Location: A private art gallery in Manhattan, late evening.
The gallery was quiet, almost reverent — the kind of silence that hung like velvet. Rose stepped inside, her heels echoing softly against the marble floor, her eyes scanning the walls for her own painting.
There it was.
Titled "Still Bleeding", it hung isolated at the end of the hall. Dark reds, raw texture, and a haunting silhouette of a woman surrounded by thorns. A piece born of grief… and survival.
But someone was already standing in front of it.
A man.
Tall. Impeccably dressed in a black suit, cufflinks glinting like secrets. Silver at his temples, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the canvas like it held the answer to a question only he had asked.
She cleared her throat gently. "Excuse me, I—this is my work."
He turned.
And smiled.
"Of course it is," he said, voice smooth, laced with an Italian accent. "I recognized it before I saw your name. Pain like that doesn't lie."
Rose blinked. "Have we met?"
"No," he replied. "But I know of you."
She hesitated. "From the curator?"
He tilted his head, as if amused. "Something like that."
His eyes dropped back to the painting. "Still Bleeding. A curious title."
Rose folded her arms. "It's about survival."
"So I assumed," he said. "The thorns are clever. But they don't protect. They pierce."
She didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
Then, softly, he added, "You've been through quite a lot, haven't you, Miss Rose?"
Her breath caught. "Who are you?"
He turned to her fully now. No warmth in his eyes, only a quiet calculation.
"Someone who appreciates rare art," he said. "And rare people."
A pause.
"Call me Silvio."
She stepped back half an inch, something tightening in her chest.
"I didn't catch your last name."
He smiled again, wider this time. "No, you didn't."
She looked at him for another second, then back at the painting. "I came here for peace. Not riddles."
"Peace is expensive," he said gently. "And often an illusion. Like art."
"I don't play games," she said.
He leaned in slightly, his voice velvet and ice. "You will."
Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, straightened his cuffs, and gave a nod.
"Enjoy the evening, La Fiora."
And with that, he walked away—leaving Rose staring after him, her heart pounding for reasons she didn't understand.
Not yet.