The train roared into the black belly of the Calabrian tunnels, the rhythmic clack-clack of the tracks no longer sounding like a steady heartbeat, but like the terrifyingly precise ticking of an institutional clock. Inside the compartment, the air felt thin, stripped of the brief, sweet illusion of freedom they had tasted in the alleys of Naples.
Matteo didn't move for three full seconds. His hand remained hovering near his belt, his eyes fixed on the glass pane of the sliding door where the Liquidator’s shadow had just vanished. The stark, clinical white letters etched into the outside of Giulia’s ring cast a cold, pale glow against the fabric of her skirt.
"A subsidiary," Matteo whispered, his voice dangerously quiet. He turned to look at her, the exhaustion returning to his face with
