chapter two
1543 Words
Elena woke the next morning thinking about a painting.
Not Lorenzo Angelino.
At least, that was what she told herself.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the sketchbook resting on her knees. Sunlight slipped through the curtains and fell across the unfinished drawing in front of her.
It was supposed to be the beginning of a new painting.
Instead, she had drawn the outline of a man's face.
Elena frowned.
She had only seen him for a few minutes.
Why was she drawing him?
She quickly closed the sketchbook.
“No.”
She opened it again.
The face stared back at her.
She closed it harder.
“Absolutely not.”
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Sofia: Are you awake?
Elena smiled.
Elena: Unfortunately.
The reply came almost immediately.
Sofia: Good. I need to tell you something.
Elena sat up.
Elena: What?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Sofia: Lorenzo Angelino asked about you after you left.
Elena froze.
She stared at the message.
Then typed:
Elena: What do you mean he asked about me?
Sofia: Exactly what I said.
Elena: What did he ask?
Sofia: Your name. Whether you were the artist behind the painting. Whether you owned a gallery.
Elena's stomach fluttered unexpectedly.
She immediately pushed the feeling away.
Elena: Maybe he was just being polite.
Sofia responded with a laughing emoji.
Sofia: Girl, that man does not look like he was born with the ability to be polite.
Elena laughed.
Then another message appeared.
Sofia: Also, I asked around.
Elena already knew she wasn't going to like that sentence.
Elena: Sofia.
Sofia: What?
Elena: What did you find?
A few seconds passed.
Sofia: People really don't like talking about him.
Elena's smile disappeared.
She remembered the gallery.
The way conversations seemed to soften whenever Lorenzo passed.
The space people instinctively left around him.
The strange seriousness in Sofia's voice when she'd mentioned his father.
Elena got out of bed.
Elena: I'll call you later.
She tossed her phone onto the bed and walked toward her wardrobe.
She had work to do.
She had paintings to finish.
She had a dream to build.
She didn't have time to think about mysterious men with dangerous reputations.
---
Across the city, Lorenzo Angelino sat behind a large mahogany desk.
A glass wall overlooked the city, but he wasn't looking outside.
He was reading a file.
“Elena Rossi,” Matteo said from the other side of the room.
Lorenzo looked up.
Matteo leaned casually against the doorway.
“You asked for information about her.”
“I did.”
“And?”
Lorenzo closed the file.
“And what?”
Matteo gave him a knowing look.
“You don't usually ask about people.”
“I was curious.”
“About an artist?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“Do you have a point?”
“Several.”
Matteo walked into the office.
“She doesn't appear to have any connection to our world.”
“Good.”
“She lives with her mother. Her brother is Marco Rossi.”
At the mention of the name, Lorenzo's expression remained unchanged.
“Anything unusual?”
“Nothing obvious.”
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair.
“Keep looking.”
Matteo stared at him.
“You're serious?”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“Would I have asked if I wasn't?”
Matteo smiled.
“Fair enough.”
He turned toward the door.
“Lorenzo?”
“What?”
“You know curiosity has a habit of becoming trouble.”
Lorenzo's gaze hardened.
“Then I'll deal with the trouble.”
Matteo left.
Lorenzo remained silent for a moment.
His eyes fell on the photograph lying on his desk.
Elena.
A simple photograph taken outside the gallery.
She was smiling at something Sofia had said.
There was nothing unusual about it.
Nothing that should have held his attention.
Yet it did.
He picked up the photograph.
Then placed it facedown.
He didn't like distractions.
And Elena Rossi was beginning to feel like one.
---
Three days later, Elena was sitting in a small café near the art district, staring at a cup of coffee she had barely touched.
She had spent the morning visiting potential locations for her future gallery.
One had been too expensive.
Another had terrible lighting.
The third had been perfect.
And completely out of her budget.
She sighed.
“Don't look so miserable.”
Elena looked up.
Sofia dropped into the chair opposite her.
