Rosalia
If I ever get out of this, I’m writing a strongly worded letter to the universe about its terrible sense of timing. I’m sprawled on the forest floor, silver dart burning through my veins like cheap tequila, my wolf caged and whining. Angelo’s fighting a losing battle against Luca and Enzo’s goons, blood matting his fur, and now there’s some freaky growl from the woods that’s got even Enzo looking like he forgot his lines. My life’s officially a soap opera, and I’m the i***t who didn’t read the script.
The growl comes again, low and guttural, like the forest itself is gargling gravel. It’s not a wolf. It’s… wrong. Enzo’s wolves hesitate, ears twitching, and Luca’s knife hand wavers. For a guy who was all smug villain vibes a second ago, he’s suddenly got the vibe of someone who le
