Isla’s POV
Vincenzo is in the living room when I step inside.
The early morning light cuts through the tall windows in pale strips, the silence is thick. Intentional. Seeing him there makes my stomach tighten.
I didn’t plan to stay the night.
I made sure Sienna knew that much. I told her I’d be with Zayne. Let her hear it from me, clean and uncomplicated, like a normal thing people say when they’re allowed to be happy without checking over their shoulder first.
But Vincenzo is back. And suddenly Marco’s house doesn’t feel like a bad idea at all.
He’s seated on one of the leather chairs, posture straight despite his age, hands folded loosely in front of him. He looks exactly the way men like him always do—untouched by time, carved out of discipline and silence. His attention isn’t on