“I am miserable.”
“You're twenty-three. You're allowed to be broke and dramatic.”
“Thanks.”
“You're welcome.”
Elena laughed.
Then she noticed someone walking through the café.
Her smile slowly faded.
Lorenzo.
He wasn't wearing the black suit from the exhibition this time.
He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up and tailored trousers. He looked less formal, but somehow more intimidating.
His eyes moved across the café.
Then stopped on her.
Elena's heart gave an annoying little jump.
Sofia noticed immediately.
“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“He's coming here.”
Elena turned toward her.
“How do you know?”
“Because he's walking toward us.”
Sure enough, Lorenzo approached their table.
“Good afternoon.”
Sofia smiled politely.
“Hi.”
Elena looked at him.
“Do you make a habit of appearing wherever I am?”
There was a pause.
Then Lorenzo's lips curved slightly.
“Should I?”
Elena hadn't expected that answer.
“No.”
“Then perhaps it's a coincidence.”
Sofia looked between them.
“I'm going to get another coffee.”
Elena's eyes widened.
“Sofia—”
But her friend was already gone.
Traitor.
Lorenzo pulled out the empty chair.
“May I?”
Elena gestured toward it.
“You're already sitting.”
He sat down.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Lorenzo looked at the papers spread across the table.
“Looking for a location?”
Elena followed his gaze.
“Yes.”
“For your gallery?”
“Yes.”
“You're serious about it.”
“Very.”
“What would it take?”
Elena frowned.
“To open the gallery?”
“Yes.”
“Money. A good location. A lot of work.”
“You're missing something.”
“What?”
“Confidence.”
Elena smiled.
“I have confidence.”
“Do you?”
She studied him.
“You've known me for approximately five minutes.”
“Long enough to notice you doubt yourself.”
She leaned back.
“You're very observant.”
“I have to be.”
Something about the way he said it made her curious.
“Why?”
Lorenzo's expression became unreadable.
“It's useful.”
Before Elena could ask another question, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Marco.
Her older brother.
She answered immediately.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
“At the café.”
“With Sofia?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Stay there.”
Elena frowned.
“Why?”
“I'll explain when I get there.”
The call ended.
She stared at her phone.
“That was strange.”
Lorenzo's expression had changed.
Only slightly.
But Elena noticed.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I think so.”
A few minutes later, Marco entered the café.
His eyes immediately found Elena.
Then Lorenzo.
He stopped.
The change in his expression was almost invisible.
Almost.
He walked toward them.
“Elena.”
She smiled.
“Hey.”
Marco looked at Lorenzo.
Lorenzo stood.
“Marco Rossi.”
Marco's eyes narrowed.
“You know my name.”
“People talk.”
“That they do.”
Elena looked between them.
“Have you two met?”
“No,” Marco said.
“Yes,” Lorenzo said at the same time.
The two men stared at each other.
Elena blinked.
“What?”
Lorenzo calmly adjusted his watch.
“Not personally.”
Marco didn't smile.
“I think we should go.”
Elena gathered her things.
“Okay.”
As she walked away, she glanced back at Lorenzo.
He was still watching her.
Their eyes met.
For one brief second, the noise of the café seemed to disappear.
Then Elena turned and followed her brother outside.
Marco waited until they were several steps away before speaking.
“You need to stay away from him.”
Elena stopped.
“What?”
“Lorenzo Angelino.”
She folded her arms.
“You don't even know him.”
Marco looked back through the café window.
Lorenzo was still sitting at the table.
Watching them.
“I know enough.”
Elena shook her head.
“You're being ridiculous.”
Marco's expression remained serious.
“I hope I am.”
Neither of them noticed the man standing across the street.
He had been watching the café for several minutes.
His phone was pressed against his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“I found him.”
A pause.
His eyes moved toward Lorenzo.
Then toward Elena.
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“He isn't alone anymore.”
And on the other end of the call, Damiano Vitale smiled.
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