The second the name left Alessio’s mouth, the world tilted sideways.

Noa’s pulse hammered in his throat, his skin going cold, his breathing jagged like he’d been drop-kicked into the deep end of a nightmare.

Lorenzo. Alessio’s brother. The ghost Alessio swore was dead. The ghost who wasn’t supposed to matter anymore.

But here they were. And ghosts always came back when you didn’t bury them deep enough.

Alessio’s body jerked off Noa like he’d been struck, his hands shaking as he ...