Nico:
I cleaned my gun by muscle memory.
Every click, every snap of the chamber, was just another way to keep my hands from doing what they really wanted to do—like punch Matteo’s teeth down his throat. Or slit Luca’s perfect jaw just deep enough to watch him bleed guilt onto polished marble.
Not that I would.
Not yet.
But the thought soothed something in me.
It was dangerous, the way silence sharpened inside these walls. The penthouse was dark—too dark—lit only by the low city glow bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Outside, the skyline blinked like a thousand judgmental eyes. Inside, I simmered in it. In everything I hadn’t said. Everything I hadn’t done.
I wanted to believe I didn’t care.
God, I tried.
But I’d seen her.
Serena.
Hair wild. Lips swollen. Skin flush
