Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: An Unlikely Team

The afternoon light filtered through the thin curtains of Andrea's room, a golden glow settling over the chaos of papers and notes strewn across the bed like a sea of crumpled paper. The dorm was a small rectangular space, its raw concrete walls cracked from dampness and stained here and there with patches of mold—a reminder of the autumn rains that had plagued Foggia in recent weeks. The furniture was sparse: a single bed with a gray, lint-covered blanket, a chipped wooden desk that wobbled whenever someone leaned on it, a chair with one leg shorter than the others that creaked with every movement. The linoleum floor, scratched and faded, bore the interwoven footprints of years of students who had passed through, a mosaic of wear telling silent stories. Andrea paced back and forth, hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, his steps uneven and jittery, as if each movement were an attempt to shake off the weight crushing his shoulders. The linoleum squeaked under his sneakers, a sharp sound mingling with the distant hum of a broken fan in the hallway—a constant background noise that seemed to amplify the tense silence in the room.It had been just a few hours since he and Giulia had uncovered the Green Future Project, Professor Moretti's secret research promising to revolutionize sustainable agriculture with that mysterious compound called VF-17. Giulia's words—"It could be worth millions"—echoed relentlessly in his head, intertwining with the image of the notebook bearing his name, Andrea Rossi, written in bold, precise letters on the cover, found on the lab table next to the professor's lifeless body. The police considered him a suspect—or at least it had felt that way during the interrogation with Inspector De Luca the previous night. The man, tall and thin with a face sharp as a blade and gray eyes that bored into you, hadn't said anything explicit. "You're a witness," he'd repeated several times, his voice flat and monotone, but the way he tapped his pen on his notepad, the way he stared while Andrea answered questions—"Where were you between nine and ten? What did you touch in the lab?"—spoke louder than words. Andrea wasn't naive. He knew the notebook pinned him, a connection too clear, too convenient to be coincidental. Someone had placed it there, of that he was certain, but who? And why him? He couldn't afford to wait for the net to close around him. His life—the botany degree he'd worked years for, the chance at a doctorate, the dream of doing something meaningful for the world—hung by a thread as thin as a spiderweb, growing more fragile with every passing hour, ready to snap at the slightest breath.But alone, he and Giulia wouldn't get far. The folder of Moretti's notes, open on the bed, was a labyrinth of formulas, graphs, and scribbled annotations—a puzzle taunting them with its complexity. Then there were the encrypted files, hidden on a USB drive Moretti had given him weeks earlier with a distracted air—"Keep this, Andrea, it's just a backup"—that now seemed to hold the key to everything. Those files were an impenetrable wall for them. Giulia was brilliant, a chemistry genius, but she lacked the skills to crack digital encryption. And he, with his botany knowledge and little else, was even more powerless."We need to bring someone else in," he said finally, stopping near the desk. His voice was low, uncertain, as if the words cost him effort, but a new determination was growing inside him, a fire kindling slowly, fueled by fear and a rage he hadn't known he possessed. He leaned against the desk's edge, the chipped wood pricking his palms through his jeans. "These encrypted files… we can't open them ourselves. Moretti protected them for a reason. We need someone who knows what they're doing, someone who can get in there."Giulia looked up from the page she was studying, setting her pen down on the notebook in her lap. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail with a few stray strands escaping, her green eyes glinting with curiosity and focus. She still wore the oversized gray hoodie and faded jeans from that morning, a simple outfit that contrasted with the intensity of her gaze. Moretti's folder lay open before her, papers scattered like fallen leaves, her fingers stained with red ink from hours of underlining and annotating."Got someone in mind?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was calm, but Andrea knew her well enough to catch the hint of caution beneath it, a shadow of doubt that told him she too felt the weight of this decision."Yeah," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Marco. Marco Ricci."Giulia frowned, her eyebrows arching in mild confusion as she tried to place the name. Then a flash of recognition crossed her face, and her lips curved into an incredulous, almost amused smile. "The hacker? The one who crashed the exam registration system last year? That Marco Ricci?"Andrea nodded, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the moment. "That's him. He's not exactly a paragon of virtue, I know, but he's a genius with computers. If anyone can get into those files, it's Marco. I don't know