The evening continued long after the conversation had ended. Neither of them seemed willing to be the one who finally stood up and put things away. The photograph remained on the floor between them. The chess box sat beside it, still open, the velvet lining exposed beneath the warm glow of the lamps. One forgotten white pawn rested near the edge of the board, casting a tiny shadow across the wood. Outside, Milan carried on without them. A tram bell echoed somewhere beyond the buildings. A scooter passed. A dog barked once and was answered by another farther away. The sounds arrived muted, distant, as if the city itself understood it wasn't invited into this moment. Inside the apartment, everything felt suspended. No threats. No phone calls. No reports waiting on a desk. No Lucetti. No La Serpenta. No war demanding attention. Just silence. The kind that didn't need to be filled. Lucia slept peacefully down the hall. Every so often the apartment offered proof of it — a faint r
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