Sebastian Volkov's POV
Watching her eat in silence, sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked under the blanket, sent a strange flutter through my chest. The sweet aroma of the baklava, mingled with the tartness of the green apple, filled the space between us, momentarily dispelling the thick, hostile air that had been suffocating us since I burst into her life in the midst of the storm.
Gianna chewed slowly, her eyes fixed on her plate, but I managed to notice the subtle change in her posture. She was no longer tense. She no longer looked at me as if I were about to pounce on her and lock her in a glass cell. The rigidity of her shoulders had given way to the relief of satisfying that wild craving that had driven me through the dark alleyways of Sultanahmet at three in the morning.
I st
