Luciano Polenta was lying on the sofa, taking a nap after the failed attack in the forest.
He had been roaming in the woods on his own, without crossing anyone's territory nor challenging fate. He just wanted to run.
However, he had felt the scent of that woman, and it had guided him to her through miles. He had thought of ignoring it; maybe it was a mistake. Yet, his instinct had won.
He had seen her, and she had seen him. However, there had been no reconnaissance in her eyes. She had started trembling like a fool as if he would have killed her then and there. And, in the end, Woods had appeared and pushed him away.
He had fled, hurt. That rabid wolf had bit his leg very, very strongly. He had almost broken his bones.
After getting away from them, he had returned to Mayford. The only place he knew was that woman's apartment. There were no cameras nor many eyes, except for the paparazzi. But he knew how to avoid them.