SIERRAThe morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of my bedroom, painting the walls in a soft, golden glow I hadn't noticed in over a year. I reached out instinctively, my hand searching for the warmth of his body, but the silk sheets were cool.My heart dipped for a split second until I saw a small, cream-colored slip of paper resting on his pillow.I snatched it up, my fingers trembling. ‘Buongiorno, cara mia.’Three words. Just three words in that sharp, elegant script I knew better than my own signature. I pressed the note to my lips, breathing in the lingering scent of sandalwood and skin that still clung to the fabric. He had been here. It wasn't a dream born of grief or a hallucination caused by exhaustion. He was real, he was alive, and he had been in my arms.The fury that had burned in me yesterday had evaporated, replaced by a calm, settled certainty. I wasn't a fool. I knew the world he moved in. If he were playing the part of being an investor to build a fo
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