The world went still. Lorenzo stood at the doorway, his chest rising slowly, eyes locked on the man in front of him.
It was Marco and he wasn't on a screen, voice and a memory
He was real and standing inside Villa Nero like he belonged there.
Like he had never left.
“You’re too late.” The words re-echoed.
Lorenzo stepped inside, slowly. Each step heavy with something far more dangerous than rage. Control.
“You walked into my house,” Lorenzo said quietly.
“I built half of it with you,” he replied. “Don’t act surprised, we both know I know the blind spots.” Marco smiled, unbothered.
Isabella pushed herself up from the floor, her breathing uneven.
“Lorenzo…Matteo…” she stuttered.
“I know,” he said, his eyes never left Marco.
“Where is he?” Lorenzo asked.
“You mean your son?” Marco
