Rosalia
So, apparently, my life’s goal is to collect every shady werewolf patriarch like they’re rare Pokémon cards. Don Moretti, Luca’s dad and the latest creep to claim me as his personal property, is standing in this collapsing jungle temple, waving a talisman that makes Enzo’s look like a dollar-store knockoff. The portal’s sucking us all toward oblivion, Camila’s vanished into it, and the silver wolf, my maybe-Dad, is wrestling Enzo’s goons. Angelo’s barely alive, Isabella’s gripping my arm like I’m her lifeline, and I’m out of snarky one-liners. Trust is a fairy tale, betrayal’s my reality, and I’m one bad choice away from starring in a tragedy.
The temple’s shaking, stones crashing around us, and Moretti’s eyes, cold as a Chicago winter, are locked on me. “Rosalia,” he says, his v
