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He paused, letting the weight of that window settle in.

“In that time,” he continued, “someone would’ve had to stab Vittoria in the stomach, strangle her first with a rope, then again with a telephone cord — and then, somehow, attack Leonardo too. All that… and still escape from a locked room without a trace.”

Alice blinked. “That’s not a murder. That’s a performance.”

He leaned back slightly, piecing it together aloud. “At this point, I’m almost certain that Leonardo was never the intended target at all. The real target was Vittoria. Maybe Leonardo just walked in at the wrong time. Witnessed something he shouldn’t have. The killer couldn’t risk letting him go.”

Marco nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Especially considering how clean the scene was. No fingerprints. No evidence left behind — except for the knife.”

James pointed his fork toward the air, as if that detail held extra weight. “Exactly. The knife. Left stuck in Leonardo’s abdomen. That wasn’t careful. That wasn’t part of the plan. Everything else was neat, calculated—but that?” He shook his head. “That was rushed. Improvised.”

Just as James finished speaking, the waitress arrived at their table, gently placing three plates before them. The enticing aroma of wild mushroom risotto filled the air — rich and creamy, speckled with fresh local herbs, and crowned with a delicate drizzle of truffle oil that added an earthy, indulgent fragrance to the dish.

Alice glanced down at the food, then looked back up with a small smile. She took her first bite and let out a small, pleased sigh. “Okay, this is incredible. Honestly, if all the food in this town is like this, I might just move here one day.”

James chuckled, but Marco only raised an eyebrow as he chewed, still deep in thought. After a moment, he swallowed and turned toward James.