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"Mayhap," he answered noncommittally, taking one last drag off his cigarette before putting it out and walking away.
Andreas swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes on Michele's back as he tried to understand his boss. Once more, he thought he spotted a glimmer of the old Michele, but he could never be sure with how ambiguous Michele was in his answers.
He could recite strategical plans all day long and not pause once, but when it came to things of a more…sentimentalnature, one could never pry anything from his lips.
Yet Andreas had one more hope—little as it was.
Venezia Lastra.
The woman who'd put Michele in a monstrous mood ever since he's stopped seeing her a while back.
Maybe it was too optimistic of him to hope his boss would reconsider his plans and allow Miss Venezia in his life. But Michele's behavior regarding her had been anything but carefully rehearsed and planned—completely antithetic to how Michele usually operated.
Andthattold him not everything was lost.
Yet.
Back in his room, Michele shrugged the bathrobe off his body before he donned on a pair of silk pajama bottoms. Threading his fingers through his thick locks, he stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror across from the room.
His lip twitched in displeasure.
There were moments, like the one at hand, when Michele simply abhorred his reflection in the mirror for it was a mosaic of his past. Every scar had a hidden meaning. Every mark on his skin spoke not only of physical pain, but of soul-wrenching anguish that still haunted him.
Yet as his eyes drifted up his naked torso, ignoring his many scars, they landed on his face.
The most cursed of all.
He took a step closer, and tilting his head to the side, he simply watched himself.
Silence surrounded him like a comforting cocoon. Slowly, even the sound of his own breaths became muted as he immersed himself in what he was seeing—what he abhorred above all.
"We're the same,"a soft voice resounded amid the weeping silence, obliterating the serene atmosphere."There's a void inside here that only you can fill. Just like there's a void inside here that only I can fill,”the voice continued, seducing, hypnotizing.
With an audible snarl, he flung his fist at the mirror, shattering it and turning it into a myriad of shards, all reflecting back his distorted image—just as the sound became distorted in his ears.
"We're the same…"
"No," he gritted his teeth. "We're not the same. We'renothingalike. I don'tneedyou!" He was breathing heavily, blood pouring down his knuckles as he yelled at the mirror.
And he didn't.
She was as expendable in his life like everything before her—like everything that would follow her.
And he'd proved it to himself by committing the worst of crimes.
Theoretically, she should have left his thoughts just as she'd left his home—taking with her any possibility of him ever going back on his word.
But she hadn't.
To Michele's great dismay and even greater displeasure, she hadn'tleft.
She was still there, in the back of his mind, waiting, haunting.
She looked for the moment when he had his guard down and she invaded every crevice of his mind, showing him all the possibilities—all theunfulfilledpossibilities.
But he'd been strong.
In front of all temptation, he'd been a pillar of strength.
