The call to Vivian was short.Gennado did not dress it in poetry or apology. He stood by the tall window of his study, the city spread beneath him like a chessboard already soaked in blood.“He has agreed,” he said into the phone. “Same place. Same date.”On the other end, Vivian’s breath did not change, but something shifted in the silence between them.“I knew he would,” she replied. “Bruno has always been curious about the truth. Even when it hurts.”Gennado closed his eyes.“Do not wound him more than this already will.”A pause. Then, softer, “I did not come back to destroy my son.”The word son scraped something raw inside him.“We shall see,” Gennado said, and ended the call.Bruno left the Deluca estate without looking back.The iron gates opened for him like obedient jaws, but his mind was nowhere near the road ahead. The city blurred past his window, neon and shadows smearing into one long ribbon of unrest.Lidia.The name burned in his head.Gennado’s blood.And him,Son of
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