The Tuscan morning was drenched in sun, golden and sleepy, casting delicate rays across the marble floors of the villa they had escaped to. The soft rustling of linen sheets and the distant coo of doves made the world feel oddly perfect. Almost too perfect.
Enzo sat at the edge of the balcony, a glass of black coffee in his hand, watching Amelia sleep inside the room. Her face was half-covered by the sheets, her lips slightly parted, lost in the kind of dreams he’d never had the luxury to indulge in.
He loved watching her like this—quiet, unguarded. It was the only time he felt like he could breathe without the weight of what he was.
The truth gnawed at him.
She didn’t know.
She still didn’t know.
About the blood on his hands. About the empire that whispered his name in fear. About t
