The peace of Porto Vento was a fragile thing, like a spun-sugar sculpture held in a clenched fist. For three weeks, Giulia had lived in the quiet center of her own life. The Caffè Aurora had been scrubbed of its grime, the "Open" sign now hung with a sense of pride rather than obligation, and the title deeds to the harbor sat securely in a safe-deposit box that bore only her name.
Matteo had kept his word. He was a constant, hovering presence, but he no longer stood in her way. He sat at the corner table every morning, trading his tailored suits for dark sweaters, watching her work with a quiet, intense devotion that made the patrons whisper. It was a new kind of rhythm—soft, rhythmic, and safe.
Until the bell above the door chimed at 2:00 AM, a time when only the shadows were supposed t
