Third Person POV
Marco stood there, in his room, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The alcohol-fueled rage swirling in his gut did little to numb the pain searing through his chest as the hotel room door clicked shut.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, inhaling sharply through his nose as he tried to collect himself. But his mind was a battlefield of memories, old wounds ripped open by the sight of her with another man. Not just any man—Adamo. The same Adamo who carried her down the hall like she was the only woman in the world. The same Adamo who had her melting in his arms, whispering things to her that used to belong to him.
Marco turned, pressing the back of his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it held a
