The silver key sat on the mahogany bar like a cold, gleaming omen. Alessandro had vanished back into the night, but the air in Caffè Aurora remained charged with the static of his warning.
Matteo hadn’t moved. He stood exactly where he had when Alessandro left, his eyes fixed on the door as if he could still see his brother’s shadow lingering on the glass. The peace of the last three weeks hadn’t just been broken; it had been revealed as a temporary truce, a fragile bubble that was never meant to hold.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Matteo said, his voice a low, jagged rasp. “He knows exactly how to get inside your head, Giulia. The lighthouse? The ‘view of the horizon’? It’s a psychological play. He wants you to feel like a prisoner here so he can be the one to offer you the exit.”
Giulia
