He had texted her dozens of times, but Chiara had always replied with brief phrases and broken words: “I’m fine,” “we’ll see each other soon,” “don’t come to the hospital,” “say hi to everyone at school.” Then there was that thing with Filippa. It hadn’t been his fault—she’d practically thrown a half nelson on him—but he was dating Chiara. He’d tried talking to his father about it—Dr. Turrini, the head physician at the hospital. But his father had just given him a grin and said: “Max, you’re twenty years old, you’re handsome, you’re healthy. Fuck her and don’t give it a second thought. You can think about more serious things when the time comes.” Sure, more serious things. But he couldn’t pull a dirty move like that on Chiara after everything she’d been through. Kidnapped! Max couldn’t bring himself to think about it. She’d languished for days, her head in a hood, in a freezing garage, abandoned in the mountains, without food or water. The two guys who had taken her and then had been killed in a crash? He’d even met them. He’d also sold them an entire package of Stilnox that he’d stolen from his father’s medicine cabinet. And he knew exactly what Stilnox was good for: making someone helpless. A rape drug. You give it to a girl and then you can fuck her—she won’t even remember. Is that what they’d done to Chiara? Had they raped her? And did that make him responsible? Was it his fault? But if he hadn’t sold the pharmaceuticals to those two sons of bitches, someone else would have done it instead.

Before knocking on the bedroom door, he focused on a single thought: Careful what you say, Max! Don’t fuck up!

He knocked. There was no answer. He slowly opened the door. “Chiara? Chiara, it’s me, Max . . .”

The girl was stretched out on the bed, fully clothed. She had a blanket over her and was looking out the window. Her feet were tucked into a pair of colorful thick woolen socks, and they poked out from under the blanket. Slowly she turned her head. As soon as she saw the boy, a smile flickered onto her face and then faded out immediately. “Ciao.”

“Ciao.” Max shut the door and went to sit at the foot of the bed. “How’s it going?”

Chiara shrugged. “Fine. How about you?”

“Fine.” He looked at her.

Her hair was messy; there were circles under her eyes. “I missed you,” he told her. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“When are you coming back to school?”

“I don’t know. For now, I can’t think of it.”

Max sighed. “Can you get some sleep, at least?”

“No.”

“How’s your leg?”