Black sleep pants low on his hips.
The lamplight traced the planes of his body, highlighting every taut muscle.
He crossed the room with purpose.
Sat in the leather armchair by the window.
Legs spread slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
“I hate being pulled from my rest,” he said, voice low. “Not when I’m trying to escape the nightmares that hunt me.”
The words landed differently than I expected—honest, and unsettling.
I couldn’t look away.
Nightmares.
Plural.
A man like him—Vincenzo Orsini—hunted by them.
I didn’t respond immediately.
Didn’t know if I should.
So instead, I sat up slowly.
Clutching the sheet to my chest.
As if that could protect me from whatever came next.
“I just need to know if Renzo is alright,” I said, voice tight, trembling with guilt and worry.
“His punishment should be over. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp.
“Why are you concerned about him? I decide when his punishment ends.”
I exhaled, steadying myself.
“I just need to know he’s okay.”
My voice softened. “I don’t have to see him. I don’t have to speak to him. Just... tell me he’s breathing.”
Ciro had already told me Renzo was alive, but hearing it from Vincenzo... that would erase every lingering shadow of doubt, every heartbeat of fear twisting in my chest.
Vincenzo studied me.
For a long moment, I thought he might refuse.
Then—a sigh.
“Prepare me a coffee.”
I blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“I’m not particularly skilled at making coffee,” I admitted, hesitating. “I could ask Chiara—”
