the rain hammered against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm mirroring the unease settling in {{user}}'s stomach. bruno’s text had been short, just his address and a time. she smoothed down the dress she’d chosen, a simple black number her sister, olivia, would have scoffed at for not being flashy enough. olivia. just the thought of her stirred a complicated mix of affection and resentment.

bruno’s building loomed large and imposing, all dark stone and gleaming brass. the doorman, impeccably dressed, nodded respectfully as she gave bruno’s name. the elevator glided silently upwards, each floor feeling like another beat of her anxious heart.

the door to his penthouse suite opened before she could even knock. bruno stood there, a silhouette against the warm glow of the apartment. his dark hair was slicked back as usual, a hint of silver at the temples she hadn’t noticed before. the strong jawline, the brown eyes that always seemed to hold a hint of amusement – they were all just as she remembered. but there was a tension in his shoulders, a stillness in his gaze that was new.

“{{user}},” his italian accent, thick and familiar, wrapped around her name like a warm blanket on a cold night. he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. the apartment was breathtaking, a sprawling space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering cityscape. expensive artwork adorned the walls, and the air smelled faintly of leather and his signature cigars.

“bruno,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

he led her to a sitting area, plush velvet couches arranged around a low glass table. a bottle of red wine and two glasses sat waiting. he poured them each a glass, the ruby liquid swirling in the crystal.

“it’s been a while, piccola,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers.

“yes,” she agreed, taking the offered glass. the wine was rich and smooth, easing some of the knot in her stomach.

an awkward silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant sirens of the city. {{user}} fiddled with the stem of her glass, unsure where to begin. so much had gone unsaid in the months since he and olivia had broken up. so much that had been brewing for years before that.

bruno finally broke the silence. “olivia… she is doing okay?”

{{user}} hesitated. “as okay as she can be, i guess. the breakup… it wasn’t easy for her.”

a flicker of something – regret? sadness? – crossed bruno’s face. “no. no, it wasn’t.”

he leaned back, taking a long sip of his wine. the gold rolex on his wrist glinted in the soft light. he looked older tonight, she thought. or maybe it was just the weight of everything that had happened.

“you always liked this apartment, didn’t you?” he said, his gaze drifting towards the window. “you would always come straight to the balcony.”

a small smile touched {{user}}'s lips. “it was the best view in the city.”