Page 70

The winding country road stretched ahead of him, empty and quiet, the moonlight casting eerie shadows through the trees. He flicked his cigarette out the window, humming along to the music, when suddenly—thud.

The car jolted violently.

Giovanni’s heart leapt into his throat. He slammed on the brakes, the Fiat skidding slightly to the side of the road. His hands shook as he gripped the wheel, eyes darting to the rear-view mirror.

“What....?” he whispered, his pulse racing.

For a moment, he just sat there, listening. Then, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention in the side mirror—a shape sprawled unnaturally across the road.

There it was—a man’s body lying motionless on the ground, arms twisted awkwardly, one shoe flung a few feet away. No sign of movement. No signal of life.

“No…” Giovanni whispered, his throat tightening. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, torn between his gut instinct to run and the weight of what had just happened.

For a long second, he froze, eyes fixed on the lifeless figure. Then, heart pounding, he muttered a string of curses, threw the car into gear, and sped away—faster this time, as if the night itself was chasing him.

Later that night, Giovanni finally arrived at Vittoria’s villa, his hands still trembling slightly as he gripped the steering wheel. The grand stone house loomed in the dark, warm lights glowing from a few windows. He sat in the car for a moment, breathing hard, wiping sweat from his brow, and staring at his pale reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, forcing a crooked smile as if to shake off the lingering dread.

He stepped out of the car, straightened his wrinkled suit jacket, and grabbed his briefcase from the backseat. The peaceful quiet of the villa’s gardens and the distant chirping of crickets felt almost surreal after what he’d just experienced.