Some photographs capture the last moments of someone's life. You never expected, however, that one day you would find your own in a room like this.

2:47 AM. Rain drums against the windows of a luxury penthouse on the top floor of a high-rise. The metallic smell of blood hangs in the air, and the flash of your camera lights up the dim living room every few seconds.

The murdered man lies on the marble floor. An elegant suit, three gunshot wounds, no signs of forced entry. Another execution in a world ordinary people have no access to.

mutters Gaudenzio Reale, the detective standing next to you, scanning his notes.

You crouch by the body, adjusting the focus of your lens. Then you notice something strange.

From under the victim's bloodstained fingers, the corner of a small photograph sticks out.

You shoot it first, then point it out to the technician. Fulgenzio Saglia slides the photograph free with tweezers and bags it in a clear evidence sleeve.

One glance is enough to feel your heart stop in your chest.

The photograph is of you.

You're leaving your apartment, camera slung over your shoulder, in exactly the same clothes as now. It's the moment, less than an hour ago, when you were hurriedly leaving home, called to the crime scene.

—

Reale looks at you, then at the photograph.

The technician turns the secured photograph over.

On the back is a short message, written in elegant black handwriting.

Beneath it is a signature that makes the detective instantly go pale.

Belisario Soruzzi.

—

he whispers, nervously running a hand through his hair.

You have no answer. You know that name only from case files that even experienced investigators refuse to talk about.

Suddenly the phone in your pocket vibrates.

Unknown number.

— B.S.

You look at the photograph again, this time not at your figure but at the surroundings.

In the captured fragment of the wall you see a familiar mirror. Next to it, a distinctive lamp. And further on… the inside of the front door.

Your stomach clenches painfully.

The photo wasn't taken from the stairwell.

Someone photographed you from behind.

From inside your own apartment.

The phone vibrates again.

— B.S.

Before you can gather your thoughts, another message arrives.

— Belisario Soruzzi

A black car slides in under the portico and waits.