PROLOGUE

ITALY (Venice)

CHLOE

The sun filtered through the curtains, its harsh rays glaring into my eyes. I groaned, slowly cracking them open. Another morning. Another day at work. My bed felt so warm and inviting, but I had responsibilities to meet. With a sigh, I pushed myself up, my body reluctantly following my will.

I rubbed my eyes and dragged myself to the bathroom. As I picked up my toothbrush, the cold porcelain felt strange against my fingers. My mind was still foggy, but I went through the motions—brushing, gargling, and washing my face with water that was cool against my skin, helping me wake up just enough to face the day. The hot shower that followed felt like a temporary escape, the water falling over me in a soothing cascade. I let it run down my back, my muscles unwinding under its comforting heat. I scrubbed away the remnants of yesterday’s exhaustion.

After a few minutes, I stepped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and made my way back to the bedroom. The mirror reflected a face that wasn’t quite awake, but I knew I had to get ready. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could just get on with it.

I moisturized my skin, the lotion feeling smooth as I massaged it in. I blow-dried my hair, then applied a bit of product before pulling it into a neat bun. Simple, efficient. Not too much effort.

I rummaged through my drawer for something to wear. Overalls. They were comfortable and practical. I paired them with a simple black top, nothing fancy. Comfortable sandals would do. Makeup? No, not today. Just a touch of lip gloss to make my face look a little fresher, though I didn’t expect anyone to notice.

I grabbed my purse, double-checking that I had my wallet, credit card, bus pass, cellphone, and a handful of loose change—just in case. I locked the door behind me, my keys safely tucked inside my bag, and stepped out into the city.

Venice was always beautiful, no matter the time of day. The streets, the canals, the ancient buildings, they were a constant reminder that I lived somewhere magical. But that magic never fully reached me, not with my mundane routine. Still, I appreciated it, even if I didn’t always have the energy to savor it.

Since I didn’t own a car, the bus was my only option. I stood at the stop, waiting for the bus, watching the hustle and bustle around me. The streets were alive with activity as the day began. I caught a glimpse of a man in a tailored suit hurrying along, his briefcase swinging with every step. I smiled to myself, envying the ease in which he moved through the world.

When the bus finally arrived, I climbed on and scanned my pass. The driver gave me a curt nod, and I found a seat by the window. The city passed by in a blur. People rushing to their offices, their suits pressed, their shoes polished. The usual chaos of the morning—honking cars, bustling crowds, the cacophony of a city coming to life.

As the bus made its way toward my stop, I stared out the window, lost in thought. This was my life now—nothing more, nothing less. I had chosen this. Not exactly the glamorous life I had once imagined, but it was enough to get by. That’s all I needed.

I arrived at my stop and got off the bus. The coffee shop where I worked was already buzzing with energy. The early rush was in full swing—professionals eager to fuel up before diving into their busy days. I quickly made my way inside, tying on my apron, offering a smile to Macy, my coworker. She waved back, focusing on the customer she was serving.

“Hey, Chloe!” Macy called out as I approached the counter. “Good to see you. Ready for another crazy day?”

I laughed, adjusting the strap of my apron. “Always,” I said, grabbing a rag and getting to work.

I barely had time to think as the morning rush hit. People streamed in one after another, all wanting their coffee—black, with milk, with sugar, iced, hot, you name it. I moved with the flow, taking orders, making drinks, and handling cash. A familiar routine.

It was then that he walked in. The man in the tailored suit. He approached the counter with a calm air about him, like he was used to the world bowing to his every command. He was tall, sharply dressed, his dark eyes unreadable as they met mine.

“I’d like a coffee. Black. No sugar, no cream,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

I nodded, feeling a little flustered but maintaining my composure. “Coming right up,” I said as I quickly got to work. Within moments, I handed him his coffee, the scent of rich espresso filling the air.

