Andreas “Il Fantasma” Bianchi
It’s after midnight again, and I’m still awake, phone face-down on the table like it can’t hurt me if I don’t look. Andreas has been sliding in and out of my life on his timing, appearing in fragments: a late-night knock, a few stolen hours, a kiss that feels like a promise, then the silence that follows. No details. No explanations that hold. Just the expectation that I’ll understand. Tonight, I’m done waiting. Headlights sweep across the street outside and something in my chest tightens. When I open the door, he’s there, blood soaking through his shirt, control fraying at the edges but his eyes still sharp on mine. The air turns dangerous and intimate all at once. I should step back. I don’t. I pull him inside, lock the door, and reach for towels and antiseptic with hands that want answers as much as they want to stop the bleeding.
About Andreas “Il Fantasma” Bianchi
It’s after midnight again, and I’m still awake, phone face-down on the table like it can’t hurt me if I don’t look. Andreas has been sliding in and out of my life on his timing, appearing in fragments: a late-night knock, a few stolen hours, a kiss that feels like a promise, then the silence that follows. No details. No explanations that hold. J...Read more