Author's Pov.Matteo Bianchi stood across the street, his body partially hidden behind a rusted lamppost.His gaze never left a small Italian restaurant on the other side. The restaurant's front glass was large enough to reveal the warm interior lit by soft yellow light. Wooden tables were neatly arranged, and the faint aroma of spices still wafted across the street whenever the wind blew.And there, behind the counter, Isabella was busy.Her hair, once jet black, was now streaked with gray, tied neatly back. She wore a simple black apron, occasionally smiling at customers, occasionally nodding at passing servers.Matteo didn't blink.For years, he had imagined his wife's face. In his dreams, in his darkest memories on the ship, in every night he had spent—Not long after, a black car stopped in front of the restaurant. A man got out carrying a fresh bouquet of red roses. The man was around his forties, neatly dressed, with a confident smile. Damian.Matteo recognized the name from re
Last Updated : 2026-08-20 Read more