The room still smelled of sex and gun oil. Sweat cooled on their skin, bruises fresh, the sheets tangled like a battlefield.

Alessandro sat at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, hair damp against his temples. His chest rose and fell like he’d fought a war with his body—and in some ways, he had.

Eva stretched beside him, her skin marked by his mouth, her wrists still bearing the red rings of rope burns. She should’ve felt fragile. Instead, she felt alive. Sharpened. Like he had carved ...