The night had settled deep by the time Matteo's car rolled up the long driveway.
The estate loomed ahead—quiet, dark except for the soft golden light spilling from the windows like promises of warmth and safety.
The gravel crunched beneath the tires, the sound sharp against the still air, announcing their return.
Matteo parked by the front steps and was out first, moving with practiced efficiency despite the exhaustion weighing on him.
He circled the car to open his father's door.
Don Luciano moved slower now, the weight of the day showing in the stiff set of his shoulders, in the way he gripped the door frame just a moment longer than necessary.
Neither spoke; the silence between them was thick, heavy with the residue of the warehouse, with everything that had been said and left unsaid.
The front door opened before Matteo could reach for the handle.
