~Alina’s POV~
Vincenzo drove us to his house and, sincerely, it wasn’t anything like I imagined.
It wasn’t too big, not too small either, just a modest two-story tucked quietly at the edge of the city, surrounded by overgrown hedges and silence.
The living room was dimly lit, with old wooden floors and a vintage rug that had seen better days.
A gray sofa rested near the fireplace, and bookshelves lined the walls, cluttered with old novels, a few scattered photos, and a crooked ceramic ashtray that looked handmade.
It wasn’t poor, but it wasn’t the kind of place I expected from a man who walked like he owned every street he stepped on.
I sat curled on the edge of the couch, a wool blanket draped over my shoulders.
My fingers trembled slightly as I gripped the warm cup of coffee Vince
