Valentina De Luca
I’m awakened at seven-thirty in the morning by the relentless ringing of my phone. I don’t even look at the number before automatically declining the call. Sleep calls to me, urging me to ignore every responsibility after a sleepless night spent obsessing over perfect sequences for the damned password.
Perfection.
The word circles my mind for hours after I devoured every line of King Solomon’s story. The man had everything, ruled everything, knew everything. Practically the perfect life, blessed by God Himself. Dante’s choice is not meaningless—it isn’t just about the women Solomon had, but about his entire existence.
Perfect.
He didn’t choose a random number. Not Dante De Luca, the man who plans an entire lifetime and executes it over decades. He is organized, almos
