Giovanni Moretti
I guided Alessia into the kitchen, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Her steps were unsteady, but she moved with a quiet determination that stirred something deep within me. As I helped her onto one of the stools at the island, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her face. Even bruised and exhausted, she radiated a strength that left me in awe.
"Careful now, piccola," I murmured, my fingers lingering on her arm as she settled onto the seat. The urge to protect her warred with my admiration for her resilience.
Chef appeared from the pantry, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of Alessia. "Are you sure you should be up, piccola?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.
Alessia's laugh was soft but genuine, a sound that eased some of the tension I'd bee
