"You cry, why?" Alessio asked me, his eyebrows dipping into a frown.
It’s funny how he says that when he has me here, tangled up in his world where pain and survival blur into one. I wiped the tear hastily, the touch of his hand still ghosting on my skin. His gaze shifted, dark and unreadable, and for a moment, I thought I saw something else there. Concern, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by the impenetrable wall he wore so well.
“It’s nothing,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence between us thickened, the gallery suddenly too small, too stifling.
“Don’t lie to me, Isabella,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the tension.
I looked up at him, eyes meeting the relentless black of his. “I’m not,” I insisted, but we both knew it was a lie. Before he could
