Chapter 2

Andreas sat slumped in the corner of his dimly lit apartment, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. The apartment was no longer the place of solace it had once been. Now, it felt like a prison where memories of Roberto crowded in from all sides. The empty bottles littering the floor were the only evidence of time passing. Each one was a monument to his attempts to forget—attempts that never succeeded.

He didn’t even look at the phone when it buzzed again. Sylvia’s name flashed across the screen, as it had so many times before. Her messages were relentless, each one pulling at the edges of his grief. But her words could offer nothing that would ease the ache inside him, so he let the phone fall silent.

This was how it had been for days. He knew what Sylvia wanted—knew that she had questions about Roberto, about Vincenzo—but he couldn’t face any of it. Not yet. Not while the pain was still so raw. Each time the phone lit up, he felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was avoiding the very things he needed to confront. But that guilt was swallowed up in the alcohol, just like everything else.

The days blurred together, and Andreas remained in the apartment, barely moving from the couch. His phone buzzed occasionally, but he ignored it. Calls, texts—it didn’t matter. They were just reminders of a world that no longer felt real to him. He was a Marine, a lawyer—but now, he was nothing. Sylvia’s name appeared on the screen more often than anyone else’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Not yet.

Sylvia had left him countless voicemails by now, her frustration clear in each one. She had spoken to his mother, even mentioned Vincenzo, but none of it stirred him enough to act. Her persistence gnawed at him, but the alcohol numbed that too. He knew she was right—there was something more going on. But he wasn’t ready to face it. The memories, the guilt, the truth of what Roberto might have known—it was all too much.

The phone lay silent now, but Sylvia’s words echoed in his mind. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep ignoring her.

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Sylvia stood outside Andreas’ door, the key Maria had given her cold in her hand. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the right thing to do, but frustration quickly pushed that doubt aside. She had been calling for weeks—leaving messages, texting—and Andreas had been a wall of silence. It was time to act.

With a determined twist of the key, the door creaked open. The apartment smelled of alcohol and old food, the mess of bottles and discarded clothes painting a picture of just how far Andreas had fallen. Sylvia had expected a Marine, someone strong, someone still holding onto discipline. But what she saw now was a broken man, and all she felt was pity.

Andreas lay sprawled on the couch, barely conscious, and when she shook him, his eyes snapped open. In a flash, his 1911 pistol appeared in his hand, pressed coldly against her chin. Sylvia froze, her heart leaping into her throat. The gun hovered between them for what felt like an eternity before Andreas blinked, recognizing her. He muttered a curse under his breath and tossed the gun aside.

"You’re not just some drunk, Andreas. You’re a lawyer. You could be helping people—making a difference, like Roberto wanted," she snapped, the frustration in her voice undeniable.

Andreas laughed bitterly, brushing a hand across his face. "Lawyer? You mean that piece of paper on the wall?" He gestured vaguely toward the crooked degree. "It’s not from some fancy school. Just something to prove I wasn’t a screw-up. Turns out I was."

Sylvia frowned, leaning in closer. "Maybe you didn’t do it for yourself, but you did it. You were a Marine, a JAG officer. That’s something. But instead, you’re here—wasting away." Andreas shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "I don’t know if I can anymore, Sylvia."

Her frustration boiled over. "Roberto wouldn’t want this, Andreas! You’ve got more fight in you than this."

Sylvia exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as her frustration mounted. "I didn’t just come here to pick a fight with you, Andreas. I came because I thought you might have something—anything—that could help me figure out what Roberto was mixed up in. But all I’m getting is excuses, and you sitting here drowning in your grief isn’t helping anyone." Her voice softened, though the edge remained. "Maybe I was wrong to think you could."

Andreas' expression hardened as her words struck a nerve. He looked up, his tired eyes suddenly sharp. "You don’t know me, Sylvia," he snapped, his voice low but carrying a weight she hadn’t heard before. "You don’t know what I’ve been through. So don’t come in here acting like you’ve got all the answers."

Andreas stared at her for a long moment, something flickering behind his tired eyes. But then he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I can."

With a sigh, Sylvia handed him the key Maria had given her. She had hoped this conversation would lead somewhere, but it felt like another dead end. As she left, Andreas was left alone again, the weight of her words settling heavily over him.