The sun had dipped behind the old stone buildings of Milan, casting amber shadows across the city as Enzo stood at the window, watching. Below, the quiet streets buzzed with life — the kind that didn’t know the weight of blood-soaked secrets or the price of loving someone like him.
He hadn’t spoken to Amelia since she returned from meeting Valenie.
She walked in silently. Her eyes didn’t seek him.
She hadn’t even changed her clothes.
She just moved about the room, quietly, mechanically — like a stranger occupying a body she hadn’t yet decided to return to.
The air between them was heavy. Suffocating.
Enzo couldn’t take it anymore.
“I didn’t follow you,” he said, finally, his voice rough. “But I had eyes on you.”
She turned slowly. “Of course you did.”
It wasn’t sarcasm. It wasn’t
