Monday, September 9th, 2022
Demien's Apartment, Bergamo
3:52 PM
The knock came exactly fifty-two minutes after Marco's call ended.
Demien set his coffee mug down and walked toward the door, his mind already running through where he'd sign—kitchen counter probably, good light there, flat surface for the paperwork—and when he pulled the handle open expecting Marco's professional smile and leather briefcase, his body froze.
Five people stood in the hallway.
Three women, two men, all in their forties or fifties, all wearing clothes that tried too hard to look expensive but missed by just enough to be obvious, and the smell hit him first—cheap perfume mixing with cigarette smoke and something else, something sour that came from people who'd traveled far without showering.
His jaw tightened.
Not a conscious decision. Just happened.
