Amara left the bookstore with the woman's words circling in her mind like a swarm of bees.
Leo is dangerous.
The warning wasn't casual. It had been delivered with cold certainty, and it wasn't the kind of thing one easily dismissed. Still, something about the encounter felt off. Why had that stranger sought her out? And more importantly, how had she known Amara was spending time with Leo?
The cobbled streets of Verona no longer felt quite as charming. They pressed in on her now, old stone and ivy masking secrets she didn't yet understand.
That night in her small rental flat, Amara sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop open, trying again to search for anything about Leo. She knew only his first name—if that was even real—and the little he had shared about his brother. Nothing matched. No obituary. No articles. No photos.
She slammed the laptop shut, frustrated. She didn't want to believe the worst of him. Not after what they'd shared. The connection between them felt real. But wasn't that how tragedy started? With believing in someone too quickly?
The rain returned in the early morning hours, tapping against her window like fingertips on glass. Sleep came in waves, disturbed by dreams of fire, music, and a face she could not reach no matter how fast she ran.
The next morning, Amara returned to the café, this time arriving early. She wore a pale gray coat, scarf wrapped tightly around her throat, and her heart armored in questions.
Leo was already there.
He looked tired again, but less guarded. His face lit up when he saw her, though the flicker of sadness never left his eyes.
"You're early," he said, standing as she approached.
"So are you."
They sat. She studied him, watching how he stirred his coffee with unnecessary focus. There was something delicate about the moment—as if any wrong word could cause everything to crack.
"There's something I need to ask you," she said.
His gaze met hers immediately. Alert. Expectant.
"A woman approached me yesterday. She knew about you. Warned me to stay away."
He went still. Slowly, he set down his spoon. "Describe her."
"Blonde. Sharp voice. American, I think."
Leo's face darkened. "Did she say who she was?"
"No. Just that you're dangerous."
He let out a slow breath. "Her name is Mara. And she's not entirely wrong."
Amara's chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
"I was involved with her once. A long time ago. Things ended badly. She never really let go." He rubbed the back of his neck, voice low. "She's been following me. For years, on and off. Every time I try to start over, she shows up."
Amara wanted to believe him. Wanted to brush the warning away like dust. But something didn't add up.
"Why would she say you're dangerous?"
Leo looked her dead in the eye. "Because I left her. Because she thinks I ruined her life. She wants revenge."
"Are you saying she's lying?"
He hesitated.
"Leo."
"I've done things I'm not proud of," he said finally. "Things I can't take back. But I've never hurt someone I cared about. Never."
The room was too quiet. The clink of ceramic. The distant hum of a milk frother. And the storm outside that had moved from drizzle to a steady rhythm.
Amara reached for her coffee. Her hands trembled slightly.
"Do you believe me?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I want to."
Leo leaned back. For the first time, she saw something break behind his composed expression. He wasn't angry. He was disappointed—but not in her. In himself.
"I'll go," he said softly.
"No—wait. I didn't say that."
"You're scared."
"Maybe. But I'm also…confused."
"I don't blame you," he whispered. "I'll give you space."
He stood and walked away. No dramatics. No goodbye kiss. Just a quiet retreat, like someone used to leaving before they're asked to.
Amara sat there long after he was gone.
That evening, she walked by the river, hands deep in her coat pockets, watching the sky bleed into twilight. Her mind warred with itself—her heart pulling one way, logic tugging the other.
She stopped at a small bridge, looking down at the water below. The current was swift, dark.
Footsteps approached.
She turned. Mara stood there, umbrella in hand, expression neutral.
"You talked to him."
"I did."
"And?"
"I think you owe me an explanation."
Mara raised an eyebrow. "I don't owe you anything. But maybe you deserve a warning."
Amara folded her arms. "Go on."
"Leo was involved with a woman named Claudia. She died under suspicious circumstances. A fire. Some said it was an accident, others… not so sure. Leo disappeared for months afterward. When he resurfaced, he was a different man. Broken. Cold. And Claudia's family? They still think he had something to do with it."
Amara's stomach turned. "That's not proof."
"No. It's not. But it's a pattern." Mara stepped closer. "People get close to him. And then they disappear. Or they get hurt."
Amara's lips parted, but she found no words.
"He's charming. Honest in all the right ways. But he's also poison, Amara. Don't let him drown you, too."
She walked away, leaving Amara on the bridge.
Alone again.
And this time, unsure if her heart could survive the truth.