anyone else who could."The name Marco Ricci conjured vivid images in Andrea's mind, fragments of memories mixed with campus rumors. Marco was almost a mythical figure among University of Foggia students, a shadow moving on the edges of campus life with an air of defiance and mystery. Tall and lanky, with a slightly hunched posture that betrayed hours spent hunched over a screen, he had dark, perpetually tousled hair that fell over his eyes like a disordered curtain, hiding a sharp, piercing gaze. A silver piercing gleamed on his left eyebrow, a detail that drew attention almost as much as the black leather jacket he wore everywhere—worn but inseparable, like armor that defined him. He wasn't the type to follow rules; on the contrary, he seemed to relish bending them, breaking them, rewriting them at will, with a smirk that said, "Try and stop me."Andrea had met him two years ago, during a group project in their second year—a task involving data analysis software that should've been simple but turned into a nightmare. Marco had been assigned to his team by pure chance, a random draw from the professor that had felt like a curse at the time. Andrea was methodical, quiet, used to working alone, controlling every detail with near-obsessive precision. Marco was the opposite: loud, sarcastic, always ready with a quip or some wild idea that sounded like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. At first, Andrea had feared it would be a disaster. He'd spent the initial group meetings staring at Marco with a mix of frustration and distrust as he drummed his fingers on the table or doodled on the edges of papers instead of listening. But then something happened. During one of the final sessions, when the software code jammed and no one could figure out why—an error that threatened to tank the project—Marco took charge. He'd sat at the group's shared laptop, shoved Andrea's notes aside with a "Let me see, nerd," and fixed it in under half an hour. With a few lines of code and a smug grin, he'd turned disaster into triumph, saving them from humiliation with the professor. "It's not rocket science," he'd said, shrugging, but the glint of pride in his eyes hadn't escaped Andrea.From then on, a strange bond had formed between them, a trust born more from necessity than true affinity. Marco called him "the nerd" and teased him for his shyness, the way he blushed at compliments, or his habit of double-checking everything. But there was an unspoken loyalty, a silent pact that solidified months later when Andrea covered for him with Professor Lorusso. Marco had "borrowed" a projector from the lecture hall for an illicit dorm party, and when Lorusso started asking questions, Andrea concocted an excuse—"We used it for an experiment, professor"—sparing him punishment. Marco never said thank you, not outright, but the next day he left a beer on Andrea's cafeteria table with a note: "Owe the nerd a favor." Now, that favor might be their salvation."You think he'll agree to help?" Giulia asked, tapping her fingers on the edge of her notebook, a gesture that betrayed her need to move, to think in action."If we approach him the right way, yeah," Andrea said, shifting to sit on the bed beside her. The mattress creaked under his weight, a sound that reminded him how old and worn this place was. "Marco likes the thrill, the challenge. He loves proving he can do what others can't even dream of. He's the type who brags about breaking into systems just because he can. And besides, he owes me. Last year, with that projector thing, he said he'd pay me back. He owes me at least a conversation."Giulia laughed, a short, warm sound that briefly broke the tension hovering in the room like a shadow. "Okay, you've convinced me," she said, setting her notebook on the bed and crossing her arms. "But how do we find him? He's not exactly a schedule guy. He could be anywhere—the bar, the library, or who knows where doing who knows what.""I'll call him," Andrea replied, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. It was an old model, the screen slightly cracked in one corner, but it still worked. "Around this time, he's usually at the campus bar near the library. He calls it his 'unofficial office.' He spends more time there than in class, drinking cappuccinos and arguing with anyone who'll listen about operating systems or conspiracy theories."He dialed Marco's number and held the phone to his ear, waiting with bated breath. One ring. Two. Three. Each tone seemed to stretch into eternity, amplifying the anxiety tightening his stomach like a vice. Then, finally, a raspy, vaguely bored voice answered from the other end."Rossi, what do you want? Don't tell me you need another alibi."Andrea ignored the playful tone, though an involuntary smile flickered across his lips. Marco never changed. "Hey, Marco. I need to talk to you. It's important. Can you come to the dorm?"There was a pause, then a theatrical sigh that rustled the microphone, as if Marco were blowing out cigarette smoke. "I'm finishing a cappuccino and winning an argument with some guy who thinks Linux is the best thing ever. He's an idiot, but it's fun. Give me ten minutes. But it better be worth it, nerd.""It will