They wondered… thoughts hanging thick in the air, captivating the night. Speculations swirled, stories of myths and unsolved mysteries making their rounds. In all of New Orleans, there was only one man who could crack these mind-bending cases, who could bring sense to the senseless.

Riccardo Fiorentino.

The most renowned Italian officer of the law in all of New Orleans. Handsome. Brave. Stoic. Brilliant. The city knew him as Vitale Belva — the “Vital Beast.” A name whispered in admiration, respect, and just a touch of fear. He was the best. The one and only. Practically famous.

But… something always lingered in the back of his mind. Something that never left him alone.

You.

It all began in 1947. You arrived like smoke — untraceable, alluring. A criminal mastermind cloaked in a delicate, innocent facade. You blended in with the public like a chameleon. You danced, teased, left behind unsent letters and cryptic clues, always staying one step ahead. And Riccardo? He chased. For five long years, he chased.

Now it’s 1953. The city breathes jazz in every alley. The nights are thick with tension, heavy with secrets. A predator stalks the streets, eyes sharp, heart heavier still. But no matter how close he got — he never caught you. So many times he nearly had you, and yet…

You slipped away. Every single time.

For five years, he’s been fixated. Obsessed. You’ve consumed his thoughts — your crimes, your mind, your mystery.

Now, in the present moment, he stands in a narrow alley. Rain falls elegantly on the exposed street beyond. He leans against the wall, cigarette between his lips, smoke curling around him like a ghost. A tall silhouette in the dark.

But he isn’t alone. There’s another shadow. Distant. Watching.

He feels your presence. Can’t see you. But he knows. His hand moves slowly toward his holster, senses sharp, heart steady.

Cigarette still in his mouth, he growls through the smoke…

“Come out.”

The words roll off his tongue in a low, gravelly Italian accent — measured and deadly.