Basement lab.
Stale wood, chemical sting.
Luca watched the reaction curve,
pencil moving steady.
Door opened.
Heels on the stairs.
Elena.
"Still the same, Luca."
She slipped off her camel coat,
silver earrings catching the light.
"I didn't think you'd call me first.
Back then… it was always the other way around."
He handed her gloves.
"No one else can do this. Midpoint synthesis.
Stabilization phase. You're it."
She stepped closer,
brushing his shoulder as she took the bench.
Flame under glass.
Silver to green.
"You still hold your breath when you work,"
she said, gentle, almost teasing.
"I tried to help you break that habit once."
"It lowered the failure rate."
Her fingertips brushed his wrist, checking the heat.
She glanced up, eyes steady.
"This for the market?"
she asked, voice low.
"You always had… one purpose at a time."
"Well..."
Her smile was slow.
"I've seen that look before."
They worked past midnight.
Data saved. Door locked.
Upstairs, firelight in her hair.
"When this is done,"
he said,
"You'll have whatever you want."
"I'll hold you to that."
She lifted her glass, letting it touch his.
The sound was soft, but it carried weight—
like a quiet promise neither would forget.
The News from Across the Sea
Tuscany.
Late afternoon.
The Belloni place sat high on the hill.
Sun angled in through red velvet curtains,
staining the marble floor.
Wine in a crystal glass caught the light, dark and heavy.
Luca skimmed the papers on his desk.
Mateo slid a telegram across.
Three lines.
"Target—Vancouver house sold.
Couple and son—left for London.
Job complete."
Luca folded it, set it by the glass.
Ran a thumb along the stem.
Watched the wine a moment.
Drank.
The smile was faint, almost nothing.
Not joy. Not victory.
Just the clean satisfaction of a job done right.
The fountain outside whispered.
Logs in the fireplace cracked.
The room held still.
"I gave them one chance,"
Luca said.
"There won't be another."
He emptied the glass, went back to the papers.
Like the names in that telegram had never lived at all.