The storm that had been raging inside me for weeks had finally begun to quiet.
The nightmares still hovered at the edges of my sleep, and the bruises on my wrists were still faintly visible, but something had shifted. I wasn't trembling anymore when someone opened the door. I wasn't waking up gasping for air.
And Luca… he hadn't left my side once.
Tonight, though, everything felt different. The air was heavier, charged with a tension that wasn't just about what we'd survived, it was about what waited for us beyond survival.
I stood by the mirror in his room, brushing out my hair, trying not to think too much about the fact that he was behind me, leaning against the doorframe, watching me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
"You're quiet," he said.
"So are you," I murmured, meeting his reflection instead of his eyes. "Unusual for the great Luciano DeLuca."
He smirked faintly. "Maybe I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
