The rain claimed me instantly—soaking through silk, sliding down my cheeks like tears I refused to shed. I walked into the darkness, my steps steady against the cobblestones, and I did not look back.
No one followed.
Exactly as I had known they wouldn't.
The rain fell hardest in the deepest hours of night.
I did not see them first. I heard them.
The dull thud of a car door. Hurried footsteps splashing through puddles. A voice deliberately lowered yet unmistakably tender—the kind of gentleness reserved for precious things.
By the time I understood what I was witnessing, I had already pressed myself behind the ancient oak that guarded the estate's eastern wall. Rain cascaded down the bark in silver rivulets, pooling in my shoes, seeping through leather to bone.
Giorgio wrapped his jacket around Silvia with movements that spoke of ritual—of something done a thousand times before. He positioned his body as a shield, letting the storm soak through his white shirt until it clung to him like a second skin. She leaned into his arms, her face pale but serene, as though she had orchestrated this moment from the very beginning.
In that instant, I realized I no longer needed confirmation of anything.