Illyana's POV
Winter sunlight streamed through the kitchen window of the penthouse suite, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, golden fairies. The air was thick with the fragrant steam rising from simmering sauces, the rich, earthy scent of garlic and oregano reminding me of my early childhood days. Those happy and peaceful days when my parents would dance and sing to George Michael in the kitchen, where my dad would ruffle my hair and then pick Cole up to swing him around, not that we ever had enough space for that, as my mum would shout good naturedly.
Alessandro stood over a chopping board, his sleeves rolled up, his strong hands expertly wielding a knife, transforming a mountain of colourful vegetables into neat, precise slices. I stood at the stove, stirring a
