Blood and Sorrow

Chapter 4: The Audacity 2

Sofia

And then, I see it. A brief glimmer, in the distance, near the trees bordering the property. A single one. Then two. Like a signal.

My heart leaps in my chest. He found the ring. He's there.

The crack has just widened, and in the darkness, I feel the vertigo of the abyss calling me. I am terrified. And for the first time in years, I feel alive.

---

The night was a long battle with the sheets, populated by accusing looks and hands that close in. At daybreak, I feel more exhausted than when I went to bed. Breakfast is a silent ritual. Lorenzo reads reports, his face a stone mask. He's forgotten last night's tension, or he's chosen to ignore it. His world must stay smooth, without rough edges.

"Marco will take you to the milliner, then to the shops on Via Montenapoleone. I cancelled your lunch with Chiara. You look tired. A quiet day will do you good."

An order, disguised as concern. I nod, my eyes fixed on my teacup. Cancelling my only real friendly appointment. Isolating me a little more. The strategy is transparent.

Via Montenapoleone teems with Milan's idle elegance. The sun beats down on the shop windows, creating a glittering, artificial world. Marco walks two steps behind me, an omniscient presence. Every click of my heels on the pavement is an amplified heartbeat. Am I crazy? Did I dream those lights in the night?

I enter a leather goods boutique, a sanctuary of soft leather and luxurious scents. The air conditioning chills my damp skin. I pretend to examine a bag, my fingers caressing the material without feeling it. My mind is elsewhere, taut as a bowstring.

Then I feel it. A presence beside me.

"Excuse me, madam."

The voice is calm, polite. I turn around, and the world stops.

It's not Luca.

It's a younger man, with an open face and lively eyes. He smiles, a disarming smile.

"I see you have a good eye. I hope I'm not being indiscreet, but I'm looking for a gift for my girlfriend. You looked so elegant... I thought your opinion would be valuable."

My heart pounds wildly. It's him. It can only be him. A contact. An intermediary. Marco, at the entrance of the shop, watches the scene, his suspicious gaze sweeping over the stranger. The man seems perfectly natural, simply a lost shopper.

I take a breath, forcing a society smile.

"Of course. I'd be happy to help."

"Thank you so much," he says, moving slightly closer. "He hesitates between this model and the midnight blue one."

He points to two bags under the glass counter. I approach, playing along.

"Black is a classic, timeless. But the blue... the blue has more character. It stands out."

I pronounce these words with a feigned emphasis, as if the most important thing in the world were the choice of this bag.

"Blue, then," he says, smiling more broadly. "She likes what's unique."

He lowers his voice, tilting his head as if to examine the quality of the stitching. His next whisper is barely audible, meant only for my ears.

"He found your gift. He's waiting for you. The antique bookstore, Via Solferino. In an hour. The back office."

An electric thrill runs through me. It's risky. It's madness.

"I... I think you won't regret it," I say out loud, my voice slightly trembling. "Blue is an excellent choice."

"You've convinced me, madam. Thanks again."

He gives me a small, courteous nod, greets the sales assistant, and leaves the shop, the blue bag in hand. Simple as hello.

I stand frozen for a moment, watching the door close. Marco approaches.

"Everything all right, Signora Rossi? That man..."

"A lost young man," I interrupt with a nonchalance I'm far from feeling. "He wanted a feminine opinion. Politeness, Marco."

I turn on my heel, feigning interest in a scarf.

"I think I'm done here. I'd like to go to the antique bookstore, Via Solferino. I feel like rereading some Italian classics."

Marco nods, seemingly unsuspecting. Books are part of my persona, part of the decoration of my prison. It's a plausible request.

The drive to Via Solferino is a blur. I clutch my bag, my nails digging into the leather. Every red light is an eternity. Every look from Marco in the rearview mirror makes me jump. What am I heading towards? My ruin? My freedom?