He didn’t hesitate. His credit card was in his hand, ready to be swiped. I quickly took it, ran it through the register, and returned it to him. Just as he was about to turn away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, placing them in my tip jar.

I couldn’t help but smile, but a small part of me was curious. If he had that much cash, why use a card? Not that I was complaining. Extra cash was always welcome.

Macy was running around behind the counter, coordinating orders and chatting with a few regulars. I returned to the task at hand, trying not to get distracted by the tall man’s presence. He sat down by the window, quietly sipping his coffee, not looking at anyone. Mysterious.

The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. The crowd shifted from professionals to schoolchildren and families. We had introduced milkshakes and mocktails recently, and they were a huge hit with the students. My tip jar was steadily filling up, and I carried it to the break room to sort the money.

I was just about to take a breather when Macy suddenly popped into the back, holding a wedding magazine in her hands. “What do you think about this gown?” she asked, holding it up excitedly.

I glanced at the magazine, gasping. “I love it! This is the one!”

Macy’s face lit up. “I thought so too! I’m calling Nathaniel and Trisha right now. They’ll be thrilled!”

I chuckled as she dashed off to make the call. Nathaniel, her fiancé, was wealthy, but Macy had always stayed grounded. She was simple and real, which made her so lovable. I admired her for it. Their relationship felt so genuine—Nathaniel could have married anyone, but he chose Macy, a humble café owner. It was a kind of love I wanted for myself, one that didn’t feel forced or transactional.

By 4 p.m., my shift was over. I had asked to leave early because I had a friend’s birthday party to attend.

“Bye, Macy!” I called as I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

“Take care, Chloe!” she called after me with a wave.

I made a quick stop at the supermarket to grab a makeup kit and a gift box. It wasn’t much, but I knew Tracy would appreciate it. Then, I caught the bus home, my mind still occupied by the day’s events.

That evening, I spent some time wrapping Tracy’s gift before heading for a quick shower. I dressed in a blue gown, the fabric soft against my skin. As I finished my makeup, the quiet of the evening felt almost too calm.

Suddenly—Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three gunshots rang out in the distance, so loud that my heart skipped a beat. My body went rigid as I rushed to the window, my hands trembling.

Outside, I saw four men standing over a lifeless body on the street. The image froze in my mind. My pulse raced as I took in the scene, my breath caught in my throat. The sunlight was beginning to fade, but there was enough light to make out their figures clearly. And then, one of them—he turned and looked directly at my window.

Panic flooded me. I ducked behind the curtains, my heart hammering in my chest. I could barely breathe as I slowly peeked through a small crack in the curtains. The men were gone. But the body was still there.

I rushed to my purse and fumbled for my phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a calm voice answered.

“I… I just w-witnessed a murder,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “Four men… they… they killed someone near my house!”

“Please stay calm, ma’am. What’s your address?”

“15 Willow Grove,” I whispered, feeling like my world was crashing down. “Please, hurry.”

“Stay indoors, ma’am. Officers are on their way.”

Within minutes, five police cars arrived outside my building. I heard a knock on my door. I rushed to open it, still shaking.

“Good evening, ma’am,” one of the officers said, his tone professional but soft. “May we come in?”

I nodded, stepping aside. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I had to help. I described everything I saw, detailing the men’s features as best as I could. The sketch artist worked quickly, turning their faces into rough drawings.

“That’s them!” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

The officers exchanged looks. “Thank you for your help,” one of them said. “For now, we’ll take it from here. We’ll keep in touch.”

I nodded, feeling numb.

I had to cancel my plans with Tracy. I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate after what I had just witnessed. My phone rang non-stop with messages from friends. I couldn’t bring myself to respond. The images of the men, the murder, played in my head over and over again.

One Week Later

The days blended together, each one passing like a foggy, monotonous blur. I had been holed up in my apartment, barely leaving. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a heavy sense of dread that hung over me like a storm cloud. My groceries were running low, but I couldn’t bring myself to go outside. Every time I thought about stepping out, my mind raced back to the images of that night—the gunshots, the lifeless body, the chilling gaze of the man in the suit. My apartment had become my sanctuary and my prison, all at once.