be," Andrea promised, trying to infuse his voice with a confidence he didn't fully feel. "Thanks."He hung up and turned to Giulia, who watched him with a raised eyebrow and an ironic expression dancing on her face. "Sounds like a cheerful guy," she said, sarcasm coloring her voice like a light brushstroke."He's… unique," Andrea admitted, shrugging. "A bit chaotic, a bit unpredictable. But he's what we need. Trust me."Part 2: Marco's ArrivalTen minutes later, the door swung open without warning—no knock, no pleasantries, just the sound of the handle turning and the creak of rusty hinges. Marco strode in, bringing with him the sharp scent of roasted coffee and a faint whiff of cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket like an invisible aura. He wore his usual getup: the black leather jacket, frayed at the edges but worn with a confidence that made it seem new, ripped jeans exposing pale patches of skin at the knees, and a gray T-shirt with the faded logo of a punk band Andrea didn't recognize—maybe the Ramones, maybe something else. Headphones dangled around his neck like a trophy, the black cord twisting across his chest like an impromptu necklace. His dark hair was a mess, tousled as if he'd run his hands through it too many times, falling over his eyes and half-hiding a gaze that darted from Andrea to Giulia. A smirk curled his lips, revealing a slightly chipped tooth on the left side, a detail that lent his smile a faintly dangerous edge.He paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a practiced pose, arms crossed over his chest, and let his backpack—an old military model covered in patches and stickers—slide to the floor with a dull thud. "So," he said, his voice rough and slightly drawled, as if he'd smoked too much or slept too little. "What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost, Rossi. And you," he added, nodding at Giulia with a raised eyebrow, "you his new sidekick? Bonnie to his Clyde? Should I be worried about an ambush?"Giulia crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. She wasn't intimidated by his tone or stance, and her reply came sharp and direct, with a hint of defiance. "Something like that," she said, her voice steady. "Sit down, Ricci. We need your help, and we don't have time for your games."Marco let out a low whistle, a sound hovering between admiration and surprise, and pushed off the frame with a fluid, almost feline motion. "I like this one," he said, jerking a thumb toward Giulia as he sauntered to the desk chair. He dropped into it with nonchalant grace, and the chair groaned loudly under his weight, a wooden protest that seemed on the verge of collapse. He ignored it, stretching his legs out and lacing his hands behind his head, the leather jacket rustling against the backrest."Let's hear it," he said, his tone dancing between curiosity and challenge. "But fair warning—if it's boring stuff like recovering deleted grades or cracking the cafeteria Wi-Fi, I'm out. I've got standards, you know. I don't work for less than a little adrenaline."Andrea took a deep breath, trying to order the thoughts swirling in his head like leaves in an autumn wind. He knew with Marco you had to cut to the chase but also dangle something to pique his interest, to spark that adrenaline rush that drove him like an engine. He sat on the bed's edge beside Giulia, the mattress creaking under him, and rested his hands on his knees, rubbing them against his jeans to dry the sweat dampening his palms."It's not boring," he said, striving to keep his voice steady despite the tremor rising in his throat. "It's… complicated. And dangerous. You heard about Moretti?"Marco's brow furrowed, the smirk fading slightly, replaced by a shadow of seriousness that darkened his gaze. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the chair creaked again, breaking the room's tense silence. "The dead prof? Yeah, word's going around he was found stiff in the lab. Some moron at the bar said it was a heart attack, but others are talking blood and chaos. You mixed up in that?""Everything," Andrea replied, his voice cracking just a little, an echo of the fear he couldn't shake. He paused, swallowing hard, then began to spill it all. The words came like a flood, slow at first, then rushing out as if they'd been pent up too long. He spoke of the night in the lab, the moment he'd gone back for that stupid pen and found Moretti slumped against the shelf—body rigid and cold, eyes wide in eternal surprise. He described the blood that had stained his hands as he checked for signs of life, how the thick, dark liquid had pooled on the floor, reflecting the neon light in a sinister glow. He told of the notebook with his name, found on the professor's table like a mute accusation, a detail that shouldn't have been there. "I always keep it in my bag," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "Always. Someone put it there, Marco, and I don't know who."He recounted the police interrogation, Inspector De Luca staring at him with those cold eyes, tapping his pen on the notepad like an unrelenting metronome, making him feel guilty without saying it outright. Then he spoke of the Green Future Project, the secret research