Out of courtesy to our long acquaintance—omertà of a different kind, the silence of old ties—I pulled out my phone and sent him a message asking when he'd be back.
His reply came almost instantly. A voice message.
I pressed play, and Celina's honeyed voice poured through the speaker.
"Elena, Luca's helping me with the wiring. This place hasn't been lived in for a while, so there's quite a bit to sort out. You should head home—don't let us hold you up!"
I was about to close the app and call for a car when another message arrived.
"Oh, and Elena? Don't overthink things. Luca's just being kind. He feels sorry for me, being alone in such a big city."
Alone. In a city where she'd positioned herself precisely where she wanted to be.
The memory of my own parents—who had left years ago, who had finally called me home—rose unbidden. I typed a brief acknowledgment and closed the chat.
In the back of the hired car, I stared out the window at the passing streets, my thoughts scattered like ash, when Luca's call came through.