The loneliness weighed heavily on me, the silence pressing in. I hadn’t answered my friends’ calls or texts. I had shut everyone out. Guilt gnawed at me—Macy, my boss, had texted several times, asking if I was okay. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell her the truth, so I lied. I sent a simple message, apologizing and telling her I’d been sick. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my fear and confusion.

Macy, always kind and understanding, texted back: “Take as much time as you need, Chloe. I hope you feel better soon.” But even her comforting words did little to ease the tight knot in my chest.

The knock on the door came when I was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, the dim afternoon light barely filtering through the curtains. I jumped at the sound, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My first instinct was to ignore it, to stay hidden, but something about the knock felt urgent, insistent.

I hesitated for a moment before peering through the peephole. Two detectives stood outside, their faces stoic, their posture serious. I froze. A part of me wanted to run and lock myself in the bathroom, to hide away from everything, but I knew I couldn’t avoid this forever. Not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

“Good day, ma’am,” one of the detectives said, his voice firm yet gentle. “We have good news. The criminals have been caught.”

Relief flooded through me, followed by a wave of exhaustion. I leaned against the door frame, the weight of the past week finally starting to take its toll on me.

“What… what happens now?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

The other detective stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Would you be willing to testify in court?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn’t really thought about the aftermath—about what this would mean for me. The thought of standing in front of a courtroom, facing all those people, reliving the nightmare again, made my stomach churn.

“I can give a written testimony,” I said, my voice trembling. “But I can’t… I can’t testify in person.”

The first detective nodded, his face softening. “That’s fine. Jerome here will document everything for you.”

Jerome, the sketch artist, stepped forward, his sketchpad in hand. I could barely bring myself to look at him, let alone recount the details of that night. But I knew I had no choice. So I took a deep breath and began, my voice shaking at first, but steadying as I spoke.

I described the four men—one with a scar on his cheek, another balding in the middle. I described their movements, their cold expressions, the way they’d looked at me as if they knew I was watching. My voice faltered when I got to the part about the gunshots, but I pushed through, knowing it was the only way to make sure justice was done.

Jerome scribbled furiously, pausing only when I hesitated. When we were done, the detectives exchanged glances, and I felt the weight of their gaze.

“We’ll be in touch,” the first detective said. “For now, I advise you to keep a low profile. An officer will check on you periodically.”

I nodded, feeling as if the walls were closing in around me. They left without another word, and I was left standing in the silence, the only sound the beating of my own heart.

The trial began three days later. I had no intention of attending. I couldn’t bring myself to relive it in front of strangers, to face the men who had caused all this destruction. But I followed the news, my stomach tightening with each report, each new detail.

The verdict came quicker than I had expected.

Second-degree murder. Ten years in prison.

I was stunned. I had expected a harsher sentence, maybe life. But ten years? It didn’t feel like justice. The weight of it all crashed down on me. Ten years for taking a life? Ten years for the nightmare that had been thrust upon me? It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

I felt hollow.

The decision was made for me. I couldn’t stay in Venice any longer. I had to leave.

I packed my things in a daze, not really processing anything, just moving through the motions. I quit my job at the café. I couldn’t face Macy, not after everything that had happened. She had been so kind to me, and I couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes, or worse, the questions.

I booked a flight back to Russia, to my mother. The thought of returning to the familiar comforts of home, to the safety of my childhood bedroom, was the only thing that felt like it might bring me peace.

Before I left, I made one final stop. Tracy’s birthday gift, the one I had bought for her, still sat untouched on my kitchen counter. I wrapped it quickly, not really caring how it looked, and left it on her doorstep. The final goodbye.

Then, I boarded the plane, not looking back.

Italy, Venice, the nightmare—it was all behind me now. Or at least, it would be, for now.