Ava stood by the door, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing at Giovanni as he pretended to busy himself with her clothes. Her room was unnaturally quiet, the tension thick enough to cut through.
"Where is he?" she asked again, her voice low but firm.
Giovanni glanced over his shoulder, feigning confusion. "Where is who?"
Ava’s gaze sharpened. "The guy. The one at the bar." Her voice trembled ever so slightly, but her resolve was clear.
Giovanni froze for a moment before turning away, chuckling nervously. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ava. He’s probably still in jail or something." He turned his back fully, opening her dresser, placing one of her shirts inside with far too much care.
She wasn’t buying it. "Mom said you tortured him. Is it true?"
The question hung in the air li
