She kept moving backward.
Each step calculated.
Her eyes darted briefly toward the house, then back to me, as if measuring distance.
Planning her next move.
I didn’t follow.
Didn’t advance.
I stayed where I was, arms still crossed over my stomach, watching her carefully.
Like one watches a snake.
A snake that had already struck once—and would strike again if given the chance.
What now?
Another performance?
Another staged collapse?
Another attempt to twist reality until I was the one paying the price?
My eyes narrowed slightly.
I was ready.
But then—
I heard it.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Rapid. Approaching fast.
Gravel crunched sharply under deliberate, forceful strides.
I turned.
Vincenzo.
He was walking toward us like a storm given form—his coat flaring open with each step, his posture rigid, his presence overwhelming.
Behind him—
Ciro and Renzo.
Half-jogging to keep pace, their expressions tense, alert.
Vincenzo’s eyes locked onto mine immediately.
Sharp. Intense.
Something in his gaze made my stomach drop slightly.
“Elena.”
