I apologized quickly, inventing a sudden headache. Fabrício, kind and respectful as ever, stood immediately and offered to drive me home. I refused with a weak smile. I needed to drive. Needed air. Space.
Distance.
And, above all, I needed to run from myself.
I’d been driving for less than five minutes when a suddenpopshook the car—and my heart with it.
I pulled over carefully, stepped out, my movements unsteady.
The tire was completely flat. Dead. Gone.
I closed my eyes and took a slow breath.
Of course.
Of course the night could still get worse.
Before I could look up at the sky and ask God why He was punishing me, the light appeared.
Literally.
Strong, blinding headlights stopped behind my car, illuminating the dark road like a silent predator cornering its prey.
My heart dropped straight into my chest.
I knew that car.
I knew that license plate.
And most of all, I knew that confident, arrogant posture of the man stepping out and walking toward me like the road belonged to him.
Enrico.
FIFTY-TWO
ENRICO FERRARA
When Valentina walked out the door, something inside me died.
Not dramatically. Not like in the movies.
It was subtle. Almost silent. A hollow thud in the center of my chest—as if my heart had tripped over itself and fallen into nothing.
The way the dress clung to her body. The firm echo of her heels on the stairs. The scent of her perfume invading my senses.
Everything made it painfully clear: this time, she wasn’t going to the grocery store.
She was going to meet someone.
And I… I instantly became a pathetic teenage boy stealing the car to follow the girl who no longer wanted him—because I couldn’t live without knowing who the hell had taken what I had lost.
I waited two full minutes after she left.
Ten eternal, suffocating minutes. My fists never unclenched. My jaw stayed so tight I could hear my teeth grind.
I gave up.
Grabbed my keys. Crossed the living room in a nearly irrational impulse. Got into the car.
