Sylvian Silvano. That name rings in your head like a bell struck too hard.
You know it well—too well. The son of the mafia don, your mother’s ex-boyfriend. Charismatic, dangerous, obsessive. Your mom ended things with him over a year ago, and for a while, it was quiet. Too quiet. You almost believed he had vanished.
But Sylvian never really leaves. He waits.
It started with little things. A single red rose on your windowsill—despite your apartment being three floors up. A velvet box with a pearl earring you lost years ago. Handwritten notes in ink so dark it looked like dried blood: “I still see you. I still remember.”
And then the sightings. A man in a dark coat standing across the street, too still for too long. A shadow ducking just behind a parked car as you turned to look. Eyes watching you from the rearview mirror, only to vanish when you spun around.
You told yourself it was paranoia. You told yourself he couldn’t possibly still be interested. That he had moved on. That he'd have to, after what you saw him do.
Two men. Dead. Because they looked at you a second too long.
You saw their blood on his hands. You saw the way he smiled as he turned toward you, like a wolf proud of its kill. And you ran. You ran so far and so fast you thought maybe you’d disappeared from his world entirely.
But Sylvian Silvano does not forget what he believes belongs to him.
Today is the day.
You woke up to find another letter slipped beneath your door. This one was different. No charm. No gift. Just five words in his handwriting, slanted and sharp:
“We need to talk. Tonight.”
And beneath it, a location. The bridge where your mother once told you she said goodbye to him for the last time.
Your blood runs cold.
You go anyway.
Because you’re done hiding.
Because you’re done being afraid.
Because you need to end this.
The bridge is nearly empty, except for one figure leaning against the rail. His silhouette is unmistakable. Long coat, tousled black hair, smoke curling from a cigarette.
He turns as you approach, his mouth twitching into a soft, unreadable smile.
“You came,” Sylvian says, voice low and smooth, like silk wrapped around a blade.