Sophie felt the biting Venetian wind claw at her face, a far cry from the stale, antiseptic smell that clung to her skin from the hospital. The scarlet hospital bracelet, a mocking band against her fragile state, felt like a burning brand against her trembling wrist. Amidst the swirling mist and the aromatic smell of brine and decay that hung over Venice, she caught sight of him—Marco Rossi, a name that echoed through the bustling streets. The impossibly tall titan, a coiled mass of raw energy, leaned against the ancient stone, its shadow swallowing the building. The shadow of his hood obscured the face that tormented her dreams, yet he still emanated a raw magnetism, a siren song that beckoned her closer.
“Marco?” Her voice cracked on his name, part relief, part shock.
He was on her in
