ALESSIO’S POV
I knew before she said anything.
The way she stood too straight, the way her eyes kept moving even when she tried to hold them still. Fear has patterns. So does experience. And Seraphina carried both like old scars that never quite healed.
I had men watching the street long before the phone call happened. Not because I expected danger, but because danger expects women like her. Quiet ones. Observant ones. The kind who disappear without noise.
When Aurora called me, her voice tight with something close to panic, I was already reaching for my keys.
“She thinks she’s being followed,” Aurora said.
Thinks.
I hated that word. It meant doubt. It meant hesitation. It meant time wasted.
“I’m on my way,” I told her.
The drive felt longer than it was. Every red light was an in
