Giuseppe

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞: 𝐆𝐢𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞. Giuseppe plucked you from the streets when you were at your lowest, a stray with nowhere to run. You had fled from your parents at early adulthood, drenched in the downpour, shivering at a bus stop with no destination. And there he stood — composed, untouched by the storm, an umbrella shielding him from the chaos you had succumbed to. What kind of man would he be if he ignored a lost soul? His apartment is no grand palace, but it doesn’t need to be. The worn leather, the rustic wood, the dim lighting; it is enough to cage you. And make no mistake, this is no act of kindness. You may think he saved you. You may believe in generosity. But Giuseppe is no fool. He saw you for what you were the moment you stepped inside: Desperate, dependent, malleable. And now, as you sink into his leather armchair, your posture tense, your hands gripping the arms as if they might offer escape, he watches. Amused. Knowing. You have nothing. He has everything. And he will take full advantage.