Chapter 4 The weight of knowing

Chapter 4

The weight of knowing

Maria's door to hear her rustle as she rinsed the risotto pot and cleaned, with the dishes. He carried a single image, the photograph, which grew larger and larger with each passing second. "Liberty or death." Death or freedom? It wasn't just a sentimental cliche from a troubled youth. A declaration that had once shaken entire cities was a ghost. It also now had a face, Maria's. He walked the length of her hallway like he was going back to the scene of a crime. The history she hadn't told him was whispered on the walls, which were adorned with old concert posters and faded polaroids. He wasn't sure which was worse: the fact that she had once believed in a dangerous concept or that she had stopped believing in anything at all. The agency's Maria files had not been modified since they returned to his apartment. He resisted the urge to open them. The city below was humming like an engine about to explode as he sat in the darkness. His mind echoed Maria's pure and carefree laughter, unaffected by surveillance or suspicion. However, that laughter was now a problem. It wasn't neutral. It posed a threat. It had a purpose. He had lost his impartiality. The agency called in the morning. "Where is the artist now?" Alessandro was fixed on the display. "Still spotless." A pause "Are you positive on that?" He took his time. Then, "Yes" It was a slander. Although it was small, it broke the dam. Maria would vanish-into an interrogation room, or worse-if the agency had any suspicions. That was how it functioned. People were not people; rather, they were obligations. Despite this, she had been humming Vivaldi in a kitchen filled with lavender and basil. She had shown him a glimpse of a life free of fear, music, and food. She had given him humanity, which was against the rules in his world. He now committed treason at every step. He turned away from the cameras, the lies, and the window of the agency. She was no longer merely a mission. He would betray everything for her. The forty-year-old Leonardo Vale was the kind of person who entered a room and took control of it long before he spoke. Leonardo was a living contradiction-half poet, half predator-with silvered temples, deliberate charm, and the deep voice of someone who had studied opera. He had a refined public persona, quoting Neruda in speeches, sponsoring classical concerts at the Grand Hall, and a love of gardens, where he was frequently seen pruning roses with gloved hands. However, there was a mind sharper than any political knife hidden beneath the refined gentility. Leonardo never forgot what it meant to be powerless when he was born in Monteval's dusty back streets as the illegitimate son of a minor bureaucrat and a seamstress. With bloodied fingers, calm voice, and eyes fixed on a view only he could imagine, he ascended life with bare hands like a man scaling cliffs. Every move, smile, and silence was evaluated. He used the fact that people liked to be seen and loved early on to his advantage. Leonardo was calculating and manipulative in private. As with his rage, his affection was always calculated. He was surrounded by loyalists, the majority of whom were unsure whether to love or fear him. He never spoke loudly. He did not have to. His power lay in the implication, in what was not said. People listened to him speak not only for what he said but also for what he might have meant. He believed that love at its purest was control. He didn't want people to be companions; rather, he wanted them to be stories-chapters that needed to be edited and rearranged to serve a bigger story: his own. That's what attracted him to Maria, a woman with as many layered and long-standing secrets as he does. He was drawn to her not because she was beautiful-though she was beautiful-but rather because she was dangerous, erratic, and haunted by a past that he thought was worth more than gold. She was the final piece of a power puzzle that he had been working on since he was 20 years old. He courted her with understanding, not roses or dinners. He observed. He gave her some room. He made her feel like she was the only one with a voice that mattered in the room. But there was a calculated flame in his shadow. He desired her account. Her facts. Her insecurities Furthermore, he would make use of every poetic lie and loving gesture to persuade her to offer them to him. Perception was more important than policy in politics, according to Leonardo Vale. He could also sway both with Maria on his arm or under his thumb. He could gain leverage over enemies, allies, and even the capital itself if her secrets were revealed. He wasn't just interested in ruling the province. He desired to become invincible. A letter was the first part. In Maria's private study, hidden in the folds of a hollow book, the letter was not addressed to Leonardo but to a woman by the name of Lucinda. The letter's seal had been broken, and the tone and ink had faded. Leonardo had not intended to locate it. Or, at least, he told himself that. In fact, he had created the chance. For Maria's research, he had given her access to his personal library, anticipating her response. The letter talked about betrayal, exile, and a child who was born in secret and away from the regime's eyes. Names that Leonardo had long buried in political graves were mentioned. More importantly, it mentioned a deal that involved members of the capital's elite and was made in the shadows of a coup twenty years ago. Leonardo knew its value without reading the entire narrative. This was more than just Maria's past; it was money. Maria could be destroyed if the public learned that the regime had attempted to eradicate a bloodline. Or, she might be utilized. He sat across from her at dinner that night, smiling, pouring wine, and reciting poems about how time and memory are fragile. She reciprocated with a smile, unaware of the brewing conflict in his eyes. Everything was changed by the discovery. He used to admire Maria's mystery, but now he needed to open her vault. He also had a crowbar now. Leonardo's behavior changed subtly over the course of the days, making it difficult for Maria to accuse him. He probed further, not out of curiosity but rather to map her lies. He continued to touch her and observe her, praising her independence while subtly encircling her. Maria became cautious as she sensed the invisible net getting tighter. Late at night, she stopped talking about her thoughts. She began to skip calls, delete messages, and lock doors. Leonardo, on the other hand, was ecstatic rather than enraged. Progress meant fear. She knew why she was resisting. She was aware that he had seen something. However, she wasn't sure how much. She confronted him one evening, not with accusations but with a question. "Do you believe me, Leo?" "I trust the version of you that trusts me," he whispered as he smiled and took her hand. It was a warning as well as a confession. Maria did not blink her eyes. Her heart didn't skip a beat. However, something in her broke. Leonardo also knew that the game had officially started.