Twilight descended upon Ravello in a veil of violet, indigo, and burnished copper. As the Mediterranean breeze cooled the sun-warmed stone of the terrace, Chiara sat on a velvet stool beneath the wisteria pergola, holding *Il Canto Notturno* between her knees. The cello had been meticulously tuned, its strings vibrating with centuries of accumulated memory. Salvatore sat nearby in a wrought-iron armchair, a glass of aged Amarone in his hand,…
Keep reading in the app
This chapter is in the Booknovel app. Unlock it with coins, a short ad, the free timer or VIP.
Scan with your phone camera
Opens chapter 11 directly. New readers get free coins.
