Chapter 50 Dante And The Death Of Love

• DANTE
• The night in Naples no longer felt like home, but rather a territory occupied by old shadows. I hadn’t dreamed of Zoe for weeks, but insomnia grew crueler when the silence was absolute. Sometimes, I thought I heard her voice in the stone corridors, like a cursed echo of a life I couldn’t reclaim. Other times, I only felt the weight of emptiness. The weight of love… when it turns to dust.
• I dressed in black, not for mourning, but because that’s how I move better among the dead. Paolo waited in the main hall with the reports. He had spent weeks tracking every lab, every transaction, every name linked to Ethan Castelli and his damned network of corrupt doctors. Ivy was on the terrace, smoking, with a glass of amaretto in hand and a dress that screamed provocation, but eyes that said she was tired of pretending you don’t bleed. Neither spoke when I came down the stairs. They knew by the sound of my steps that today was no day for slow strategies. Today was a day to excise, like removing a tumor.