Giovanni Moretti
I gathered Alessia's belongings carefully, her delicate perfume still clinging to the silk of her discarded wrap. My fingers brushed against her phone, its screen cracked from the fall. A missed call notification blinked insistently.
With a swift motion, I unlocked the device, grateful she shared her passcode with me. The caller ID made my blood run cold: "Dad."
"Merda," I hissed, piecing together the trap that had ensnared my Alessia. Her father's gambling debts had put her in my path, and now they'd torn her away. The irony was bitter on my tongue.
I dialed the number, my rage barely contained. It rang once, twice…
"Alessia?" Her father's voice was slurred, panicked. "Alessia, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Mr. Mancini," I interrupted, my tone glacial. "This is Giovan
