Twisted Obsession

37 - Reuniting with the Devil

Luciana Bianchi

As soon as we touched down in Marseille, France, the air was thick with the sharp, salty tang of the Mediterranean. Eliot, Riccardo, and I quickly navigated through the bustling crowds, luggage in tow, and piled into a sleek black rental, one of those low-slung European models that gripped the road like a second skin. Federico's address led us down winding coastal roads that hugged the cliffs, each turn revealing glimpses of the sparkling blue sea below. The sky above was a clear, piercing blue, a perfect dome of summer radiance.

When we finally pulled up to the villa, my breath caught. Nestled against the rugged cliffs and perched near the calanques, the villa seemed like it had been crafted to meld with the landscape. Its single-story design sprawled across the rocky terrain, offering a seamless blend of modern elegance and timeless Mediterranean charm. The whitewashed walls glowed in the afternoon sun, interrupted by large glass doors and windows that framed a view of the sea stretching endlessly towards the horizon.

As we stepped out of the car and made our way toward the villa, the faint murmur of the waves reached us, mingling with the chirping of cicadas and the occasional cry of seagulls. The front garden was beautifully landscaped with olive trees, their silver-green leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and clusters of vibrant bougainvillaea that burst into shades of fuchsia and purple against the villa's smooth walls. An elegant stone path led to the entrance, where a heavy, wooden door, dark and imposing, stood as the gateway to this peaceful retreat.

Inside, the villa was even more impressive. The ceilings were high, making the space feel grand yet inviting, while the floors were cool, polished stone, perfect for the balmy climate. The open layout flowed seamlessly, with the living area blending into the kitchen, which was fitted with sleek, modern appliances and a long island that looked out over the ocean. Sunlight poured in from floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over everything and revealing a panoramic view of the shimmering sea.

I raise my hand to knock on the door, the polished wood warm under my fingers from the sun. Almost immediately, it swings open to reveal a man leaning against the frame. His skin is perfectly tanned, his dark hair swept back with an effortless confidence that suggests he's no stranger to the sun-drenched coast. The faint hint of a Spanish accent curls around his words as he smirks, calling over his shoulder, "Federico, tu chica está aquí." [Translation: Federico, your girl is here.]

He opens the door wider, motioning us in with a knowing look, and as we step inside, the full splendor of the villa unfolds before us. The interior is an effortless blend of Mediterranean charm and modern luxury, with high, whitewashed ceilings and expansive windows that flood the room with golden afternoon light. Sunlight dances on the cream-colored stone floors, casting intricate patterns that shift with each step. My eyes roam, taking in the details—the sleek furniture in neutral tones, the minimalist art adorning the walls, the delicate vases brimming with fresh lavender. A soft smile spreads across my face. It's the kind of place that makes you feel instantly at ease, as if time itself has slowed down to match the unhurried rhythm of the sea outside.

And then, from across the room, I catch sight of Federico. He strides toward us, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the kind that contains equal parts of charm and trouble. He's dressed casually yet impeccably, wearing baggy Anagram jeans in a deep, rich denim from Loewe, which hang low on his hips with a studied ease. His sweater—a soft, sage-green Off-White Ami de Coeur Crew Neck—fits him perfectly, contrasting against his tan skin and making the green in his dark hazel eyes more pronounced. I can't help but let my gaze drift down the length of him, taking in the details, the relaxed fit of his clothes that somehow enhances his natural charisma. He looks ridiculously good, almost annoyingly so, and I suppress a smirk of my own. He's like a walking contradiction: careless yet calculated, and undeniably dangerous.