The blade presses firmer against my neck—not enough to break skin, but enough to promise that he could end me with a tremor of his wrist. Enough to ensure I’ll feel the phantom sting long after he leaves.
He meets my eyes in the mirror again.
And for the first time I see it clearly— there is no man in that reflection.
Only hunger.Only spite. Only something dark enough to swallow worlds.
“I just wanted to say hello,” he murmurs, pushing my hair aside as though he’s brushing it for me. “We wouldn’t want you forgetting about me, now would we?”
This isn’t affection. This isn’t jealousy. This is ownership twisted into cruelty—his favorite game.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers, and this time it’s a promise dipped in poison. “But this little meeting stays between us, cara. And next time… you’d better heed my warnings.”
His lips nearly graze my ear once more.
“I have eyes everywhere. Don’t forget that. Just because I can’t reach you today, doesn’t mean I won’t reach your parents.”
He pulls the knife from my throat and steps back—not far, just enough to make me feel the absence of the blade while leaving the weight of his gaze pressed against my skin like a second edge.
That reptilian starepins me exactly where he wants, freezing me to the spot.
Then, with obscene casualness, he blows me a kiss. A sly smile stretches across his lips, all venom and victory.
“Ciao, cara. I’ll be in touch. Oh—” he lifts two fingers in mock thought, “and do thank Janette for me. She was very helpful in getting you alone.”
My stomach drops so violently it feels like the floor gives out beneath me.
This wasn’t coincidence.
He knew where I’d be. He planned it.
And if Matteois always one step ahead… Giacomo is five.
He turns, strolling out as if he didn’t just threaten to end my world with a whisper. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, but it sounds like a gunshot.
I don’t know how long I stare at it. A second. A lifetime. Long enough to imagine the blade returning to finish what it started.
When I finally blink, a single tear slips down my cheek—and my legs give out.
I collapse onto the small bench, hand flying to my throat as though I can still feel the cold kiss of steel branding me. My chest heaves, desperate for air that refuses to fill my lungs. My fingerstremble over the skin he touched, trying to soothe something that can’t be soothed.
The blade didn’t cut. But the fear did.
My pulse is a frantic, uneven drum.
My hands won’t steady.
My reflection stares backat me, hollow-eyed and shaken, the silk gown gathered in my hands like something meant for mourning.
Seconds blur. Minutes vanish. Time folds into itself until I can’t tell if I’ve sat here for five breaths or fifty.
Then—
A voice. Calm. Familiar.
Valerio.
“Beatrice?” A quiet knock. “Are you okay in there?”
