On the mansion's terrace, the afternoon sun beat down as Enzo slowly swirled the whiskey glass between his fingers. His blazer was tossed on the armchair and his expression was pure dissatisfaction.
Giovane approached with a cigar in hand and a lazy smile on his face.
"Why the funeral face, Enzo?" he provoked.
"Because I'm going to my own," he muttered, staring at the horizon. "Marrying a country girl from the interior... a girl I saw when I was a kid, full of braids and afraid of birds. I can't believe it. I wonder if she's changed?"
Giovane chuckled and took a puff of his cigar.
"Country girl?" he shook his head. "You should revise your concepts, my dear. I stopped by her father's office earlier... there was a new portrait there. With a photo of your fiancee."
"And?"
"And she looked like a ghost biker, not a little flower from the field. Leather jacket, killer look, hair loose like fire. If that's the interior, my friend… hell is in the sticks."
Enzo raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Hmm… Ghost biker?"
"The kind that looks at you and you confess even what you didn't do. It has nothing to do with the image you have in your head."
Enzo squeezed the glass in his hands, thoughtful. Curiosity was starting to burn more than contempt.
"Interesting…"
Giovane approached, with that cynical half-smile of someone who knows more than they say.
"Take it easy at dinner, Enzo. she is friends with your sister Julia, don't you remember her since she lived in training with me ... Sometimes… the lady of the night is the very shadow you're hunting."
Enzo stared at him in silence.
Something inside him ignited.
But he didn't yet know that the storm was already inside the house.
The room was silent, except for the sound of the hairbrush being thrown back onto the dressing table. Julia, already ready, in an elegant dress and high heels, looked at her friend with her hands on her hips and an expression of contained despair.
"Sofi… you're not going in a dress?" she asked for the third time.
Sofi came out of the closet, firm, confident, wearing a black leather jumpsuit, tight on her body, without a single accessory. No earrings, necklaces, or flashy makeup. Just her. Raw. Direct. Intense.
"No," she replied in a firm voice, staring at her own reflection in the mirror.
"But… it's a dinner with your fiance! A Romano! My brother at heart. You know what that means?"
"It means he should prepare. Because I didn't come to please. I came to mark territory."
Julia widened her eyes.
"You don't even want an earring? A stronger lipstick? A thinner heel?"
"No. No frills. No masks. If he wants me, great. If not… too bad. Because divorce is not an option. And if he betrays me…"
Sofi turned slowly, looking into her friend's eyes.
"I'll rip off his hide. And if he disrespects me… I'll tear off his skin. Slowly. Like cleaning an animal to hang in the shed."
Julia widened her eyes, shocked and amazed at the same time.
"Santo Dio," she whispered. "You became the very sentence of the mafia. Just like my brother, Dona Lunna will love to meet her new version, she always says that I should be braver, but I can't, hahaha."
Sofi pulled the zipper of her jacket all the way up, looked in the mirror one more time, and said with a slight smile:
"They expect a bride. They'll find a storm."
"Then let's go, my war dame," said Julia, grabbing her purse. "May the world hold us."
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