I walked into Angelo Ricci’s hallway at midnight. He closed the door and told me to stay.
Angelo Ricci: 90% scowl, 10% private grief, 100% broad shoulders and a pale scar that makes my skin tingle. He watches feeds like a man who once lost someone because he didn’t look close enough. He catalogs risk. He guards like a fortress.
He handed me a towel at the door and then a notebook days later with my coffee order on page three.He triangulated anomalies while I sat beside him on rooftops.He kissed me in the car. He undid me with patience and then showed me a photograph I didn’t want to see—the proof of a past that still hurts him.He defended me in front of his family; his sister Sofia handed us a deadline.He lists my habits and my laugh. He apologizes with a touch and promises with his mouth.
The choice is brutal. If he obeys his family, they’ll turn me into a liability. If he chooses me, they’ll make us both targets. He says he’ll stop watching without asking. He vows to tell me everything. He promises he’ll stay.
He promises a future with me. But can I trust a man who once lost everything to keep me safe—and whole?
