THIRD PERSONThe phone rang twice. Then a third time. Maddalena sat perfectly still in her chair, legs crossed, the stem of her gin glass resting lightly between her fingers. The candlelight danced on the dark wood desk, throwing soft shadows across her face. She looked at the phone like it owed her something. Calm, steady. Confident.By the fourth ring, the call connected.“Sofia,” she said, voice low and smooth. “Tell me what I need to hear.”There was a pause, then a soft, amused breath on the other end. A small laugh followed. The kind that said she’d been waiting for this moment.“You always start like that,” Sofia said. “Straight to the point. No greetings. No warmth.”“I don’t call to chat,” Maddalena replied. “I call for results.”“Well,” Sofia said, her voice sharper now, more grounded, “you’ll be pleased. I’m packed. Everything’s done. My apartment’s empty. I left the keys this morning.”“No loose ends?” Maddalena asked, already knowing the answer.“None. I didn’t leave a tr
MARCOI didn’t look back when I slammed the door. It echoed hard, deep, through the long hallway like a warning. My heart was still thudding in my chest, and my fists were clenched so tight my knuckles hurt. I didn’t go back to the room. I couldn’t—not yet. My whole body was buzzing with the heat from that argument. I needed air. Or a drink. Or both.I cut through the house, ignoring the staff who stepped aside when they saw my face. I didn’t want questions or polite greetings. I wanted silence.I went straight to the back wing, the old part of the house where my father used to escape. A private bar, barely touched in years. The door creaked when I opened it, and the room still smelled faintly of oak and dust. But the whiskey was still there—lined up neatly like someone was waiting to pour it.I shrugged off my jacket and let it fall onto the stool. Rolled up my sleeves. Poured a glass. Didn’t even look at the label. Just took a hard gulp.The burn hit the back of my throat fast. I di
MARCOI knocked once on her door, more out of formality than respect, and pushed it open before she had the chance to answer. I wasn’t in the mood to play polite.The room smelled like citrus and rosemary. Candlelight glowed from a small table near the corner, casting soft shadows along the velvet curtains and antique furniture. Maddalena sat there like she had all the time in the world, lounging in a low chair with one leg crossed neatly over the other. Her wine-colored silk robe draped smoothly over her, like she hadn’t moved in hours. A crystal glass rested in her hand, filled with clear gin and garnished with a sprig of rosemary that floated like it belonged there. She looked completely unbothered. Almost smug.Her eyes lifted to mine as I stepped in. She smiled faintly, like she’d been expecting me.“Marco,” she said, her voice calm, polished. “Right on time. I was just thinking about how quiet the house has gotten. You want a drink?”She swirled the glass in her hand and held i
MARCOThe city lights blurred past the windshield as I drove with no real direction. I should’ve gone straight home. I knew that. But something in me didn’t want to walk through that door just yet—not with the weight between us sitting in every corner of that house.So I turned off the main road, took a street I hadn’t driven in a while. Old route. Quiet. Familiar.Ten minutes later, I was pulling into a narrow lot behind a bar I used to come to before things got this heavy. Before marriage… Before it felt like the walls of my own house were pressing in on me.I didn’t come here often, but the bartender always remembered. His name was Luca. Broad shoulders, shaved head, always polishing the same damn glass like he was waiting for a reason to throw it.When I stepped inside, the smell hit me—wood, whiskey, and old smoke that never really left. The place hadn’t changed. Low lights. Wooden floors that creaked when you walked too fast. Booths along the wall, bar stools half-filled.I walk
MARCOI woke up slow.Not the kind of slow that comes with sleep. The kind that creeps in after days of something not feeling right. I stared at the ceiling for a while, chest heavy in a way I couldn’t explain. Not pain. Not sickness. Just weight.I pushed myself up, rolled my shoulders, stretched my arms out till the joints cracked. My body moved like it’d been through something, even if the night before had been quiet. I rubbed the back of my neck, then my face. Blinked against the soft morning light leaking through the curtains.The chair by the wall caught my eye.Her robe wasn’t there.I frowned, squinting at the empty spot. That robe never moved. She always folded it neatly before bed and left it there in the morning, soft and draped like a second skin.The tray beside the nightstand was bare too. No coffee. No steam. No note. No sign of her.Something twisted low in my gut.I kicked off the blanket, stood, and walked over to the window. I pulled the curtain aside slowly, not kn
THIRD PERSON Sofia sat at the edge of her cream-colored couch, one leg crossed over the other, her posture perfect but her thoughts scattered. The soft murmur of Milan traffic floated through the open balcony doors, mingling with the quiet ticking of the wall clock behind her. Her apartment was spotless, clean lines, neutral tones, everything exactly where it should be. Except her mind.Legal files were spread across the glass coffee table, color-coded tabs poking out from thick stacks of documents. A half-empty cup of espresso sat beside them, cold now. Her laptop screen glowed with the open case she’d been reviewing—a custody battle involving two high-profile clients. Messy, political, emotional. The kind of case Sofia usually thrived on.Her phone buzzed beside her. She didn’t flinch.It was her client again, third time in an hour. She reached for the phone and answered, tone calm, clipped.“Mr. Valenti,” she said. “I’ve already filed the motion. The judge won’t overturn custody j