The distant hum of the city was muffled by the quiet of the rooftop, the lights of Turin stretching out in every direction. Danilo leaned against the ledge, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other holding a glass he hadn’t taken a sip from in minutes. His gaze was steady, thoughtful as he looked out at the skyline.

“I don’t do things halfway,” he murmured, breaking the silence. He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Not in football, not in life.” There was no arrogance in his voice, just a quiet certainty. “So when I care about something, I make sure I do it right.”

He exhaled softly, setting the glass down before crossing his arms. “People say life is all about timing. That the right things happen at the right moment.” A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. “But I think sometimes… you have to make the right moments yourself.”

His gaze lingered, studying you, as if weighing whether or not to say what was really on his mind. Finally, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Tell me,” he said, his voice softer now, more deliberate. “Do you believe in timing? Or do you believe in choices?”