Romeo stared at the reflection in his bathroom mirror. The man looking back at him was a shadow of who he’d been. His uniform, pressed and pristine, hung on the back of the door like a ghost waiting to claim him. His face, once sharp and disciplined, was hidden beneath a scruffy beard that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks. The stench of whiskey lingered in the room, clinging to the piles of laundry and empty bottles scattered around.
He didn’t want to go.
The thought of stepping back into the Moretti mansion felt suffocating, a weight he wasn’t ready to carry. But this wasn’t Aria calling him. This wasn’t her soft voice telling him to rest, to take the time he needed. This was Miss Moretti—Aunt Marie—commanding him, leaving no room for negotiation.
And Romeo knew better than to ignore her.
