Wicked Game (Vegas Pete) "English version"

Chapter 8

Shrouded in sadness and reticence, Pete walked slowly through the dark, cobbled streets of Florence, accompanied by his attentive and silent bodyguards, who discreetly monitored his safety.

This was his first outing since leaving the austere hospital and the oppressive isolation of the Lucca mansion. Despite the constant presence of protection, that sense of shelter was so overwhelming that he felt the weight of his vulnerability.

Pete hated feeling weak, fragile.

He looked up at the sky, contemplating the distance.

The warm, orange blanket of dusk cast its wistful glow over the centuries-old Renaissance facades, lending the scene a melancholic beauty as Pete and his guards made their way toward the iconic Piazza della Repubblica.

Deep down, the young man yearned fervently for a fleeting moment of peace, a brief respite from the recent tumult that had shaken his life.

His tired eyes scanned the corners of the square carefully, searching for a peaceful refuge where he could find momentary rest.

Then, a few streets away, a figure suddenly emerged: a tall man with dark hair that fell gracefully to his shoulders and oriental features that contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin.

Pete barely had time to react before the stranger stood in front of him, almost colliding with him.

“I’m sorry,” the man muttered, tilting his body to the side and raising his hands, his glasses slightly askew from the impact. He spoke in English with a faint foreign accent, but his voice carried a familiar warmth that made Pete’s heart tingle.

Their gazes met, and in those deep, dark eyes, Pete sensed a flash of recognition, as if they were old acquaintances reunited from another time and place.

—“Are you okay?” Pete asked with a slight smile, feeling a bit embarrassed as his bodyguards approached, their sudden intervention startling the poor man who had bumped into him.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t see where I was going,” the man replied, looking flustered.

Pete studied the stranger's face, feeling an inexplicable connection.

Vegas bit his tongue, pressing his lips together, contemplating the serendipitous nature of their meeting.

But Pete was deeply intrigued by the possibility of finding someone who might be just like him.

The man straightened, adjusting his glasses nervously.

—“Sorry…”

Pete nodded in understanding. —Don’t worry. I should have been more attentive, too.

A comfortable silence enveloped them, filled with unasked questions and an unexplainable sense of familiarity. It was as if the universe had granted them a brief respite from the chaos of the city.

—Are you okay?— the man asked, concern evident in his eyes as they scanned Pete’s face.

—Yes, I’m fine. Thanks,— Pete replied sincerely, appreciating the genuine concern in the stranger's voice.

Meanwhile, Pete's bodyguards assessed the situation, positioning themselves protectively around him as if he were in danger.

The man apologized once more before veering toward a nearby café.

—If you need a friend to talk to, I’ll be there,” he said, gesturing toward the coffee shop before disappearing into the crowd.

Pete watched him go, intrigued by the chance encounter. An impulsive urge stirred within him to follow the man to the café. Not only did he crave coffee, but he also needed to quell his curiosity about this stranger.

He felt bewitched, drawn by a magnetic force he had only read about in novels.

It resonated deeply—his voice, his face.

As Pete entered the small coffee shop, the tempting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him. A man stood at the counter, ordering animatedly in fluent Italian, his gestures lively and engaging.

But the man didn’t turn to look at him.

Pete approached slowly, careful to make no noise, wanting to remain unnoticed. For a moment, the weight of his past faded as he immersed himself in the conversation, sensing a strange familiarity he couldn’t explain.

However, as he watched the man savoring his coffee, Pete froze. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time to approach a stranger.

Common sense, having finally stirred from its slumber, warned him against such a move, especially in this situation.

—What would Lucca say?

With a mix of curiosity and caution, he decided to step back and leave the café, allowing the mystery of this chance encounter to remain intact, at least for now.

As Pete quietly exited the coffee shop, the man with the oriental features smiled to himself, satisfied. He had been following Pete through these streets, and as the saying goes, —third time's the charm." His plan to meet Pete had finally come to fruition.

That chance encounter hadn’t really been a coincidence. The man had been cautiously following Pete's steps, waiting for the perfect moment to cross his path. Now, as he watched Pete walk away, he felt a deep joy at having achieved his goal.

As Pete walked through the streets of Florence, just as he had on that fateful day, accompanied by his bodyguards, a sense of familiarity washed over him. It was as if a missing piece of his past had fallen into place, though he still didn’t understand how or why.

Unconsciously, Pete began to pay more attention to his surroundings, searching for any clue that might reveal more about this mysterious man. His instincts told him they would cross paths again, and this time, he was determined to uncover the nature of the connection that seemed to bind them.

Meanwhile, the man with the oriental features walked away with a satisfied smile, knowing their opportunity to meet again would soon arise. He had planted the seed of curiosity in Pete, and now all that remained was to wait for it to germinate and blossom into a meaningful reunion.

Tension and intrigue filled the air, and Pete felt more compelled than ever to uncover the secrets hidden behind this chance encounter. Something told him that his life was about to take an unexpected turn.

To be Continued