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The Missing Michelangelo

Fuming in anger, Renata was pacing up and down in her room. Severino tried to make her eat something, but she was not opening her door. The flashes of what happened last night kept creeping into her brain.

How Stephan ran his hands over her arms, how he pulled her closer and kissed her neck and breast, how he kept tearing away at her clothes, how he put his hands over her thighs, how Michelangelo barged in, how he just shot him between the eyes, everything was fresh in her mind.

Now she knew why Michelangelo kept calling her a liar, a betrayer. He thought she slept with other men. How could he think like that? Didn’t he trust her? He trusted the word of his brother, that asshole, who kidnapped her and threw her to wolves?

What photographs was he talking about? What was in those photographs? How could he trust some photographs? Well, if it would have been her, she too would have trusted her eyes. But photos can be photoshopped, did he check the authenticity before hating her?

He turned
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