The cellar’s stale air wrapped around Alessia like a shroud, thick with dust and secrets. The low flicker of a single bare bulb cast uneven shadows across the cracked stone walls, turning every corner into a phantom’s lair. She stood motionless, her breath slow but ragged, the chill gnawing at her bare arms despite the heat that hammered in her chest.
Lorenzo watched her from the edge of the room, his posture rigid, eyes sharp and unblinking in the dim light. The space between them felt taut, like a stretched wire ready to snap. They both knew the fragile truce they’d forged was about to shatter, and nothing would ever be the same again.
“We don’t have much time,” Lorenzo said, voice low and urgent. “Marco’s men are closing in. They’ll find this place soon, and when they do, it won’t end
