Didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing my voice crack.
But inside—inside my chest—something tore open, raw and violent, like something being ripped out piece by piece.
“Stay back, Ciro,” Vincenzo called suddenly.
Ciro stopped mid-step. Released me instantly, stepping back as if burned.
His obedience was immediate.
Renzo didn’t stop.
He continued alone, his grip steady, guiding rather than dragging now.
His silence weighed heavier than words ever could.
We moved through corridors I knew too well.
Each step echoed with memory.
Past locked doors, polished floors, and walls that had witnessed too much.
Out the service entrance.
Into the night.
Cold air hit my face like a slap.
The backyard stretched wide and dark, an expanse of controlled wilderness.
Manicured grass gave way to something harsher in the distance.
The ridge.
The inverted V rose from the ground like a warning—a jagged formation of artificial limestone, sharp-edged and uneven.
It had been built years ago, part of some twisted philosophy of discipline and endurance.
Every surface was angled, unstable, unforgiving.
There was nowhere to rest, nowhere to hide.
Only pain, multiplied by gravity and time.
Renzo stopped at its base.
The night was quiet except for the distant hum of wind.
“Take your shoes off,” he said.
I looked at him.
For a moment, he didn’t look back.
That was answer enough.
I bent slowly, fingers trembling only slightly as I untied the laces. Slid the sneakers off.
Let them fall carelessly to the side.
