Rosalia
You know those moments when you realize your life’s taken a hard left into “what the actual heck” territory? Yeah, that’s me right now, shivering on a muddy riverbank, staring at Luca Moretti—aka Angelo’s supposed BFF—who’s twirling a silver knife like he’s auditioning for a villain role in a B-movie. My pajamas are soaked, my arm’s bleeding, and Angelo’s looking like he got run over by a truck, blood seeping through his shirt. Oh, and Luca? He’s apparently decided I’m the key to torching the Santoro pack. Cool. No pressure.
“Luca, what the hell?” Angelo’s voice is low, dangerous, but there’s a c***k in it—betrayal, raw and jagged. He’s propped against a rock, clutching his side, and I can tell he’s fighting to stay upright. My wolf’s screaming to protect him, but I’m frozen, cau
