Dimitri flipped from one side of the mattress to the other, sheets twisted around his legs, sleep refusing to come. The feeling wouldn’t leave him, that prickling sensation along the back of his neck, like there are eyes on him.
He finally cracked his eyes open and scanned the room.
Nothing.
Just the dim outline of furniture and Lorenzo on the other bed, dead asleep, breathing steady like he didn’t have a care in the world. That almost made it worse.
Dimitri sat up, rubbing at his temples as a dull headache settled in.
This house was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. Or maybe it was just the situation, sleeping under the roof of a Yakuza boss, alongside a Sicilian boss who technically wanted him dead. Everyone knew Bratvas didn’t mix with mafias, and they definitely didn’t mix wit
