Noa froze.

Chiara stood in the doorway like something out of a fever dream, barefoot and ghost-paled in the low light. The blade in her hand glinted softly, wicked and wet like it had already kissed skin. Her eyes flicked down his naked, bruised body, then slowly back up, like she was counting every mark Alessio had left.

“You found the wall,” she said, almost lightly, like she wasn’t holding a knife. “Smart boy.”

Noa’s throat closed. “Chiara?”

She stepped in, closing the door ...