Led Back To Him!

Elena stood as Vincenzo's Lamborghini Egoista sped off the street, the echo of his words still settling in the air—an aftershock that made the pavement feel smaller under her feet.

A cold wind came off the avenue, scouring the last warmness of the morning. It tangled in her hair and pried at the edges of her coat, but she did not wrap it tighter or hurry away. The gust lifted the loose strands across her face and dragged at the hem of her skirt; it smelled faintly of rain and car exhaust, sharp and honest. For once, the elements seemed to match the small, stubborn calm she felt inside—an exterior wind that couldn’t reach the quiet she’d carved for herself.

Her jaw worked once, almost imperceptibly, as if testing whatever pride she had left. She watched his car become a dark sliver between buildings, then turned her gaze inward, away from the disappearing tail-lights. Only then did she notice them.

They weren’t showy—no emblazoned suits or swaggering postures. They were professionals: