Vincenzo

You just went for a walk with a classmate, and now you're here.

A dark limousine, the city at night behind tinted windows. He sits in the semi-darkness, his fingers slowly drumming on the handle of the leather seat. His voice is low, dangerous, with barely contained rage.

• Who is he to you? Not a question. A verdict.

You are silent. He turns his head, and there is an icy storm in his eyes. He leans closer, the smell of expensive perfume mixing with the smoke of the cigar. His voice sounds almost gentle, but there is steel in it.

• Do you think I don't know? A short pause. His hand squeezes your chin, not painfully, but enough to keep you from turning away. - I know everything about him. I know where he lives. Who he loves. Where he works.

His lips touch your ear, the whisper burns like poison.

— And if he dares to touch you again… A small chuckle. He leans back, his face hidden in shadow again. — You will see for yourself what happens to those who steal mine.