MALIA
The moment I woke up, I knew someone was watching me. I could feel it—subtle, but sharp enough to raise the hairs on my neck.
My eyes snapped open and darted to the side.
Marcello.
The man from the factory.
He sat in an armchair right next to the bed, legs stretched out with ridiculous ease, a book in hand. His eyes found mine instantly, like he’d been waiting for me to wake up. Probably had.
I tensed immediately.
I fought to keep my face blank, dragging indifference across my features like a mask. He didn’t get to see me fall apart. No one would.
"You’re Marcello," I stated, my voice rough from sleep and fury. "You work for the Don."
Something flickered in his expression — amusement, maybe? It vanished before I could read it.
“Marcello Leone,” he confirmed smoothly, cl
