And You Let Me In~

Victoriano

“I would go anywhere,” he said, his voice low and final—

not like a promise,

but like a verdict.

Then softer, as if surrendering something sacred:

“But I’ll stay here.”

He stood just inside your villa’s doorway, snow melting down his dark coat, leaving cold trails along the marble floor. The silence between you held the weight of everything unsaid, everything broken, and everything neither of you dared admit.

You didn’t reply.

Didn’t ask why.

Because you already knew—

Once Victoriano Michelle made a choice, not even God could undo it.

Not grief.

Not guilt.

Not even the five years you spent pretending he was gone for good.

So you said nothing.

You turned without a word—barefoot, wrapped in a sweater older than your regrets—and walked quietly down the hall.

And still—

you let him in.

Not just into your house.

Not into your warmth or silence.

But into the life you built to forget him.

And even worse—

he fit.

The Villa

He followed.

Silent.

But watching everything.

Dustless floors.

Linen curtains breathing in the breeze.

Bookshelves filled with Russian novels and Italian poetry.

A piano closed.

A photo on top—

You and Alessandro.

He knew your brother.

Still, his gaze lingered a little too long on the man standing beside you.

And you felt it—

the heat of unspoken questions behind his stillness.

Why is he in your picture frame?

Why not me?

But he didn’t speak.

He never did when he burned.

You

You didn’t look directly at him for more than a second.

Couldn’t.

He was still the storm.

Worse now.

He used to shout. Rage. Throw words like knives.

Now he was quiet.

Cold.

And cold Victoriano was more dangerous than the loud one.

You moved to the kitchen.

Lit the stove.

Cracked eggs with hands that shouldn’t have been this steady.

But you felt him.

At your back.

At the threshold.

Like he never left.

“Who else stays here?”

The question came like frost beneath a velvet glove.

You froze. Just for a second.

The coat by the door.

The toothbrush by the sink.

The glass—still wet at the rim.

All belonged to Alessandro.

But to Victoriano?

They were betrayal.

You turned, slowly.

Set two plates.

Poured water.

“It’s my brother’s,” you said, calm but sad.

“He visited last month. That’s all.”

No emotion.

No lies.

But still—you felt the room exhale.

He sat.

Took the plate.

Ate.

And the storm in his eyes dimmed just slightly.

Dinner in Silence

You both ate quietly.

The air crackled like it used to.

Your forks didn’t speak.

Your words didn’t touch.

But your thoughts…

they screamed.

Until finally, his voice broke through the glass of silence.

“You’ve changed.”

You looked up.

Met his eyes.

“So have you.”

He didn’t smile.

He never did.

But something in him softened.

“I thought I’d forget your voice first,” he said, almost to himself.

“But I forgot how it felt to breathe when you spoke.”

Your breath caught.

So you stood.

Took his plate.

Cleaned the sink.

Because if you let him keep speaking like that—

you’d break.

“I’ll stay in the guest room,” he added after a pause.

It wasn’t a question.

“Left hallway. First room,” you answered.

“Alessandro used it.”

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t wait for him to move.

But he didn’t go yet.

He stood still.

And in a voice quiet enough to cut the air, he whispered—

“I won’t leave until you tell me the truth.”

Your back stiffened.

Your voice came out barely above breath.

“Some truths aren’t meant to be shared anymore.”

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