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“Pirelli speaking.”
At first, there’s nothing but heavy breathing on the other end. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This had better not be some fucking kid playing games.
“Who is this?” I demand, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.
The breathing continues, ragged and unsettling. Then, faintly in the background, I hear music. As the melody becomes clearer, my blood runs cold.
It’s “Volare” by Domenico Modugno. My father’s favorite song.
The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. This can’t be a coincidence. My father’s been dead for years, and that song… we played it at his funeral. Very few people know its significance.
“Who the fuck is this?” I roar into the phone, my composure slipping. “How did you get this number?”
The music gets louder, drowning out the breathing. I can almost see my father, singing along in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, his voice off-key but full of joy.
“Nel blu, dipinto di blu Felice di stare lassù…”
“Answer me, goddammit!” I shout, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight my knuckles turn white.
The song continues, mocking me with its cheerful melody. Then, just as abruptly as it started, it cuts off. There’s a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken threats.
A voice, distorted and unrecognizable, whispers, “The sins of the father, Angelo. They always come back to haunt us.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I snarl, my heart racing.
A chilling chuckle comes through the line. “Oh, Angelo. Always so quick to anger. Tell me, how do you plan to save Perfezione when you couldn’t even save your own father?”
My grip tightens on the phone. It’s the only thing I can do to prevent my hands from shaking. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“And Sofia,” the voice continues, stretching out her name in a way that makes my skin crawl. “So-fi-a. How will you protect her?”
“Is this Gino?” I demand, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Listen, you piece of shit, if you go near her?—”
“You’ll what?” the voice taunts. “You’re powerless, Angelo. Just like you were when your father died. Just like you’ll be when I take everything from you.”
My mind is racing, a thousand thoughts competing for attention. I need to end this call, check on Fee. Make sure she’s safe. But I can’t seem to hang up, can’t break free from this nightmarish conversation.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I growl, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Oh, but I do,” the voice purrs. “I knoweverything, Angelo. About your father, about Sofia, about little Lou. I know about the nightmares that wake you in the cold, dark hours of the night. I know about the guilt that eats away at you, day after day. You feelso much guiltthat you couldn’t save your father.”
My breath catches in my throat. How could they know all this?
Suddenly, the voice changes, becoming unmistakably Gino’s. He laughs, a sound that chills me to the bone.
The music in the background shifts. Instead ofVolare, I hear the steady, ominous ticking of a clock.
“Time’s running out, Angelo,” Gino says, his voice low and menacing. “For you, for Sofia, for everyone you care about. Tick-tock, tick-tock.”
The ticking grows louder, seeming to sync with my racing heartbeat.
“What do you want, Gino?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Everything,” he replies. “And I’ll take it, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left of you but a hollow shell. Just like your father.”
The line goes dead, leaving me in silence broken only by my ragged breathing.
I stare at the phone, my mind reeling. Whatever game Gino’s playing, he’s just raised the stakes to a level I never imagined. He’s not just after Perfezione anymore. He’s after me, my family, everything I hold dear.
