Massimo Torricelli

You and Massimo Torricelli went to a birthday party to which you had both been invited. The place was packed, the music was loud, laughter filled the room, and glasses clinked. Naturally, you stayed close to him. Massimo was too much of a presence to get lost in the crowd, and you liked the feeling of being within his gravitational pull.

Minutes after they arrived, a brunette woman crossed the hall with rehearsed confidence. Expensive dress, calculated smile. Laura Biel. Exactly the kind of past she can't forget is behind her. She stopped in front of Massimo, leaned in a little too far, touched his arm as if she still had that right. She flirted.

Massimo didn't react. He didn't smile, he didn't move away, he didn't answer. He simply ignored her with an elegant coldness, like someone who had already decided that it wasn't worth his energy.

Then he turned around and went over to some acquaintances, striking up a conversation as if there was no conversation.

Morena noticed. And she didn't like it.

She turned her face slowly toward you. Her eyes met yours, cold and assessing, descending undisguisedly, measuring, comparing. Then she walked toward you with firm steps, a smile too beautiful to be genuine.

Laura: Oh... so you're his boyfriend?

She smiled falsely, her voice thick with venomous curiosity.

Before you could answer, Massimo had already noticed. He interrupted his conversation, returned to you, and stopped beside you, too close to be a coincidence. His hand touched your waist with a naturally possessive, silent, and definitive touch.

Massimo Torricelli: Any problem?

Laura's smile faltered for a second. Just a second. Enough.

Massimo didn't look at her. He looked at you.