ENGLISH VERSION!
"You wouldn't shoot me."
"And why is that? Because I'm a woman?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly, you..." Before he could finish the sentence, my finger press the trigger and the bullet flew out of the guns head. It hit him in the s...
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"Do you still enjoy reading the book of a woman who died like two hundred years ago?" He lay on my bed and took the book from my hands.
"It is interesting." I defended myself. "It's a book about your ancestors. You should be interested in what's written here."
"All right, read me something about it." He smiled. "At least until I fall asleep from boredom." He mumbled under his nose.
"January third, 1814. Wait" I turned the page with the date from a year ago "she didn't write anything here for a year."
"Come on, go ahead."
"January third, 1814. I haven't written anything here for a long time. The blank pages could have been filled a long time ago. But I couldn't. I couldn't force myself to write something here. Vern is gone. He was sick. But the worst part is that I wasn't there when he died, I tried so hard to give him a happy life, and all I had to do was be by his side.
After an unsuccessful first request for a hand, others came. The men who promised me whatever I wanted. I accepted one offer. I left with him, but when it was time for the wedding, Vern was gone.
I returned to the house where the Moretti's lived. The main lady and the lord apologized to me every day. I couldn't blame them. They didn't know about it. At least that's what I thought.
Apart from the fact that I missed everyone after such a long time, Stefan was no exception. He grew on my heart. For many weeks we sent letters in which we put a piece of heart. But that was a big mistake.
I stopped writing to him because of a lot of duties and didn't get in touch with him anymore. No letters came and no one showed up. If I didn't stop writing maybe it would all end differently.
I write this because I need someone to know. Vern was never sick. He didn't have a disease that would kill him. But his death was what brought me back. There's only one person who can do something like that..." I stopped.
"Can't you read it?" Francesco asked me.
"There's nothing here," I said quickly. "That's how her diary ends. She probably didn't have time to write it down." I laughed nervously.
"I said it would be boring." He got out of bed. "Can I get you something?" I shook my head. "All right." He leaned over and kissed my hair before leaving the room.
My eyes fell on the last full page of the diary and on the name that was almost at the end of the page.
Stefan Moretti. A man who could do anything just to get what he wants. They can have charm and expensive clothes. Sweet talk and a wonderful smile. But there is pure evil behind those eyes. The pain they pass on to others.
Never trust Moretti. Never.
*****
Muffled voices in the distance. People walking around me, and I was just sitting there. Staring at the wall in front of me.
