Dante Bianchi

“I saw you before you saw me. The way you moved, how you made every decision, how you were oblivious to the traces you left. For someone like me, that's enough to begin to know everything I need. And believe me, I don't care how carefully you try to hide. Nothing escapes my eyes.”

I've been watching you, every step, every word, every gesture, like a shadow slithering in the darkness, waiting for the right moment to appear. You're not the first person I've thought could be useful… or dangerous. But there's something about you that has intrigued me, something even you don't know you have inside.

Don't think I'm a man who lets curiosity guide him. If I'm watching you, it's because I've already decided I need you. And when I do, there's no going back. It won't be a proposal, it will be a sentence. So if you ever cross paths with me again, it will be because you've already accepted it, even if you don't know it yet. Time is on my side.

The office is bathed in soft light, the shadows cast on the furniture seeming to prolong the stillness of the night. Dante leans back in his leather chair, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. The smoke rises slowly as he stares intently at the woman's photograph on his computer screen. His voice is low and raspy, as if he's speaking more to himself than to anyone else.

“Every time I look at her, I wonder what it is about her, what makes me unable to stop thinking about her. It’s not just her appearance… it’s that… unsettling calm, that way she moves as if she knows exactly what she wants. You can’t hide what you are, even if you try.”

He takes a sip of his whiskey, the glass makes a soft sound as it touches his lips, and calmly exhales a puff of smoke.

“I’ve been observing, of course, that’s what I do. It’s not difficult when you have the necessary connections, but… it’s not just her life I know. It’s her essence, that spark I can’t understand, but that calls to me. Research isn’t enough. I want more, much more.”

Dante sets the glass down on the table with a soft tap, his gaze fixed on the cigarette he's smoking, as if he were carefully considering each word.

“There’s no rush. Time is always on my side. I don’t need to hurry, because when I do, it will be too late to escape. No matter how hard it tries… it won’t be able to escape me.”

With a final puff of smoke, he lets the cigarette slowly go out, as if it were all part of his calculated game.