LOGINNobody's POV
All of a sudden, one of the warehouses in the Marina Park had been stripped bare, no crates, no distractions, just a cold, open space reeking of iron and old sweat. The Shadows suspected Lorenzo, because his signature was written all over it.
In one of the holding rooms, fluorescent lights hummed above, casting harsh white light over the makeshift setup. A single line of folding chairs faced a long steel table where fi
Annabelle’s POVThe room froze. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Glasses clinked unheeded. Cameras still clicked, capturing the scene, but the atmosphere had shifted.He did not resist. He did not panic. But the sudden intrusion into our carefully orchestrated evening, our triumph, made the stakes suddenly, painfully, clear.I could feel the weight of the past and the present collapsing into one tense, suffocating reality.Antonioni’s hand brushed mine briefly, reassuring, grounding, and I squeezed it back. Then he left a tablet on the table, the screen glowing with a simple message:“You can let Scilla stay. If not for anything, at least, to keep you company.”I stared at it. That was all. No lectures, no debates…just care, measured and deliberate. Even that small gesture carried more weight than words cou
Antonioni’s POVValentine’s morning arrived dressed in gold, but I felt none of its warmth.I had been awake long before the light crept through the windows, cigarette already burning between my fingers, smoke rising in thin, self-controlled lines. Today was not a day for sentiment. By nightfall, I would be locked away again. The system never forgot men like me. It only paused.Annabelle stirred beside me.I waited until her eyes opened fully before I spoke. This conversation required clarity, not sleep-softened emotion.“Before the end of today,” I said quietly, “I’ll be locked away again. There are things you need to know.”She sat up slowly, already bracing herself. I respected that about her. She didn’t flinch from the truth, even when it hurt.“I’ve arranged mo
Annabelle’s POVValentine's morning sun was different. It was rich with the hue of gold.I woke to the scent of Antonioni’s cigar lingering faintly, the faint trace of smoke curling into the sunlight. But it wasn’t just smoke; it was his presence, his careful control over everything, even over the moments before the chaos would inevitably descend.He was awake before me, as always, and waited until I stirred fully before speaking. “Annabelle,” he said softly, voice low and steady, “before the end of today, I’ll be locked away again. But there are truths you need to know.”I blinked, sitting up slowly, unsure of how to prepare for what would come next.“I’ve arranged money everywhere it needs to be,” he continued, “For your life, your future…If you want to go to the university, apply
Annabelle’s POVThe morning sun in my studio fell unevenly, striking my canvases at angles that made them feel alive, almost conspiratorial. I had arrived early, before the world could press its noise against the edges of my mind. But the news, Edward’s words, lingered stubbornly in the corners of my thoughts, shadowing every ray of light.Not my father. Antonioni’s daughter. Not Mama's daughter. Scilla's daughter. My life rewritten in a single breath.I closed my eyes and let the memory settle, trying to understand what it meant to be carried through life by someone else’s mistakes, someone else’s silence. And yet, through all the chaos Edward had sown, one truth remained clear: Antonioni’s presence in my life had been steady. Fierce. Unyielding. Protective.I couldn’t let myself get lost in the whirlpool of lineage and bloodlines. Not now. Not
Antonioni’s POVThe cigar burned slowly between my fingers.I hadn’t noticed when I lit it. Only when the smoke thickened did I realize how long I’d been standing there, staring out at the darkened estate, letting memory and instinct circle each other like predators.Scilla.Her name refused to stay buried.I replayed her death the way the mind does when it suspects a lie has been dressed as truth. Not chronologically. Not cleanly. In fragments. In smells. In silences that had never sat right.She had died too quietly. Too neatly for notice. Too conveniently for someone who knew too much and demanded little.Years ago, I had believed she sold me out.Not suspected. Not assumed. Believed.To Sergio Rock-Delgado.The kind of man whose name closed mouths and ope
Antonioni’s POVThe gates opened slowly, the sound burned through my ears, via the phone, like an electronic threat.Not for ceremonies. Not for respect.They opened because someone at the gate had a name that refused to be ignored.I was standing beside Annabelle in the sitting room when the guard led him in. I didn’t sit. I couldn’t. Something in my chest had already tightened, a quiet warning my body had learned to trust long before my mind ever did.Edward Gracia.The name alone tasted like a rotten dog.The gait of a gambler who had lost too many times, the shoulders of a man who survived by selling pieces of himself until there was nothing left but bone and nerve.Annabelle stiffened beside me. I felt it without looking.Time did not pause. It only folded.Edward looked







