Rosalia
The relief I feel when I wake up in Angelo’s arms is so overwhelming that, for a moment, I forget how much of this was my fault. The second it comes crashing back, I burst into tears, burying my face in his shirt, heedless of the bloodstains splashed across it.
“Where are we?” I whisper against his shirt, swallowing hard. I feel on the verge of panic again, and I don’t entirely understand why he doesn’t seem furious with me—why he’s holding me, stroking my hair and my back, and soothing me. “What—”
“We’re at the home of a man called Adrian Drakos,” Angelo says. “One of Luciano’s contacts. He helped us track you down.”
“Where is he?” I look up, wiping at my eyes. The living room is mostly empty except for some security, and the house is quiet.
“He was injured. It’s fairly sever
