CHAPTER 22

**AVA**
Sitting on the couch, I observe my still-aching leg. Slowly, I get up and walk to the kitchen, looking for a painkiller. Taking something for the pain seems like a small form of relief amid the confusion surrounding me.
As I swallow the pill, I look around the apartment and realize that, with the week off, I'll have a lot of time without knowing how to fill it. Working at the library has always been a passion, but now, with my mind in turmoil, I don't know how to fill the empty hours.
I sigh deeply and decide to clean the apartment, moving the furniture and sweeping every corner. Scrubbing the floor feels like a way to purge the internal pain and confusion. The physical activity distracts me, giving me brief relief from the storm of thoughts. Hours pass as I clean obsessively, desperately trying to organize the chaos inside me.
Suddenly, the sound of knocking on the door pulls me out of my cleaning trance. I frown, confused. Pietro doesn't know where I live, and the thought that there could be more of those men makes my body tense. I quickly walked to the door with my fists clenched.
However, when I open the door, I find Paul, my boss and friend, on the other side. I immediately relaxed, blinking in surprise.
"Paul! Hey! What are you doing here?"
"Well, I thought it would be nice to see you after what happened. And I brought Mexican food. I know how much you like it.", he replies, holding a bag.
I smile, letting him in. Paul is not just my manager at the library, but a long-time friend I've known for five years. I watch as he looks around, noticing the obsessive cleaning.
"Wow, this place is so clean, I think I'm going blind.", he jokes, making me laugh. I walk to the kitchen, grabbing plates, and turn my head when Paul asks:
"How are you, Ava?"
I blink, opening the bag with the food.
"I think I'm okay.", I respond, feeling his hand on my shoulder. I smile sadly.
"Well, those guys deserved what happened to them.", Paul comments. I remain silent, wishing I could tell someone the truth but knowing it might not be safe.
"I just want to forget what happened and get on with my life.", I sigh, putting the food on the plates with his help.
"What happened to your leg?", he asks, pointing to the injury.
"A piece of glass got stuck in my leg when I fell."
He nods understandingly, and together we sit on the couch, starting to eat. I close my eyes, moaning in satisfaction at the familiar taste of the food.
"My God, I really needed this."
"I know. I know you well, Ava.", Paul says with a smile.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, Paul's comforting presence helping to ease some accumulated tension. I appreciate the normality of the situation, even if only for a brief moment. I feel grateful for Paul's friendship and the effort he made to come to me at such a difficult time.
"So, what are you going to do during this week off?", Paul asks, trying to make conversation.
"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll clean the apartment a few more times.", I reply with a weak smile, trying to make a joke.
Paul laughs, but quickly becomes serious again.
"Ava, if you need anything, anything at all, let me know. I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Paul. That means a lot to me.", I respond, feeling a wave of gratitude.
After we finish eating, Paul insists on helping with the dishes. I agree, knowing that the simple activity will help keep me occupied and distracted. As we wash the dishes, we talk about everyday things, trying to keep our minds off the traumatic events of the previous night.
Later, Paul says goodbye, leaving me alone in the apartment again. I sit on the couch, feeling the silence fall around me. I look at my injured leg and think about everything that happened. Pietro's words still echo in my mind, along with the bearded man's plea and the confusion about what really happened.
Feeling restless, I grab the laptop again and start reading the news about the attack. Each article seems to tell a different story, but none of them are entirely true. The media portrays the incident as a simple robbery, but I know there's much more behind it. Pietro's connections, the bearded man's words...everything seems like part of a puzzle I need to solve.
As night falls, I feel exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I lie down in bed, but sleep is elusive. My mind keeps spinning around the unanswered questions and images of the dead men. Eventually, I fall asleep, my body finally giving in to fatigue.
The next morning, I woke up with sunlight entering through the window. I feel a bit more rested, but the restlessness is still there. I know I need to find out the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
I'll need more information, maybe even outside help. I have the rest of the week off and still don't know how I'll use all my free time. Not only that, but I could leave the house and go to some other places, but I'm sure many people will recognize me after the latest news.
I feel completely frustrated in every way, and I still haven't replied to Pietro's last message. I need some time alone with myself to organize all my thoughts. I think back to the words of that man, and sitting on my bedroom bed, I try to find the name of that man in the news and reports.
I keep clicking on every site on the computer screen. If Pietro isn't willing to tell me the truth, then I need to find the answers I need on my own. I quickly eat my breakfast and look at my phone, seeing no more messages from Pietro, which makes me even more frustrated than before.
I go back to my research on the computer, and my heart pounds inside my chest when I finally find the name of the man who was accusing Pietro of his wife's death.
"Businessman Richard Carter was found dead after an attempted break-in."
Richard Carter.
I keep looking at the name on the computer screen, feeling that I'm getting closer to the truth that Pietro doesn't want to tell me. There must be many reasons why Pietro doesn't want to tell me the reason that man was so determined to kill him—something he did or caused in the past.
As I continue with my research, I remember the words Pietro told me about his past.