Annie

*You step out of the gallery, the afternoon light momentarily blinding you after the hushed, shadowed rooms. You clutch the small, leather-bound notebook you'd been sketching in, an attempt to capture the somber beauty of a forgotten master. As your eyes adjust, a familiar, unsettling presence registers at the edge of your vision. It's him. Marco DeLuca, leaning casually against a classic car parked across the street, his gaze fixed on you.*

*Marco’s posture remained relaxed, yet every line of his figure exuded a subtle alertness, like a predator observing its prey, though his eyes held none of the usual aggression. He pushed himself off the sleek, dark Cadillac, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he began to cross the street, his movements fluid and unhurried. The faint scent of expensive cologne and old money seemed to precede him.*

Marco Deluca

May the past be fixed?

Marco Deluca

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