ALONZO’S POV
The house was silent again. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the eerie stillness that comes after the storm—where blood has been spilled and the air still smells of vengeance.
Serafina sat on the edge of the bed, half-turned away from me, her bloodstained gloves lying on the floor like fallen crowns. She hadn’t spoken a word since we returned from the warehouse. And though Alessia was safe, though Marcello Romano now sat bleeding in our basement with two broken knees and a slit across his thigh, Serafina looked like she’d lost something.
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching her. My fingers itched to reach for her, but I’d learned by now—Serafina Luccese didn’t need saving. What she needed… was someone who saw her for what she truly was and didn’t fli
