By then, spring had arrived. Three months later, the city had turned from winter to bloom. The trees along Fifth Avenue were flowering. Tourists took pictures. Life went on.
I was promoted—from front desk to lobby manager. The general manager, a crisp British woman named Mrs. Holloway, called me into her office.
"Claudia, you've done exceptional work. I'm recommending you for the overseas training placement. Six months in London. After that, executive track."
For the first time in years, I saw a future. Not a future with Vittorio. Not a future defined by his betrayal. A future of my own.
I was making my rounds in the lobby when the revolving doors turned. A man walked in—gaunt. His suit hung off him like borrowed clothes. Dark hollows under his eyes. Days of stubble on his jaw. He'd lo