Moretti had hidden for months, maybe years—a sustainable farming technique worth millions, a dream that could change the world but now seemed to be the reason for his death.Giulia chimed in occasionally, her voice calm but precise, filling in details Andrea skipped in his rush. She grabbed the folder from the bed and showed Marco the scribbled formulas, hand-drawn graphs, and data tables boasting incredible yields in arid soil. "This is VF-17," she said, pointing to a line of numbers. "A chemical compound that speeds up plant growth without synthetic fertilizers. Moretti was preparing a patent. We're sure that's why he was killed."Marco listened, his usual cockiness dissolving as the story took shape. He leaned further forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking between Andrea and Giulia as if gauging whether this was an elaborate prank or raw truth. When Andrea finished, the silence in the room was thick, almost tangible, broken only by the distant sound of a scooter passing below the window and the faint ticking of Giulia's wristwatch, a rhythm marking time slipping away.Marco ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and fixed Andrea with an intensity that made him uneasy, as if he were trying to see inside him, to dig beneath the surface. "So," he said finally, his voice lower than usual, almost cautious—a tone Andrea had never heard from him before. "You're telling me your prof got whacked over a million-dollar project, the cops think you're involved, and now you want me to break into his secret files? That's the plan? You're asking me to stick my nose in a murder?""Exactly," Andrea said, nodding. The word came out sharp, final, like a hammer strike. "Can you do it?"Marco laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, a short, broken sound lacking his usual bravado. He scratched at his eyebrow piercing absently, a tic betraying his unease. "I can do a lot of things, Rossi," he said, leaning back in the chair with a slow motion. "I've cracked systems you wouldn't even dream of. But the question is: why should I? This stinks of trouble from a mile away. I'm not exactly a fan of jail cells, you know? I've got enough heat from the department after that exam stunt. If I get caught doing something like this…""Because it's right," Giulia cut in, her tone firm and resolute, almost cutting, like a blade slicing through his attempt to dodge. She leaned toward him, green eyes pinning him with an intensity that left no escape. "Someone killed Moretti and is trying to frame Andrea. If we do nothing, he'll end up in trouble for something he didn't do. The police won't look for the truth, not if they've got a convenient scapegoat. And besides," she added, a sly smile curving her lips, "you don't strike me as the type to back down from a challenge. Or am I wrong? I thought you were the guy who loves proving how good he is, who brags about doing what others wouldn't dare try."Marco stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed as if weighing her words, testing them for weakness. Then he shook his head with a smirk, a mix of admiration and surrender softening his features. "You've got me pegged, huh?" he said, pointing at her with a playful gesture. "Clever girl. I like it. Alright, I'm in. But I need to see these files. Where are they? I don't work in the dark."Andrea gestured to the folder on the bed, nudging it toward Marco with a hand. "Here's the paper stuff," he said, his voice steadying now that they had a plan, a concrete step to follow. "Formulas, data, notes Moretti gave me over the past few months. But the encrypted files are on a USB he left me a couple weeks ago. It's in the desk drawer."He rose from the bed, the mattress creaking like a groan, and approached the desk. He yanked open the bottom drawer, rummaging through broken pens, crumpled scraps of paper, an old charger with a frayed cord, and an expired box of mints. His fingers brushed something cold and smooth, and he pulled out the USB drive: a small black rectangle, nondescript, with a faded label bearing only "VF" scrawled in marker—Moretti's hasty handwriting like a silent cry. He held it for a moment, staring at it as if it might speak, reveal the secrets it hid. Then he handed it to Marco, who took it with a grimace, turning it over in his fingers like it was something suspect, an artifact to handle with care."Hope it's not full of viruses," Marco said, his voice slipping back to its sarcastic edge as he pulled a laptop from the backpack he'd dropped by the door. It was an old model but clearly customized, plastered with punk band stickers—Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys—like a shield of rebellion, its power cord patched with black electrical tape dangling like a battered tail. He set it on the desk, shoving aside a stack of textbooks with an indifferent sweep, and powered it on with a sharp tap. The fan's hum rose like a whine, filling the room as the screen glowed a cold blue.He plugged in the USB with a swift motion, slotting it into the port with a precision born of years of practice. Andrea and Giulia moved closer, standing behind him to watch the screen, their breath held as if witnessing a ritual. A