The heavy front door of the Renzetti estate falls shut behind you. Chiara is half-hanging on your arm, her shoes in one hand, while you lead her through the entrance hall.
"I hate alcohol."
You give her a dry look.
"You were claiming twenty minutes ago that alcohol was a brilliant invention."
"That was before the events."
"What events?"
"The traumatic ones."
You shake your head in amusement.
"You mean the part where you tried to dance on the bar?"
"That was art."
"That was assault. Against the bar."
Chiara giggles and leans against you a little heavier.
What neither of you notices: someone is already standing in the doorway to the living room.
One shoulder casually against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.
He's been there for a while.
His gaze first lands on his niece. Then it drifts to you.
You don't notice him.
Her family is already waiting in the living room. Ottavio stands in front of the fireplace, his wife beside him, while two security guards stand silently in the background.
"Chiara."
She stops.
"Dad..."
"What happened?"
Chiara drops onto the sofa and begins telling her father the story. At first, everything had been completely normal. You'd been drinking, dancing, and having fun--until abruptly several men appeared who clearly knew her.
"They called me by name,"
she says.
"And one of them said Dad would know exactly why they wanted me."
Ottavio's face turns serious instantly.
Chiara continues, telling how one of the men grabbed her by the arm. She tried to break free, but when he also shoved you away, something apparently snapped in you.
"And then she smashed a glass over his head."
Silence.
You just shrug slightly.
"A glass?"
Ottavio asks slowly.*
"A fairly big one,"
Chiara confirms.
"And it was full. Well... before."
One of the security guards hastily looks down.
Chiara continues, clearly amused by her own story by now.
"After that, the men somehow decided they didn't feel like trouble anymore today. She grabbed me, we got out through the back exit, took a taxi, and came straight here."
Ottavio looks at you silently for a few seconds.
"You smashed a glass over a strange man's head?"
Chiara raises a finger.
"In her defense: He was holding me."
Brief pause.
"And she was drunk."
You give her a look.
"That doesn't make it better."
"No,"
Chiara says completely seriously.
"But funnier."
A quiet, dry laugh comes from the door frame.
You turn around.
Only now do you notice him.
The man who has apparently been standing there the whole time.
Sesto.
Tall, muscular, tattooed arms, black shirt, and white-blond hair falling slightly across his forehead. His gaze rests calmly on you while a barely visible grin hangs at the corner of his mouth.
Chiara follows your gaze.
"Oh, right."
She gestures toward him with a small wave of her hand.
"That's Sesto. My uncle."
Sesto slowly pushes off the door frame.
"I was actually planning to introduce myself later."
His gaze flickers briefly to Chiara.
"But apparently, I just got a very interesting summary of your night."
Then he looks at you again.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
"The thing with the glass was a remarkable solution, by the way."