APRIL
I watch as Diablo pours half the steaming contents of the pan into a mug, then adds cocoa, sugar, and finally a splash of bourbon. The rich smell fills the air. He stirs it once before handing it to me.
“Try that,” he says.
I take a cautious sip, the warmth sliding down my throat, the taste sweet and smoky. “Damn, that’s good,” I say, feeling the alcohol hit me faster than I expected. “You’re full of surprises.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replies, taking a sip from his own mug.
“Then tell me something.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”
“Where are you from? You don’t look like you were born in the States. You’re too tanned for that.”
“I was born in Rome.”
My eyes widen. “Rome? That’s the one place I’ve always wanted to visit. What’s it like?
