The night dragged on like a slow punishment.
Enzo lay in the dim-lit hotel suite, half-empty glass in hand, untouched bourbon warming in his palm. He hadn’t moved in hours—not really. Just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall like it owed him answers.
It didn’t.
Nothing did anymore.
He had watched her silhouette through the window. Just for a moment.
She didn’t come outside. She didn’t call. And Nora had been right—Amelia knew he was there. She always knew.
And yet she still chose not to open the door.
That’s what wrecked him the most.
Not her silence. Not her absence.
But her choice.
For someone like Enzo, choice had always been power. Control. His weapon of survival. Yet when Amelia made a choice—for herself—it left him helpless. Disarmed.
That girl with the fire in
