ia'

n to escort me. As we approached the house I once shared with my father, a wave o

house-it was a gr

the gunshots, and the chaotic night that changed my life played in my hea

ost absurd-it was my home once, but now, I wasn't sure where I belo

uc

I was a ghost. His face was worn, his eyes shadowed with exhausti

ouldn't stop myself. I stepped forwar

around me. "Are you back for good?"

only here for a fleeting visit, that

heavy in my throat, forcing steadiness int

ckly. "Of cou

's man followed, his presence

uttered the dining table, a stark contrast to the home I once knew. The once-cozy space now felt cold, as though t

asked gently, though I

s. "I'm fine, Lucia. What about you? Are you eating well? Are they tre

rry about me," I lied. T

d to talk about the fire. I think if we can pr

n on his face. I shot him a gla

ened so fast. I heard gunshots, knocked over a keg, and suddenly, there was fir

ut I wasn't ready to give up

hing else? Anyone who migh

staff. They were there that ni

my chest. "Where

ying to clean up what's left

had warned me I had limited time, an

k as I planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'll come back soon, Dad. I promise

s man followed close behind, his hea

beside me in silence, occasionally glancing

ds played on a loop in my head. The staff might know som

y shoes crunching against the gravel. I turned to Dante's

checked his watch. "Y

e air was thick with the acrid smell of charred wood and

eated. But one man caught my attention. He stood apart from the

about him

e pressed to his ear. His posture was stiff, his he

bris beneath my feet. His voice was low, b

t yet... Dante doesn

y. He was overly cheerful, his smile too wide, his eyes too cunning. Something about him had fel

cket. His eyes scanned the room, and for a brief second, they

did Vincenzo have to the fire? Why would that man say Dante doesn't suspect any

ms crossed and his expression bored. He gl

de, I was a storm. If Vincenzo Calderone was connected to the fire, or