Perspective: Alessio Leone
Alessio had to admit — no matter how hard he tried to maintain his indifferent composure — there were moments when the gap between his world and Beatrice's became impossible to ignore.
And this was one of them.
The moment he stepped into the car, the contrast hit him: the cool, regulated air, the faint scent of new leather and polished wood, the enveloping sense of absolute silence — the kind that didn't come from the absence of noise, but from how efficiently the outside world was kept away.
The interior was spacious, almost unreal.
The light-colored leather seats formed a perfect semicircle, stitched with surgical precision, molding themselves to whoever sat on them.
Recessed lights in the ceiling cast a soft, ambient glow — a muted lilac hue tracing the edges of the cabin.
Bottles and glasses rested inside glass compartments, perfectly aligned — nothing out of place, not a single mark of use.
It was, without a doubt, the kind of environment designed so that luxury became invisible — replaced by something more refined: absolute control.
Beatrice sat down naturally, as if the car were merely an extension of her home.
For her, this level of comfort was routine.
For Alessio, it was a quiet reminder that some people truly lived in a world apart.
He rested his elbow on the side armrest, running his palm across the seat's texture.
Even the touch felt different — firm yet soft, as though built to last decades without ever showing wear.
Across from him, a glass panel revealed the built-in bar: rows of imported wines and whiskies, decanters perfectly aligned.
Glasses were secured on brushed-metal bases so they wouldn't shift with the car's motion.
Everything had been engineered so that nothing — not even vibration — could escape control.
And, perhaps most striking of all, was the silence.
A silence so dense it felt armored.
The car itself gave that impression — the weighted doors, the muffled hum of the engine, the almost physical sensation of being sealed off from the world.
Alessio realized immediately: this vehicle wasn't just expensive.
It was secure.
Probably reinforced down to the last detail, built so that not even an external impact could shatter the bubble of calm inside.
A car meant to carry someone who was never supposed to be reached — neither by violence nor by the rush of the outside world.
For a brief moment, he thought back to his previous life.
Even when his finances had grown comfortable — when the wealth earned inside the Black Tower allowed him to live without worry — a car like this was still beyond reach.
Too much luxury.
Too much protection.
And, in a way, too much isolation.
Now, sitting there, with the low hum of the air conditioning and the gentle glow reflecting off the bottles, Alessio understood something simple:
people like Beatrice didn't just live better.
They lived in an entirely different world — one built of steel, silence, and walls that never let anyone too close.
The constant rhythm of the engine and the car's smooth, almost hypnotic sway created a kind of artificial calm — the kind of peace only complete isolation could offer.
Alessio was still lost in thought, reflecting on that sense of being inside a capsule of luxury and safety, when a soft chime broke the silence.
Beatrice had picked up her phone.
At first, he assumed she was answering a message or checking the time.
But instead, she turned slightly toward him, extending the device in his direction.
"Here," she said — her tone carrying that familiar mix of command and casualness. "Let's add each other on Zingchat."
Alessio blinked, uncertain he'd heard right.
Zingchat wasn't a typical app.
It wasn't like the professional networks or formal contact lists they both shared.
It was a private communication system, used mainly among friends — but known for being personal.
You couldn't just type in a number; the other person had to accept the request directly.
It was a connection reserved for people who spoke often, who shared proximity.
Friends.
Partners.
Family.
Sometimes… more.
It wasn't the kind of gesture made impersonally.
So when she extended the phone, Alessio froze for a few seconds, unsure how to respond.
The request unsettled him — not because it was inappropriate, but because it didn't make sense.
Beatrice Medici wasn't the sort of person who asked for trivial things.
Everything she did — every word, every movement — was calculated.
She didn't waste time or language.
So what did this mean?
Why did she want this?
After all, she didn't need him.
Not here, not anywhere else.
Beatrice had influence, resources, and a terrifying ability to solve anything on her own.
He, on the other hand, was just one of many who orbited the Medici name — useful, yes, but replaceable.
And yet, there she was, offering something that symbolically meant closeness.
Maybe she noticed his silence.
Or maybe she'd anticipated his hesitation from the start.
Because a few seconds later, she added casually:
"That way we can talk inside the Tower," she said, resting the phone on the armrest. "You did promise to help me, didn't you?"
The explanation was simple enough to dismantle any resistance.
And, truthfully, it made sense.
Inside the Black Tower, keeping in touch with someone in a different area could be difficult.
The in-game communication systems were limited, and Zingchat was one of the few external tools that allowed direct messaging between two players.
"Right," he said, regaining control of his expression. "That makes sense."
He took her phone, fingers gliding over the sleek interface.
A simple gesture, yet in that confined space it felt heavier than it should have.
Within seconds, he added her and confirmed the request.
The metallic chime of the app's notification broke the silence like a pin drop.
He handed the phone back to her.
Beatrice merely nodded, satisfied.
No more words were exchanged.
But the air inside the cabin had changed — heavier somehow, as if an unseen boundary had just been crossed.
Alessio leaned back, gazing out the window.
The city lights were slowing down now, fading into long streaks of reflection.
And then, gradually, the car eased to a stop.
The driver turned slightly.
"Mr. Leone, we've arrived."
Beatrice acknowledged with a faint nod, her eyes still on the screen.
Alessio exhaled quietly and looked outside again.
The familiar facades of the neighborhood glimmered under the night lights, and for a brief moment, he wondered how much longer he'd linger in this "other" world before diving back into the real one — the Black Tower.
His time of rest was ending.
And he knew it.