Angelo
I can't stop staring at the clock.
Rosalia left at seven with Guiseppe Graziano for a dinner and theater date that I anticipate will have her back by midnight. I made it clear to both him and security that I expect her home no later than that—and since then, I've been on edge, restless, unable to concentrate on anything I've tried to occupy myself with. Not sifting through files, not reading a book, not even attempting to watch a movie; my mind keeps returning to the image of Guiseppe Graziano holding Rosalia's hand or touching her thigh in the theater box seat next to his.
Waiting for her to return feels like pure agony, especially thinking about her time spent with anyone else. I know I could end this misery so easily if I just compromised the principles I've held onto until no