series of black windows popped up, displaying scrolling lines of code, followed by a list of files with extensions like ".enc" and cryptic names: "VF-17_test1.enc," "protocol_B.enc," "data_23-10.enc." Marco let out a low whistle, tilting his head like a cat eyeing prey."Nice work," he said, his voice tinged with respect, almost admiration. "AES-256 encryption. Serious stuff. Moretti wasn't messing around when it came to protecting his secrets. This is bank-level security, not professor-grade.""Can you open them?" Andrea asked, his heart beating faster, a drum pounding in his chest. Adrenaline surged back, a jolt of clarity chasing away the exhaustion weighing down his eyelids and stiffening his muscles."I'll try," Marco said, typing a flurry of commands that raced across the screen like an incomprehensible data stream, an alien language of numbers and symbols. "But it won't be a cakewalk. AES-256 is tough—takes time to find a crack. I could brute-force it, but that'd take days, maybe weeks, without the right key. And I'd need more computing power than this old wreck has." He paused, drumming his fingers on the keyboard's edge, then added with a half-smile, "And maybe some more coffee. You don't have a machine here, do you? This kind of job needs fuel.""No," Giulia said, smiling despite the tension stiffening her shoulders. "But I can grab some from the bar. We'll all need it, I think, if we're going to keep going." She stood from the bed, stretching quickly, and grabbed her wallet from her backpack. "Back in ten. You guys start.""Team effort, then," Marco said, eyes still on the screen, fingers resuming their controlled frenzy on the keys. "I'll tackle the files, you dig through the paper notes. Something's gotta pop up, right? Two fronts, same goal."Andrea nodded, settling back on the bed and picking up the folder. He opened it carefully, flipping through pages that now felt almost fragile, as if the weight of their contents had made them delicate. But as Marco dove into his work, typing commands and muttering curses under his breath at each hurdle, Andrea noticed something that made him pause. Marco's hands trembled slightly, a nearly imperceptible shake as they moved over the keys, a quiver that seemed to start in his fingers and creep up his wrists. His eyes darted across the screen, quick and nervous, and there was a tension in his face—a deep crease between his brows, a tightening of his jaw—that Andrea had never seen before.It wasn't the first time he'd watched Marco work. During that second-year group project, he'd seen him tweak code with steady, swift hands, his face relaxed even under pressure. But now was different. He was nervous, more than the sarcasm and quips let on, more than the situation—however serious—seemed to warrant. Andrea wondered if it was just the fear of being tangled in something so big, so dangerous. A murder wasn't a game, after all, and Marco, for all his rebellion, wasn't one to court serious trouble. Or so he'd always thought."Everything okay?" Andrea asked, keeping his voice low so Giulia, who'd already left the room and was walking down the hall, wouldn't hear. Her footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.Marco's head snapped up, as if caught off guard, and for a split second, his eyes widened—a flash of vulnerability that vanished behind a mask of nonchalance. "Yeah, yeah," he said, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly before steadying. "All good. Just… I don't like the idea of poking around a murder, you know? It's heavy stuff, Rossi. Not like cracking a server for kicks. But I'm in, relax. I said I'm in, didn't I?"Andrea studied him, searching for a sign, a crack, but Marco kept his gaze fixed on the screen, jaw clenched, the piercing glinting under the lamp's light. He didn't fully buy it. There was something off, a false note in that too-quick, too-rehearsed reply. But he couldn't push, not now, not without evidence."Okay," he said simply, turning back to the folder's pages. "Let me know if you find anything."Giulia returned shortly after, bringing a gust of cold hallway air, and the work resumed. But as the night deepened, the darkness pressing against the window like a living thing, Andrea couldn't shake the feeling that Marco was hiding something. He was their ace in the hole, yes, the genius who could unlock Moretti's sealed doors and bring them closer to the truth. But he was also a wildcard, an unstable variable in an already perilous equation. Watching him sidelong as his fingers flew over the keys and his face glowed in the screen's cold light, Andrea wondered if his old friend was truly on their side. That nervousness, that tremor, that too-quick glance away—were they just signs of fear, or was there something darker lurking beneath? Something Marco knew and wasn't saying?In a game like the one they were playing, where truth was a sharp weapon and betrayal an ever-present possibility, unknowns could be fatal. For now, though, they had no choice. They had to move forward, step by step, with Marco beside them—or perhaps a step ahead, ready to shift the game without warning. The team was formed, but trust was a fragile thread, and Andrea felt it could snap at any moment.