Blaise Zabini sitting on one of the plush leather bar stools, nursing a Gibson.
"Blaise, ol' boy," Harry announced himself, as he held out his hand, which Blaise turned around, grinned, and shook.
"Good to see you both," Blaise said, as he dropped Harry's hand, and gave Daphne a one-armed hug.
"It's good to see you too, Blaise," Daphne said, as she patted his shoulder, and stepped back.
"Allow me to order Daphne and I a drink, and we'll head out onto the terrace," Harry said, as he walked up to the bartender. "It's a jolly nice day out after all. Too nice to be inside!"
Harry ordered a JB and Coke for himself, and a flute of sparkling grape juice for Daphne. One couldn't tell a bit of difference in it and champagne. Once he had their drinks, he handed Daphne hers, and the three made their way out onto the terrace, which was also known as the Riva Lounge. The Potters took a seat in the corner, which was a bench seat next to the gondola docks, and Blaise sat in one of the white captain's chairs across the round table from them.
"I believe this is yours Sir Harry," Blaise mumbled, as he withdrew a shrunken briefcase from his inner jacket pocket, and passed it to Harry. If anyone noticed it, it would look like a black leather wallet to them. Harry took it, and quickly placed it into his own jacket pocket.
"Thank you, Mr. Zabini," Harry replied, with a huge sharky grin. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you! Salute!" Here, all three picked up their drinks, and with a small clink of their glasses, they took a sip, and sat them down.
Harry studied Blaise for a couple of seconds. "What do you have planned now that you're here?"
"Oh, I think that I will head over to the Casinò di Venezia tonight around 7:00," Blaise replied, "and try my hand at some Blackjack and Baccarat. I've been on a bit of a lucky streak lately, and won about ten-thousand Euros in Monte Carlo."
"Really, Blaise," Daphne sighed. "Carpet joints are places to lose your fortune."
"There's a whale that will be there tonight," Blaise explained, "in the red room, a private game of 'chemin de fer.' He's loaded, and he's one of those we're taking down. Can't play Baccarat, it seems, to save his life. Real unlucky bloke, and the shoe doesn't stay with him for long. It's a minimum € 1,000 to enter the pit with him."
This sparked Harry's interest. "Really? Do go on!"
"Yes," Blaise said, while taking another sip of his Gibson, "his name is Peter Popovic, and he's a boss for Philip Markovic."
This really got Harry's interest. Markovic was a major importer of drugs, illegal potions, and chemical precursors in the Montenegrin wizarding mafia, which was the key to the flood of illegal potions and drugs coming into Europe. Worse, he was behind much of the human trafficking into the wizarding west. He also worked with Shevchenko, and owned the bank that the Ukrainian thug used.
"Well, well," Harry said, as he looked out over the Grand Canal, "he fell right into our lap, didn't he?"
Daphne, though, looked concerned. "Harry?"
"Oh, what's a little Baccarat," Harry grinned, "to take a mark down a few pegs, eh? We might as well use this opportunity, and have a little fun while we're at it!"
Daphne sighed.
"I thought you'd say that," Blaise grinned. He then reached into his jacket, and pulled out two invites to the game, and handed them to Wizarding Britain's top two spooks.
Daphne scrutinized Blaise for a few seconds. "At seven you say?"
"Yup!" Blaise finished off his Gibson, sat his glass down, and stood.
"Where are you staying Blaise?" Harry really needed to know, in case something went tits up.
"Hotel Monaco & Grand Canal," Blaise said, as he motioned down the canal with his hand. "Not very far from here. I've got a spa appointment, and I want to look my best for tonight. No need to get up, I'll see you two this evening."
The Potters watched Blaise walk back into the Gritti. He would probably find an empty loo, and apparate.
Harry and Daphne walked into the sitting room of their suite just after lunch. Here, Daphne watched Harry take out the shrunken briefcase, and unshrink it.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yup," Harry said, as he opened it. In it were a handful of travel brochures, but that was before he opened the fake bottom. Here, Daphne looked over Harry's shoulder at what was revealed. It was stacks upon stacks of cash, in Euros.
"Ha-Harry," Daphne stuttered, "how much is in there?"
"Don't know until I count it, dear," Harry replied, as he took the stacks of cash out, and placed them on their dining table. Once all were removed, he started counting the bundles.
"There looks to be € 3,000,000.00 here, after Blaise took his cut," Harry said, as he sat aside several bundles, and placed the rest back into the briefcase. Next, he took the bundles that he left out, and put them in his money belt, which had an extension charm on it.
