THIRD PERSON POV
The flight from Italy had felt like an eternity, but the moment the taxi pulled up to the familiar, quiet apartment building in New York, Rosalia felt the first real wave of relief she had experienced in days. She carried her heavy bags up the stairs, her chest finally loosening. She was home. The nightmare in Italy was thousands of miles away, and she was safe.
She unlocked the door to her mother’s apartment, stepping inside and letting out a long breath. "Mom? I'm home."
Rosalia walked into the living room, but the words died in her throat.
Sitting on the sofa, looking entirely at ease in a tailored black suit, was Giovanni. He was holding a porcelain teacup, chatting calmly with her mother as if he belonged there.
Rosalia froze, her hands turning to ice. "What are
