Marco’s POV
My name does not matter in this house. Men like me do not get remembered.
We hold doors.
We stand near walls.
We speak only when spoken to.
That is how it has always been.
But I notice things.
And lately, there has been too much to notice.
I stood outside Luca’s office that afternoon with my hands folded in front of me, staring straight ahead like I was trained to do. The hallway was long and quiet, the marble floor polished enough to reflect the chandelier light above.
Inside the office, he was walking again.
I could hear it.
Step.
Turn.
Step.
Turn.
The sound of his shoes striking the floor in sharp rhythm.
It had been like that for days now.
He used to sit more.
He used to lean back in his chair and speak slowly, like a man who knew no one would interrupt hi
