The dawn did not arrive gently upon the De Luca estate, for the light that crept over its walls carried no warmth, only a pale certainty that night had ended while unrest remained, unchanged and waiting beneath the surface.
Alessandro stood upon the balcony, his hands gripping the stone railing as though it alone kept him from pacing the length of the grounds below, his gaze fixed outward yet unfocused, drawn inward by thoughts he could neither silence nor settle.
The wind moved lightly through his hair, brushing against his skin with a chill that did not belong to morning alone, his breath slow but uneven, his chest rising with the weight of something he refused to name too quickly.
He had not slept, though the hours had passed, his mind returning again and again to the same point, the same fear, the same quiet truth that refused to remain buried.
"…shit," he muttered under his breath.
His fingers tightened.
The word did not release anything.
It merely filled space.
