Kenzie reached out, but he pulled it back.
He closed the door behind him, shaking rainwater from the collar of his worn leather jacket. Matteo Conti—art restorer, thief of her sleep, keeper of a secret he still hadn’t told her. He crossed the room and stood close enough that she could smell turpentine, rain, and the faint ghost of espresso. Kenzie Anne - Florentine Part 2 -11.11.21-
He smiled—that crooked, heartbroken smile—and opened the door to the rain. Kenzie reached out, but he pulled it back
“She chose love,” he said. “And she was erased. Not killed. Erased. Her paintings signed by her father. Her letters burned. Her name scratched off a tombstone in Santa Croce.” He crossed the room and stood close enough
The rain over Florence had not stopped for three days. It fell in soft, persistent sheets against the leaded glass of the restored palazzo , turning the Arno into a churning, muddy serpent below. Kenzie Anne stood at the window of her studio, a dry paintbrush held loosely in her fingers, watching the water trace paths down the glass like veins.