Azalea

“Good. I will reward you when we get home.”

“Mr. Giordani!” someone called behind us.

Adriano’s body tensed beside me. When he turned, the warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by something cold and predatory.

“Oh. It is you.”

“It’s nice meeting you here, sir,” the stranger replied, before turning his gaze to me. “And who might this be?”

“My wife.” The pride in Adriano’s voice was fake, but it sounded convincing. ...