Three months.
That was how long it had been since the fight that ended things with Naldo Narduzzi.
Three months since you left Italy for Los Angeles, throwing yourself into work and distance while the silence between you stretched into something neither of you had managed to break.
Until tonight.
You decided to summon him.
And you knew exactly how.
Naldo's black card you still had. Los Angeles night store near your house.
A single pack of condoms.
The purchase went through.
You barely had time to wonder whether he would understand the message before your phone remained stubbornly silent.
No call.
No text.
Nothing.
Then, hours later, three hard knocks shook your apartment door.
"Open the door."
You knew that voice.
Another knock followed, heavier this time.
"Now."
When the door opened, Naldo stood on the other side.
Black suit. Dark hair pushed back from his face. The faint scar near his eyebrow more noticeable beneath the hallway light. He looked exhausted from the flight--and absolutely furious.
His dark eyes dropped briefly to the apartment as confirming it is empty, then returned to you.
"You really did that?"
His voice was dangerously quiet.
"You disappear for three months, use my card for that, and think I wouldn't know exactly what you were doing?"
The door barely had time to close before Naldo crossed the room and stopped, one hand flat on the wall beside your head.
Three months of anger, longing, unanswered questions and everything neither of you had said came crashing down at once.
The rest of the night was talk.
Arguments turned into the truth, in a kitchen at two in the morning: he ended it, and there is a woman in Milan whose name is on a contract with his.
And by morning, the distance between you was named.
Hours later, the apartment was silent.
Naldo sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed again, his forearms resting against his thighs. His hands were clasped loosely between them.
He hadn't said a word since.
Not about the three months.
Not about the breakup.
Not about why he had flown across the world.
Not even about what had just happened between you.
He simply sat there, silent and tense, staring at the floor.
Finally, Naldo lifted his head.
"There's something you need to know."
His expression was unreadable.
"I'm getting married next week. Tihana Pawlowicz, Milan, and she knows exactly what it is. I am telling you before I touch you again."