MasukWhile Lorenzo quietly strategized on how to fish out his new enemy, Giovanni strolled through the enormous, extravagant cavern that was the Martinelli mansion, his footsteps echoing softly against marble floors polished to a blinding sheen.The house had always felt alive to him: breathing, watching, remembering. Every corridor carried ghosts. Some warm. Some cruel.He moved toward the east wing with an unhurried gait that betrayed none of the chaos inside him. The chandeliers overhead cast golden light against frescoed ceilings, but Giovanni barely noticed them. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in a loop of memory and regret.He had many memories in this house: beautiful ones, and sad ones too. Laughter echoing down hallways when he was younger. The sharp sting of absence after his parents died. The sense of being tolerated rather than claimed. And lately, fantasies — dangerous ones.He’d
“Wow. Look what the cat dragged in,” Lorenzo said jokingly as Giovanni strolled into his study and flopped onto one of the chairs positioned in front of the large mahogany desk.Late afternoon light filtered in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor.Giovanni didn’t seem to notice any of it. He dropped into the chair with none of his usual calculated grace, stretching his long legs out carelessly, as though he’d forgotten where he was—or didn’t care. 
True to Clarissa’s claim, the café was a charming little place: cozy tables, cheerful staff, and the intoxicating smell of sugar and butter in the air. They sat at a table close to the window overlooking the sidewalk. Coffee was ordered, served, and left untouched between them.Clarissa stared into her cup. Giovanni stared at her. Finally, he broke the silence between them in the otherwise busy coffee shop."Is everything alright?" He asked her quietly.
“It’s fine, Ebony,” Lorenzo said.His voice was calm, reassuring. There was no judgment in his eyes, only understanding.“You can stay,” he added.“Thank you,” Ebony whispered.The relief in her voice was unmistakab
In the Martinelli mansion, the family was in a celebratory mood. The oppressive tension that had weighed down the estate for days — weeks, even — had finally lifted.The corridors felt lighter, voices carried a different tone, and even the staff moved with cautious smiles, as though afraid to jinx the miracle they had just witnessed. Nonno Salvatore had cheated death once again.The patriarch lives!The news spread quickly through the mansion, whispered first, then spoken aloud with increasing confidence. A Martinelli does not fall easily, least of all Salvatore Martinelli. His survival felt symbolic, like a reassurance that the family’s foundation had not yet begun to crumble.Doctor Arturo was summoned back to the mansion, and he returned in record time with his assistant and two nurses in tow. The urgency of his arrival spoke volumes. When a man like Salvatore Martinelli showed s
Salvatore’s eyes shifted. Slowly, painfully slowly, they lifted to meet his grandson’s gaze.Then he blinked once. Twice. And then, inch by inch, one side of his lip curled upward. The other side followed, forming a crooked, unmistakable smile.Lorenzo let out a shaky breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sob.“You old bastard,” he whispered in awe.His knees gave out as he lowered himself onto the bed beside Salvatore. Carefully, reverently, he sat next to him and leaned forward, resting his head against his grandfather’s chest. He stayed there for several seconds, unmoving, holding onto him as relief surged through his body in a powerful wave that left him dizzy.Alive.Nonno was alive.When Lorenzo finally lifted his head, his eyes were wet. Tears clung stubbornly to his lashes, but he







