~RICCARDO~
The second Elena asks the question, the atmosphere in the room changes.
The lightness in Nico’s smirk vanishes.
The teasing gleam in his eyes? Gone.
Silence slams into the room like a thunderclap.
Vincenzo stops cleaning the cut on Nico’s foot. His hands still, his expression blanking.
I tense beside the door, my fingers curling into fists so tight my knuckles go white.
Nico doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stares at the photo—his smile in it frozen in time. A memory.
But his eyes now? Cold. Guarded.
Vincenzo is the first to move.
He straightens and walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of something strong. He throws it back in one gulp.
“Elena,” he says quietly, back still turned to us. “Don’t ever ask about her again.”
She blinks, confused. “Why no
