After Lorenzo's departure, a palpable tension filled the air, like a storm on the verge of breaking. Alessandro, visibly upset by the confrontation, took my hand to lead me away from the living room.
His fingers, warm and firm, wrapped around mine with a reassuring yet possessive pressure. He said nothing, but his actions spoke volumes. As we walked through the corridors lined with artworks and memories I didn't recognize, a weight settled on my chest. These places, these objects… everything seemed to belong to me, yet I felt estranged from it all.
"Come," he said, his tone gentler than I had expected after such an exchange.
We were now on the terrace, surrounded by the calm of the night. The air was fresh, imbued with the scents of the nearby sea. The villa's immaculate gardens stretched out before us, bathed in the silvery light of the moon. Alessandro paused for a moment, gazing at the horizon with a troubling intensity, as if searching for answers in the infinite.
