The transition was immediate.
Light gave way to shadow.
The sound of the outside world dulled, replaced by the controlled acoustics of enclosed space.
Tires whispered over polished concrete, smooth and quiet, the convoy gliding into position with precise coordination.
The car hadn’t even come to a full stop before the door was opened.
I stepped out.
The air was cooler down here.
A line of armed officers stood waiting.
Not mine.
Italian military.
Uniforms pressed to perfection, medals catching the artificial light in sharp glints of gold and silver.
Boots polished. Posture rigid.
The moment my foot touched the ground—
They snapped to attention.
Salutes came sharp.
Synchronized. Perfect.
I didn’t return it.
Didn’t need to.
I held no rank. No official title.
No position within their structure.
And yet—
They stood like I commanded them.
Because in many ways—
I did.
They had seen me too often beside the president.
Too often in rooms where decisions were made behind closed doors.
Too often standing where men like me were never supposed to stand.
Influence spoke louder than rank.
Power louder than law.
When I had requested additional security—
