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**Chapter 37: The Weight of a Promise**
Night had fully descended over San Violetta, its stars veiled by thick clouds that cast an oppressive darkness across the vineyard. Carlo walked briskly toward the outskirts of the estate, his lantern barely cutting through the shadows. The grove behind him seemed to breathe, whispering secrets he had long fought to silence.
He paused by an old stone wall, his hands trembling as he adjusted his grip on the lantern. His thoughts swirled with memories—images of Emilia's smile, her laughter, and the fear in her eyes when she had confided in him.
"I'll protect you," he had told her years ago, his voice steady despite the storm brewing around them.
But he hadn't been able to keep that promise. And now, with the vineyard's secrets unraveling, he felt the weight of his failure pressing harder than ever.
Carlo reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a weathered notebook bound in dark leather. Its pages were filled with sketches, notes, and names—fragments of the vineyard's history that he had collected over the years. He flipped to a page marked with a small circular emblem, his fingers brushing over the faded ink.
"This was supposed to stay buried," he murmured to himself, his voice low and strained.
The sound of footsteps broke his train of thought. Carlo turned sharply, his lantern casting faint shadows against the wall. From the darkness, Pietro emerged again, his posture casual yet watchful.
"Still brooding over your notebook, I see," Pietro said, his tone tinged with mockery.
Carlo frowned, his grip on the lantern tightening. "You should go back to wherever you came from, Pietro. This has nothing to do with you."
Pietro chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, but it does, Carlo. You're not the only one who made promises to Emilia. And you're not the only one who failed to keep them."
Carlo stiffened, his jaw tightening as Pietro's words struck a nerve. "She trusted me," Carlo said through gritted teeth. "She trusted us. And we let her down."
Pietro's smile faded, his gaze growing somber. "She knew what she was getting into," he said quietly. "Emilia wasn't a victim, Carlo. She was a fighter. But even fighters can lose their battles."
Carlo's chest tightened as the memories resurfaced—the chapel, the grove, Emilia's last words before everything fell apart. The notebook in his hands felt heavier than ever, its secrets threatening to consume him.
"What do you think they'll do when they find the chapel?" Carlo asked suddenly, his voice strained. "Do you think they'll understand the cost of knowing the truth?"
Pietro shrugged, his indifference clear. "That's not for us to decide. The vineyard's secrets will claim them just like they claimed her."
As the two men stood in silence, the wind carried the faint scent of lavender, mingling with the tension that hung heavily in the air. And as Pietro turned to leave, Carlo remained by the stone wall, his gaze fixed on the notebook in his hands—a relic of promises made and broken, and the truths he had sworn to protect at any cost.
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