Gino stood in the darkened hallway, his back pressed against the cold wall, his hands trembling so violently he could barely form a fist. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his throat burning with a thirst that refused to be ignored.
He had almost—
His stomach twisted.
He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the thought.
Mikhail hadn’t moved. He still stood in front of Makayla’s door, his golden eyes locked onto Gino like a predator watching for the first sign of weakness.
Not with fear.
Not with anger.
But with something worse.
Expectation.
Like he was waiting for Gino to break.
Gino swallowed hard.
“I didn’t mean—” His voice cracked.
Mikhail’s expression didn’t change.
“You did.”
The words were calm. Steady.
And they hit harder than any accusation ever could.
Gino
