The farmhouse bedroom still smelled faintly of pine and s*x when Elena woke up. Sunlight sliced through the half-open blinds, painting gold stripes across Matteo’s bare back. He was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. Luca sprawled on her other side, one heavy arm slung over her waist, breathing slow and deep. Nico was gone—probably downstairs making coffee or checking the perimeter again. Ever since Vittorio drove off into the night, they’d all started acting like the truce was made of glass.
Elena stretched, feeling the pleasant ache between her thighs from last night. Three c***s, too many fingers, too much c*m. She’d lost count somewhere around the third round on the kitchen table. Her body remembered every thrust, every growled promi