"Ready to go, darling? I'll have the hotel lock the briefcase up in their safe."
Daphne's head was slightly swimming. "How much are you taking with us?"
"€ 500,000.00," Harry said as he stood. "Ready?"
Daphne took a huge breath, steadied herself, and followed Harry out of their suite. People wondered why they were always armed to the teeth.
The Potters took a water bus to the Rialto dock, where they deboarded, and made their way north through the winding and narrow streets, and across a few footbridges, to the Enoteca Boldrin Sambo Loredano. It was an old stone building, which had a light blue sign hanging from above, and was on their right off of the Salizada Canzian, at number 5550, which was the narrow street that they were on. The sign was oval, and in its center was an orange sunburst, which had a hand within it. The hand had its fingers folded, except for the index and middle, which were extended.
They went inside the ancient building, where Daphne walked past the tables at the front, and to the wines on the shelves, while Harry looked for the proprietor at the bar to his left. Here, Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out a list that he slid it across the bar.
"Ciao," Harry said, "sto cercando di comprarlo dalla bottiglia."
"Fammi vedere cosa hai."
The proprietor looked at the list, and began to mumble as he read.
.
Château Mouton-Rothschild 1945 - Jeroboam, how many?
Domaine de la Romanee-Conti 1990 - a case price.
.
The proprietors eyes almost bulged out of his head. The gentleman standing before him was young after all. "Signore, questi sono i più costosi!"
Harry shrugged, and gave the man a small grin. "Quanto?"
"Abbiamo solo due dei primi, ed è molto raro," the proprietor said.
"Quanto?"
"Per due, € 80.000 ciascuno," The proprietor replied, feeling light-headed. The young man didn't bat an eye!
Harry grinned, "Quanto è il caso?"
"Ne rimangono solo sette."
Harry frowned. "Quanto?"
"€ 175.000."
Harry quickly totaled this up. "Sarebbero € 335.000?"
The proprietor was stunned, but nodded. Harry thought for a moment, then looked him in the eye. "Se pago in contanti, consegnerai in Gran Bretagna?"
The poor proprietor almost looked as if he were about to faint, but he nodded. Harry opened his money belt, counted out € 335,000.00, and handed the man his personal business card for his address.
"Porterò con me una bottiglia del Rothschild del 1945," Harry said. "Hai una scatola per quello?"
The man nodded quickly, took the money, and locked it in their safe. Next, he retrieved one of the dusty bottles of the Château Mouton-Rothschild 1945, from a locked cupboard. He placed it into a wooden wine box filled with excelsior, so it wouldn't be broken, and shakily handed it to Harry. "Grazie Sir Harry!"
Harry took the box, and shook the proprietor's hand. "È stato un piacere."
The Potters were given two free glasses of wine worth € 100 each, to sip as they discussed the day. They took a table at the front, just across from the bar. Harry discretely waved his hand, and produced a privacy ward around their table, so they could discuss what Harry did in private.
"Business done?"
Harry grinned at Daphne, as she looked at the wooden wine box. "Why yes, it is. I bought this for us to celebrate our honeymoon before we leave."
Daphne studied Harry for a moment, knowing that nervous smile he wore. "How much?"
"This, or the entire purchase?"
"That for a start," Daphne replied, as she nodded at the box.
"€ 80,000," Harry mumbled.
"What?"
Harry cleared his throat, "€ 80,000."
"Tha-that's," Daphne stuttered, "€ 16,000 a glass Harry!"
"Yes," Harry nervously said, "but you're worth it." This took some of the wind out of her sails, but he saw her hesitate, and think.
"How much did you spend in all?"
"Uh, heh, eh... ," Harry muttered, "for nine bottles, I paid € 335,000.00 total, as an investment." Harry could have heard a pin drop.
Daphne closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What did you buy that cost that much?"
"Well, you see... ," Harry mumbled.
"Harry!"
"I bought seven bottles of 1990 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti, and two bottles of the 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild. They are extremely rare! If we ever wanted to auction them in the future, we can make a good return!"
"I can't believe that we're about to drink wine that costs € 16,000 a glass," Daphne hissed.
"We'll drink it in little portions, you know, half-glasses," Harry rambled, then tried to change the subject. "Any other shopping you want to do before this evening?"
"Harry, I love you," Daphne deadpanned, "but I'm not walking through shops while you're carrying around a bottle of wine that's worth more than some people make for a year's salary!"
