In the end, I said nothing.
I locked the screen and remained silent.
A moment later, my phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Dante.
Did you have fun today? I hope I didn't let you down.
Looking at his message, I could not stop the corners of my mouth from lifting.
I replied quickly.
I had a great time. Thank you for spending the day with me.
Dante's reply came almost instantly.
My pleasure. I'd love to go out with you again.
My heart suddenly began to race.
A strange feeling spread through my chest, sweet and restless, like something quietly taking root.
I knew this was not right.
I knew I was still Luca's girl.
I knew Dante was his brother.
But emotions were never as obedient as reason.
Over the next few days, Dante contacted me more and more often.
Every morning, he sent me a greeting.
Every night, he asked whether I had eaten, whether work had been tiring, whether I had slept well.
We talked about the fronts, about life, about hobbies, about childhood memories, about things I had never even thought to tell Luca.
With Dante, conversation never felt like begging for attention.
He responded quickly.
He listened carefully.
He made every ordinary detail feel important.
Gradually, I began to look forward to his messages.
I would check my phone during work at the restaurant the Family kept on Mulberry Street.
I would smile at the screen without realizing it.
I would feel disappointed if he replied a little later than usual.
And Luca, the man I had loved for three years, seemed to fade little by little into a distant corner of my memory.
I knew I was standing at the edge of something dangerous.
I knew one more step could ruin everything.
But I could not stop myself.
Every word Dante sent was like a shot of adrenaline, pulling me deeper into a sweetness I knew I should resist.
Sometimes, late at night, I even began to imagine what life would be like if I were with him.
Would he show up when he promised?
Would he listen when I said I was uncomfortable?
Would he protect me instead of laughing while others humiliated me?
The thought was dangerous.
But also unbearably tempting.
Just as I was drowning in those sweet, forbidden thoughts, Dante suddenly sent me a message.
There was no text.
Only a photo.
I opened it.
The smile on my face froze.
In the picture, Luca was holding another girl in his arms, gently comforting her.
I stared at the photo on my phone, my heart tightening as if an invisible hand had wrapped around it and squeezed.
In the picture, Luca had both hands on an unfamiliar girl's shoulders. His head was lowered slightly, his expression gentle, patient, and full of concern. He looked exactly like someone comforting the person he cared about most.
For a moment, my mind went completely blank. All the trust I had tried so hard to preserve collapsed in an instant.
My fingers trembled as I typed a message to Dante.
What's going on?
Dante replied almost immediately.
I'm not sure either. I just happened to pass by Luca's place today and saw this.
I stared at those words, my chest rising and falling unevenly. My thumb found the pendant at my throat, pressing its edge until the chain went taut against my neck.
After a long while, I forced myself to breathe.
No. I could not just sit here and imagine the worst. I had to ask Luca myself. I had to hear his explanation with my own ears.
I grabbed my bag and went straight to his place.
The Falcone townhouse on Mulberry Street had a soldier posted at the stoop who recognized me and stepped aside without a word. When I pushed open Luca's door, the first thing I saw was the girl from the photo. She was sitting on the sofa, her eyes red from crying, looking fragile and pitiful. Luca was in the kitchen, busying himself as if he were taking care of someone precious.
The scene stabbed straight into my eyes.
