LEONE
I storm through the bedroom door, my blood a scalding river of rage. Milo is on my heels, equally furious and focused. Fallon lies limp and unresponsive, the sedative still cradling her consciousness in its chemical embrace. We waste no time cuffing her to the bed—steel biting into her wrists, a precaution.
“Rocco’s on his way with her father,” Milo informs me.
“Good,” I grunt, scanning the room. The place is immaculate, save for Maria, who’s picking up shards of glass from a broken mirror in the bathroom. Her hands shake, the pieces chiming a discordant melody.
“Maria?” I ask worriedly.
“I’m sorry, Leone. I was cleaning it and—” She doesn’t finish, eyes wide, seeking forgiveness in mine.
“Accidents happen,” I say curtly. “Milo, help her.”
As he moves to assist, my gaze lands
