One, two, three...
I count softly to myself, the faint sound drowned out by the music reverberating through the club where I first encountered Angelo.
“Hey, Mr. Alcaide, are you still with us?” I hear someone say.
I tilt my head and swirl the wine in my glass, my mind elsewhere.
“Mmm,” I respond, not really in the mood for conversation. I’m here waiting for someone.
Just a moment later, the man I’ve been waiting for arrives, walking through the club’s entrance.
As I steal a glance at him, I notice one of his friends approach to greet him.
After a brief moment, he begins to search the crowd, and then his gaze lands on me, where I am seated.
I observed him from the corner of my eye as he walked closer, an inexplicable urge pulling me to pay closer attention.
As he approached
