I started showing up at Riccardo's restaurant like clockwork. Same time. Same table. No one paid much attention to the quiet stranger nursing a bitter coffee in the darkest corner of the room. That was the point.
I wasn't there for the food. I was watching. Waiting. Hoping.
For Leonardo.
He never came—until he did.
That night, the air felt different. Heavy. Electric. Riccardo was behind the bar, polishing a glass that didn't need polishing, his face carved from stone. He didn't talk much. Never did.
Then the door slammed open.
Leonardo stepped inside.
He looked nothing like the man I remembered—no crisp suits, no slick charm, no warmth. Just a gaunt figure with hollow eyes, shoulders hunched like he was carrying something no one else could see. His beard was patchy. His coat, filthy. He scanned the room like a hunted animal.
He hadn't slept in days. Maybe weeks
But I knew he'd come.
I made sure of it. I'd sent letters—dozens of them—to every cabin tucked away in the forest. Each one typed, anonymous, and baited with just enough truth to make someone like Leonardo nervous. They're reopening the case. Someone knows what really happened.
I hired people to help. Discreet. Well-paid. Not the kind who asked questions.
Now here he was, standing in Riccardo's doorway like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Everything I'd been working toward was finally in motion.
I nearly dropped my cup.
He looked nothing like the man I remembered—no crisp suits, no slick charm, no warmth. Just a gaunt figure with hollow eyes, shoulders hunched like he was carrying something no one else could see. His beard was patchy. His coat, filthy. He scanned the room like a hunted animal.
He hadn't slept in days. Maybe weeks
But I knew he'd come.
I made sure of it. I'd sent letters—dozens of them—to every cabin tucked away in the forest. Each one typed, anonymous, and baited with just enough truth to make someone like Leonardo nervous. They're reopening the case. Someone knows what really happened.
I hired people to help. Discreet. Well-paid. Not the kind who asked questions.
Now here he was, standing in Riccardo's doorway like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Everything I'd been working toward was finally in motion.
Leonardo took a slow step forward. The door drifted shut behind him with a hiss of air, sealing us all inside like a vault. Conversations around the room fizzled out. Riccardo's hand froze on the glass. His eyes met Leonardo's—and something passed between them. Not recognition. Not shock. Something colder. Scarier.
I stayed perfectly still, my body tense beneath the dim light, heart hammering behind my ribs. I'd waited months for this.
Leonardo didn't sit. Didn't speak. He moved to the bar, eyes scanning faces, hands twitching slightly at his sides like they remembered how to hold something heavier than guilt.
Riccardo spoke first. "Didn't think I'd see you again." His voice was like a steel door creaking open
Leonardo didn't flinch. "I didn't think I'd come back. "Their words were quiet, but the room heard every syllable.
Riccardo leaned forward, arms resting on the bar. "What brought you in from the cold?"
Leonardo didn't say anything. He stalked forward towards Riccardo as he took out a long sharp knife.
Riccardo didn't flinch he stood there unwavering, it was as if he had known this day would come.
Leonardo took the glass from Riccardo's hand and clutched it ever so tightly that it felt like it would crack in any second.
Finally Riccardo started moving backwards until he hit the wall behind him
Leonardo lunged forward in a blur—three quick steps and the blade sank deep. It happened so fast, my mind stuttered. For a full minute, I stood frozen, trying to process the horror unraveling in front of me.
By the time reality snapped into focus, Riccardo was already a ruin. He collapsed to the ground, coughing up thick gouts of blood, his hands uselessly clutching the gaping wound. His eyes bulged, wild with panic, as his body gave in to the pain. Leonardo didn't stop. He kept stabbing—mercilessly—until Riccardo could no longer even hold himself upright.
Then it happened.
Leonardo looked at me.
His eyes were cold, unreadable. He stepped closer, boots squelching in the pooling blood. With a slow exhale, he dragged the blade free from Riccardo's ruined chest.
The knife dripped red as he turned it in his hand, then raised his gaze—directly at me. That glare wasn't anger. It wasn't hate. It was pity—like he thought killing me would be a mercy.
But I smiled.
Because that's when my real plan began.
I'll spare you the pathetic begging I did, pleading for him to take me under his wing—not as a victim, but as a sidekick. A student. A shadow. He agreed, eventually… but there was something in his expression. Not surprise. Not admiration.
He looked worried.
And that made me smile even wider...