The car took the northern highway,
climbing for hours toward the hilltop estate.
Old lampposts lined the wall,
their light swaying in the winter fog.
Almost nothing had changed—
the air still carried that mix of old perfume and cold metal,
along with the unseen eyes beyond the dark.
When the front doors opened,
two rows of servants bowed in silence.
Luca brushed the fur collar of his coat and stepped onto the marble,
his footsteps echoing as he climbed toward the second-floor corridor.
Then—light footsteps stopped at the base of the stairs.
"Luca…?"
The voice was unfamiliar only in tone,
not in the way it sank into him.
Bianca was no longer the little girl he'd left behind.
Her dark brown hair,
long enough to brush her waist,
was tied neatly.
A black knit dress framed her now-grown shoulders.
But in her eyes was still that same light from the day he left—
something found, something feared to be lost again.
Luca descended slowly. Bianca stepped forward.
"It's really… you."
Her voice was small, but there was a tremor in it.
After a beat of hesitation,
she reached out and took his coat sleeve lightly.
"You're not… leaving again, are you?"
He looked down at her hand, then let a slow smile form.
"Can't say. But… this time, I plan to stay a while."
Her lips softened into a smile.
"When you were gone… the house was too quiet."
Her gaze caught his for a moment before sliding away.
In that brief exchange, the air shifted—
something more than a family reunion passing between them.
Across the corridor, the small library door opened.
Mateo, the butler, gave a discreet nod.
Luca set his hand gently over hers.
"We'll talk later. Tonight… is going to be a long one."
Bianca nodded,
but her eyes stayed on him until he disappeared down the hall.
There was something in that look—
carefully hidden, yet far warmer than simple relief.
Outside Luca's study window,
the winter evening sky over Florence hung low and heavy.
On the desk lay a single thick binder—
its pages crammed with figures,
chemical formulas,
and the stolen schematics of the neuro-modification drug
from Dr. Nam's lab.
He took a slow sip of whiskey,
let it burn down, then reached for the phone.
"Milan's Di Carlo.
I need three pharmacologists and two biotech engineers
who can be here within seventy-two hours.
And men to move the lab equipment.
Pay them double—just make sure no one talks."
He ended the call.
The study door eased open.
Bianca stepped in.
"What are you plotting this time?"
she asked, moving toward the window.
Luca closed the binder and looked up.
"Business plans. Nothing to do with you."
"You know saying that only makes me more curious,"
she said, her voice carrying a trace of mischief—
and something like jealousy.