In Geneva Switzerland, a sixty-something, barrel-chested man, who had closely cut grey hair just above his ears, but was bald on top, was stepping out of his dentist office. He wore a tan trench coat, and a brown fedora. A constant habit of his was to chew on a toothpick. As he walked away from his office door, facing the street, one could read the sign that said Karl Bronstein, D.D.S..
The man caught the Geneva tramway, and deboarded at his stop. From here, he made his way up to his flat on the third floor of his apartment building. It was now 4:00 PM, and he was in a rush to get himself ready, as tonight, he was making a trip to Venice, and specifically, to the casino.
Once he finished shaving at the sink in his bedroom, he slipped on a pair of brown slacks, a white dress shirt, and a brown blazer. He tied his tie, and walked into his sitting room, only to sit down at his desk. Here, he opened a drawer, and slid the tray back that held several pairs of tooth extraction forceps. The man sniggered at these, as he made good money by removing the teeth from corpses; the kind that were left dead by those of his associates, or he, himself. Generally, they died from gun shot wounds, and he pulled all their teeth before the body was rolled up in a carpet. They did this so that the body couldn't be identified by dental records.
Underneath, he removed a .22 caliber Beretta 71, and a silencer. He placed the pistol, and silencer, in a special shoulder holster under his jacket. Once done, he closed the drawer, and opened another, taking out € 20,000 in cash, held by a golden money clip, which he placed in his inner jacket pocket beside his wallet. Before standing, he slid a walnut wand inside his outer jacket pocket.
The man was trained well, as after he was out of dental school, he was recruited by Reinhard Gehlen, in Germany, for the Gehlen Organization, which later became the BND (Bundesnachrichtendienst), or the Federal Intelligence Service, post-WWII. He ended up as a freelancer, in Switzerland, doing work for the Wizarding syndicate in Europe.
Finally, the man looked around his apartment, and next, down at the 8 x 10 photo framed on his desk. It was of Adolph Hitler, who he gave a salute to. Finally, the man stood, turned on his heel, and apparated.
At 7:00 PM, the water bus dropped off the Potters at the dock in front of the Casinò di Venezia. The couple walked along the red carpeted walkway, onto the foundation, and through the door into a grand hall. Here, Harry asked for directions, and showed his invitation to a private bout of gambling that night.
As the couple walked off, the concierge knew that they had to be well to do, as the young man wore a finely tailored tuxedo, and his companion had on a very expensive black satin evening gown, which was very form fitting, with a very expensive diamond choker around her neck. The concierge figured that they would end up leaving a bunch of money behind, with them, as most people were suckers. However, what he didn't know, was that this was a witch and wizard, highly competent in legilimency, and that they had many "tricks" up their sleeves.
Once upstairs, in the private gambling room, also known as the "red room," Harry and Daphne grabbed themselves a drink at the bar, and made their way over to the Baccarat table. They had arrived a little early, but Blaise was already seated, playing. Harry quickly studied Popovic, who was heavy set, and looked to be in his late sixties. He was playing the banker this round. Another man that Harry noticed, was standing behind Popovic, and watching the game. He was a bald man, chewing on a toothpick. He seemed to be making bets on Popovic.
Harry took a sip of his Rum and Coke, walked up to the table proper, and threw down € 20,000.00. "Ready for another player?"
Daphne looked everything over, turned, and took a seat at the bar, where she could keep an eagle eye on everything that was taking place. From the time they entered, she had been noticing where all the security cameras were, and where all the "security personnel" were stationed. When satisfied, she tuned to ask the bartender what he knew of Popovic and the others in the room. A little charm, and the muggle was putty in her hands, then came the legilimency.
Daphne watched Harry play, where he would win a few hands, and lose one, but was gaining in chips. He made sure to change the order of the lost hands, so their mark or the casino wouldn't catch on. When Popovic became the banker, Harry would strike, only losing a few hands here and there.
Harry was very slick at it, using wandless magic. She watched as he would lift his two cards just enough to see the hand, and would tap one of the cards with his index finger, as if he was thinking it over. It was a switching spell, which would switch that card with one from the shoe, giving him what he needed. Eights and nines were Harry's hands, and Popovic was becoming frustrated, betting higher, and he had an ever increasing bank when it was his turn.
Daphne also noted that both Harry and Blaise were using legilimency on their mark. Every time that Popovic would look at his cards, he would look up at Harry and Blaise. They knew what his cards were that quick, even though this was a very quick game. "Chemmy" was a great game, Daphne thought, for a skilled witch or wizard.
