Serafina’s POV
The address led me to the old opera house.
That alone should have told me everything.
San Verità’s Teatro Rosso had been closed for years, its velvet seats rotting beneath dust and neglect, its chandeliers dimmed by scandal and unpaid debts. Luca De Santis loved symbolism. Loved stages. Loved forcing people to perform their worst moments under lights they couldn’t escape.
I didn’t slow as I crossed the empty plaza.
The morning fog clung low to the ground, swallowing sound, turning the city into a hushed accomplice. My footsteps echoed anyway. I felt watched from the moment I stepped onto the cracked marble steps.
I was early.
Of course I was.
The doors were unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled like decay and old perfume. Faded grandeur pressed in from every side, gold-
