Mackenna was scrolling her phone when Nuncio looked in on her the next morning. “Why are you so red in the face?”
“I hate the press. I hate them. Why are they so horrible?”
“It’s nine in the morning and you are already flustered. Why are you reading it?” Nuncio grimaced at her folding his arms across his thick chest and staring down at her in her bed. “This is the opposite of resting. You are all worked up and angry when you’re supposed to be resting.”
“It’s all over the paper he raced to Milan to be with his lover. Like for the love of God, his grandfather had a bullet put in his head,” as Nuncio opened his mouth, she held her hand up, “I’m not saying whether it’s a good or bad thing, but either way, he has family who needed to be seen to. Did they even once consider his grandmother mi