Just as Daphne was about to ask the bartender another question, Harry loudly said,"Banco!" Daphne quickly turned her head to watch. Popovic, who now had the shoe, had a lot of chips stacked for the "bank." Harry matched the bet, and Popovic had a very sour look, if not hateful, on his face.
Popovic took a card, and went over. Harry's hand was a seven, and Blaise held a six. Popovic's eyes looked to bulge out of his head, and the man standing behind Popovic, who was a bald man, chewing on a toothpick, and who had been betting on the bank, gave a cold stare toward Harry.
"Well, that's it for me," Harry said, as the croupier pushed over Harry's chips, which he collected in a stack, and tossed one over to the croupier for € 5,000. "I've drank too much, and need the loo."
Daphne stood up to follow Harry, as he cashed out. She watched as several stacks of bills were handed over to Harry, and they ended up giving him a deposit bag to put it in.
As they walked out of the private game, and made their way downstairs, Daphne muttered, "How much?"
"I took in € 200,000.00 tonight," Harry muttered back. "Blaise, not so much, but he's ahead. Wait here for me Daph, at the cashier, as I really do need the loo." They were in the room for the slots, now, and the noise was bothering the young witch.
Daphne watched Harry go inside, and within a couple of minutes, here came the bald man chewing on a toothpick. She watched him look around, then go inside the loo with Harry.
This worried Daphne, to the point of opening her purse, ready to draw her wand, but Harry was trained for this, especially if any problem would arise from it.
Harry walked into a toilet stall, shut the door, shrunk the deposit bag, and placed it in his pocket. Next, he unzipped his fly, and relieved himself in the toilet. While taking a whizz, he heard the door to the loo open, and close. He would be ready if there was to be any trouble.
Harry zipped up, turned, and opened the stall's door, coming face to face with the bald man pointing a small caliber, silenced, pistol at him. Harry held his hands up, and smiled. "You seem to have a problem with me, and I don't know who you are, so you really do have me at a bit of a disadvantage."
The "Dentist" squinted at Harry, still chewing on his toothpick, but eventually, he spat it out onto the floor.
"Lo and behold," the dentist said, in a thick German accent, "that I would find Commander Black here, when I was sent to kill the other player. Or should I call you Sir Harry?"
Harry shrugged, "Again, who are you?"
"They call me 'The Dentist,' and I work for Mr. Markovic. It just so happens that I received two more sanctions the other day, and they were on you, and your pretty wife. Once I terminate you, Mr. Potter, I'll do her, as well as your friend upstairs. The more I think about it," the bald dentist smirked, "I may play with her a little first."
Now, Harry's entire demeanor went as cold as ice. "Is that so?"
"Goodbye Mr. ... ," but that was as far as The Dentist got, when Harry gave a casual wave of his right hand, which he had been holding up in the air.
The Dentist found his right arm thrown back, which was also the hand that gripped the pistol, as well as his body, by some invisible force. Before he was slammed into the wall, he fired off two shots, which were soft thuds, breaking the mirror over the sinks. When he hit the wall, he found himself stuck to it, unable to move. He also noticed the spook waving his hand at the door, which glowed, causing the lock to latch.
"Wha.. what are you?" The Dentist was a wizard, but a weak one, and he had never witnessed someone wield wandless magic so easily.
"I'm you're worst fucking nightmare," Harry coldy stated, "and I fucking hate assassins."
"Help! Anyone! Help me!" The Dentist shouted, hoping that security would rush in.
"Nobody can hear you," Harry muttered, as he walked up to the man, and snatched the pistol out of his frozen hand. "Your biggest mistake was threatening my wife, and for that, you - will - pay - dearly."
The Dentist observed, in horror, as a long straight stick, which looked like an orchestra conductor's baton, appeared in the young wizard's hand, except it had odd knots along its length. It was a very odd looking wand, the likes of which he had never seen. This was quickly pointed at him.
"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Potter," The Dentist bragged, then sniggered. "I've been trained by the best."
"Oh, you will be," Harry coldly replied, "Crucio." Not only was Harry and his organization licensed to kill, but they were licensed to use any spell at their disposal under these circumstances.
The Dentist screamed in agony, from a tremendous pain that he'd never felt in his life. It was as if ever bone had been broken in multiple places, and a great pressure was applied to every break. He'd been under the torture curse before, but it was nothing like this. It was so sharp of a pain, that he soiled himself within seconds.
