Two weeks later, deep autumn had settled over Milan.
I'd just stepped out of my studio when a sharp gust of wind hit me, carrying fine, stinging raindrops straight into my face. I pulled my coat collar up tighter and headed toward the corner café, craving a hot latte.
"Tamara." A familiar figure emerged from the shadow of the streetlamp. It was Jack. He looked rough—stubble covered his jaw, his suit was wrinkled, and he reeked of utter despair.
Bits and pieces of news from back home had trickled in over the past two weeks. Lawson Jewelry had gone completely bankrupt and been liquidated. Jack had sold off every property and car he owned just to pay off his tax debts, narrowly avoiding prison.
"What are you doing here?" I stared at him, my voice ice-cold.
He hurried over, pulling a ve
