Silvia
“This room… was it made for me?"The words slipped out before I could stop them—soft, shaky, barely more than a breath.
Across the room, Alpha Enzo adjusted the mask covering the lower half of his face.
His eyes—tired, worn—creased with something that hit harder than I expected.
Sadness. Regret. Maybe both.
He gave a slow nod.
“For you and Antonella," he said. “Your mom… she had a thing for cozy, beautiful spaces. Grew up with nothing and swore her daughter would have everything she didn’t."
Something cracked in my chest, sharp and sudden—like grief for a ghost I’d never met.
I ran my fingers along the velvet cushions of the couch, soft as clouds and absurdly pink.
The kind of color that said fairy tale, not war zone.
I tried to picture her—my mother—s
