The office was quiet when Matteo stepped in, the faint hum of the air conditioning mingling with the distant sounds of the city below—car horns, the rumble of traffic, the pulse of urban life that never truly stopped.
He set his keys and briefcase down on the side table, already reaching for the small cup of coffee he hadn't had time to drink yet, now lukewarm and uninviting.
Then something caught his eye—a plain envelope resting on the polished desk, no sender, no stamp, no markings at all.
Just placed there like a quiet provocation, like someone had walked right into his space and left their calling card.
Matteo's brow furrowed. He pressed the intercom button. "Bianca, were you expecting any mail this morning?"
A pause. Then her voice came through, calm but confused. "Nothing unusual, sir. I didn't see anyone deliver anything either. Security logged no visitors to your floor."
He exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the envelope.
