The next morning, sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Virelli estate, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Sofia stirred beside Luca, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“I want to visit the orphanage today,” she said softly. “The one where I grew up. It’s been too long.”
Luca’s body tensed instantly. He sat up, dark eyes flashing with refusal. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous right now. The Marchetti’s are still circling. You’re not leaving the estate.”
I looked at him.
“I haven’t been since I left at seven,” I said. “Sixteen years. I’ve been thinking about it since I came home and I—”
“No,” he said again. Same voice. Same expression. The voice of a man who had said a thing and considered it said.
“Luca—”
