[Salvo's POV — Morning]
Morning came slowly.
Too slowly.
I opened my eyes to find a warm weight against my chest.
Alfio.
Still fast asleep, tangled in the sheets—curled into me like I was safety, not the storm.
I let out a long breath.
"Christ…" I muttered to no one.
My voice was rough from sleep. I stared at him.
"Feels like I'm babysitting him," I scoffed under my breath. "Pathetic."
And yet… My hand moved on its own. I reached out and gently tucked a strand of messy hair from his face. He didn't stir. Not yet.
I sighed again and reached for the cigarette case on the nightstand and stood at the balcony.
Flick. Flame. Inhale.
Smoke curled up toward the ceiling like a ghost I couldn't shake. I felt worse now.
Soft. Exposed. Vulnerable.
I hated it.
I couldn't let it happen.
Not again.
But before anything else, I needed answers. I needed to know what that bastard Riccardo was doing. Visiting Alfio's mother? Sympathy? Leverage?
Or worse…
