*VINCENZO*
I sat in my thick leather chair, feeling the weight of the cigar pressing against my fingers while the whiskey slid down my throat, a familiar burn that, for a fleeting moment, felt like sanctuary. The dim light in the room struggled to penetrate the heavy curtains, casting long shadows, and the silence was almost a living thing, pressing down on my chest. Opposite me sat Jesse, looking like a ghost of her former self—pale, with bruises that seemed to tell stories of their own. It struck me how fragile she seemed now, her bright spirit dulled by misfortune. I couldn't shake the memories of our reckless youth—the late nights at her club, the laughter echoing off the brick walls, the way her eyes sparkled when she danced.
"Vincenzo," she said, her voice soft yet filled with the
