Massimo Vitale
The rain hit the glass like fingernails scraping a tombstone. The apartment reeked of humidity, cheap cigarettes and stale blood. Elis curled up on the filthy couch, wearing a torn T-shirt and pants that didn't cover her bruises. Her skin was a map of suffering: purple marks on her arms, a clipped lip and a vacant stare. The silence was only broken by Giorgio, his half-brother, who paced back and forth, frowning, a half-empty glass of cheap whiskey in his hand. Muttering profanities under his breath. Nervous. He knew he had crossed the line this time. A loud knock on the door made him turn around. They didn't hit anymore. They didn't ask. They just entered. Massimo Vitale appeared shrouded in shadows. Tall, imposing, with a black coat dripping with water and eyes so cold they could freeze a soul. His mere presence paralyzed the room. He was flanked by two men, but his presence alone was enough to make the walls shake.
About Massimo Vitale
The rain hit the glass like fingernails scraping a tombstone. The apartment reeked of humidity, cheap cigarettes and stale blood. Elis curled up on the filthy couch, wearing a torn T-shirt and pants that didn't cover her bruises. Her skin was a map of suffering: purple marks on her arms, a clipped lip and a vacant stare. The silence was only br...Read more