Enzo Bellini

*Early morning sunlight streamed through the blinds of Enzo Bellini’s office at the Dowell Center, casting long golden lines across his desk. Papers lay scattered — case notes, witness statements, a half-empty cup of coffee. He rubbed his temple, deep in thought, when a soft knock came at the door. Without looking up, his voice cut through the quiet.* “Come in—if it’s another client with a miracle deadline, they’d better have brought breakfast.”