Page 70 of Shadows of Steel
I shake the thoughts away, unwilling to let them take root. Dwelling on uncertainty serves no purpose. Instead, I focus on something far more tangible, distraction. A day of shopping should help.
It’s time to keep my promise and spend some of my husband’s money.
The drive doesn’t take long. I scroll through my messages, catching up on unread texts from Sofia and Elena. A soft smile tugs at my lips. There are some from my brothers and father, too. The words don’t feel any less strange as I read them. Despite everything, I miss them all.
And I hate that.
Yearning for something that was never mine to begin with feels like attachment, and that is dangerous territory. It sneaks up on you, winds itself into your chest, and makes you believe in things you shouldn’t. Because what happens when they disappear again? Everyone in my life has left, one way or another. What if they do the same? I close out of the messages, pushing the thought away.
As we arrive, the streets are alive with energy, the summer sun casting a golden glow over the cobblestone roads. Chiaia is bustling, elegant, filled with the hum of conversation and the click of designer heels. And, of course, I attract plenty of attention. Being shadowed by four imposing men in tailored suits and discreet earpieces tends to do that.
Three remain within reach, Piero among them, while the others position themselves just beyond view, close enough to act at a moment’s notice. Their presence is both an imposition and a quiet reassurance.
I spend hours weaving through stores, letting myself to revel in the experience. Clothes, shoes, jewellery, by the timeI’m finished, the sheer volume of bags exceeds what the car can accommodate.
As I step out of a boutique, something catches my eye, a charming gelato shop nestled between two storefronts. The sight alone tugs at something nostalgic, the pastel-coloured awning and rows of creamy flavours behind the glass reminding me of childhood summers.
Piero notices my pause and follows my gaze, then huffs a quiet laugh. “After you, signora. Treat yourself.”
I don’t need to be told twice. As I step inside, an elderly man behind the counter greets me with a warm smile. “Che cosa desidera, signorina?”
I peruse the selections, taking a moment to consider before deciding. “I’ll have a cappuccino and a scoop of Rocher gelato, per favore.”
The old man nods and prepares my order. I glance over my shoulder at Piero and the others. “You’re all getting something too.”
They exchange looks but don’t argue, ordering espressos instead. Predictable.
Outside, I settle into a small table on the patio, relishing the sweet bite of my gelato as the men position themselves strategically. I gesture toward the empty chair across from me. “Sit, Piero.”
“I’m fine standing.”
I give him a pointed look. “That wasn’t a request.”
He exhales slowly, but he pulls out the chair and sits, his espresso resting untouched in front of him. For a moment, we sit in companionable silence. Then, with studied nonchalance, Piero remarks, “The boss has no involvement with Marta. She’s his assistant, nothing more.”
I remain impassive, taking another bite of my gelato. “And why, exactly, are you telling me this?”
A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “No particular reason.”
I exhale, rolling my eyes with indifference. “Piero, I truly couldn’t care less.”
“Of course not.” He sips his espresso, eyes sharp with amusement.
Much to my own surprise, I find that I don’t entirely mind his presence. Piero is unlike the others, sharp, calculating, always watching with an intensity that feels almost instinctual. There’s a weight to his silence, a sense that he absorbs far more than he lets on. His dry humour does little to soften the impression that he sees everything, weighs everything. And yet, beneath his composed exterior, something lingers, something just out of reach. I’ve caught glimpses of it, fleeting and elusive, but never enough to grasp what truly lies under. He sets his cup down. “You’re getting used to all this.”
I arch a brow. “All this?”
“The men. The security. The reality that someone out there is watching you.” I glance at my surroundings, the crowd, the lively streets, the ever-present security detail.
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m used to it,” I admit. “But I’d be a fool to reject it. If this stalker is as unhinged as he seems, I have no intention of making his job easier.”
A flicker of approval passes through Piero’s expression, subtle but there. “Good. You’re smart. Just don’t let the routine make you careless.”
Something prickles at the back of my neck, a phantom touch, too familiar, yet impossible to place. The sensation is fleeting, but it lingers, an unspoken warning that refuses to be ignored. My gaze drifts across the street, scanning the sea of faces. Nothing appears out of place, yet unease curls in my chest, refusing to settle.
Piero notices immediately. His posture stiffens, his voice low and clipped. “What is it?”
I exhale slowly, willing away the tension. “Nothing. Just… paranoia, probably.”