Harry ended the curse, and sneered at the assassin. "You disgust me. Now, let's see what you know." Harry aimed the Elder Wand between The Dentist's eyes, and mumbled "Legilimens."
The Dentist's occlumency was fair for a normal wizard, but when the spell struck, it was like a speeding locomotive hit his mind, and his protection crumbled. Long held secrets flashed through his mind, and he could not drive out the young wizard in front of him to save his life.
When Harry ended the spell, The Dentist's head fell forward, and drool was dripping from his mouth. Finally, he caught his breath, and whispered out in a broken German, "You'll have to ki... kill me. When I re... report what you have done, you're entire family will be killed. You can't stop us!"
"There's things that are much worse than death, Mr. Bronstein." Harry raised the Elder Wand, as "The Dentist" raised his weary head to look at the young warlock. "Imperio."
A bright yellow flash occured, and "The Dentist's" mind was overwhelmed by a new controller, when the Imperius Curse struck home. The assassin seemed to be stuck within his own mind, unable to control anything he did, no matter how hard he fought it. All of his occlumency training was for naught.
"You will leave here tonight, Mr. Bronstein, and find your hotel room," Harry ordered. "Tomorrow, you are to arrive at the Gritti Palace at 7:00 AM, sharp, in the lobby, and you will take a seat in an out-of-the-way place and speak to nobody. When I arrive, you will be given new instructions then."
Harry canceled his sticking spell, and the Elder Wand retreated back into its holster. The assassin slumped onto the dirty and wet tiled floor of the loo, blinking his eyes, looking at everything in sight, but not able to control anything. Eventually, the assassin stood, the curse directing his movements, where he opened the door to the loo, after Harry unlocked it. The assassin walked outside the casino, not speaking to anyone, and apparated back to his hotel.
Harry sneered at the man's back, as he turned to wash his hands. He would kill two birds with one stone, tomorrow.
It had been about fifteen minutes, and Daphne was starting to worry, when the door to the loo opened, and out walked the bald man that entered earlier. She noticed a glassy look in his eyes, as he marched across the slot room's carpeted floor, and out the door to the terrace, where she heard a small pop. He had apparated away.
Just before Daphne started to make her way to the loos, the door opened again, and out walked Harry, who looked to be totally perturbed. She met him in the middle of the floor, and they began to walk out toward the main entry hall.
"He was an assassin," Harry muttered, as he walked over to a desk, and took out one of his business cards. She watched as Harry quickly scribbled a note on the back, then he walked back over to her. "We need to leave, now. Take this card, and give it to Blaise at the table. It's time for him to cash out, and for us to scarper."
Harry waited in the main part of the casino, on the second floor, as Daphne took the card to Blaise in the red room. In about five minutes, the two walked out of the private room, and met up with Harry. They quickly made their way to the cashier, where Blaise cashed out. Next, the three proceeded to make their way downstairs, where they walked outside, and to a dark corner of the terrace.
Harry held out both arms, and looked at his wife and Blaise. "Grab on."
Daphne and Blaise took Harry by the forearm, and as soon as they were holding on tightly, he turned on his heel, apparating them away, and back to their suite at the Gritti Palace.
-=QE=-
AN, from Google translation:
"Ciao," Harry said, "sto cercando di comprarlo dalla bottiglia." : "Hello," Harry said, "I'm looking to purchase this by the bottle."
"Fammi vedere cosa hai." : "Show me what you have."
"Signore, questi sono i più costosi!" : "Sir, these are the most expensive!"
"Quanto?" : "How much?"
"Abbiamo solo due dei primi, ed è molto raro," the proprietor said. : "We only have two of the first, and it's very rare," the proprietor said.
"Quanto?" : "How much?"
"Per due, € 80.000 ciascuno," The proprietor replied, feeling light-headed. : "For two, € 80,000 each," The proprietor replied, feeling light-headed.
Harry grinned, "Quanto è il caso?" : Harry grinned, "How much is the case?"
"Ne rimangono solo sette." : "Only seven remain."
"Quanto?" : "How much?"
"€ 175,000."
"Sarebbero € 335.000?" : "That would be € 335,000?"
"Se pago in contanti, consegnerai in Gran Bretagna?" : "If I pay in cash, will you deliver to Britain?"
"Porterò con me una bottiglia del Rothschild del 1945," Harry said. "Hai una scatola per quello?" : "I'll take a bottle of the 1945 Rothschild with me," Harry said. "You have a box for that?"
"Grazie Sir Harry!" : Thank you Sir Harry!"
"È stato un piacere." : "It was a pleasure."