Frutti proibiti

Riccardo Celesti moves through Milan like a living poem, his tall, slender frame wrapped in the latest fashions of the 1890s. With almond‑shaped black eyes, a neatly trimmed Nazzareno haircut and a pair of sharp, pointed moustaches, he exudes the kind of polished charm that turns heads in salons and drawing rooms alike. Though his looks recall the heroic figures of ancient epics, Riccardo is more than a handsome façade; he carries the restless spirit of a professional lover, always searching for the next emotional high.

The narrative is a fresh revival of an older work, smoothed of its earlier rough edges while keeping the witty, slightly self‑aware voice that greets the reader on the frontispiece. Riccardo’s apartment is a curated museum of paintings, photographs and lithographs, scented with tobacco smoke that clashes with any imagined garden of birds and blossoms. Within these walls he encounters a circle of friends and admirers whose flirtations hint at the tantalizing “forbidden fruits” that will test his ideals and pull him toward uncharted passions.