The Devil Who Bought Me
These fleeting glimpses of humanity chipped away at her resolve, at her carefully constructed hatred.
One evening, unable to sleep, Natalie found herself wandering the vast, silent corridors of the De Luca mansion. She stopped before a large, framed photograph, one she had never noticed before. It was a picture of a younger Lorenzo, his arm slung around a man who bore a striking resemblance to him – Marco. They were laughing, their faces carefree, their eyes full of life. A wave of unexpected sympathy washed over her. She saw the raw, unadulterated grief in Lorenzo’s eyes whenever he spoke of his brother, a pain that transcended his hardened exterior.
Bab Populer