Lyra and Renzo both froze, staring at the vibrating front door in a state of absolute confusion. The romantic comedy tension of sharing a single skillet of pasta had instantly vanished, replaced by the bizarre, high-pitched shouting of Mrs. Gable from across the hall.
Renzo’s hand was still hovering dangerously near the back of his waistband, his icy blue eyes locked onto the door frame with an intense, predatory focus. He looked ready to neutralize a tactical threat, not a frail senior citizen holding a floral-patterned broom.
Realizing she had to act fast before the dangerous mafia kingpin decided to turn her nosy neighbor into a missing person statistic, Lyra scrambled to her feet. She grabbed Renzo by his massive, scarred wrist. His skin was burning hot, and his muscles were locked l
