Marcello’s arms tightened around her trembling frame, his chest heavy with the weight of her fear for Cesario. The memory of what they had endured together still hung in the air, sharp and cruel, and the sight of Rio suffering had been more than Azzurra could bear.

“He’s alright… it’s okay,” Marcello murmured, his voice low and soothing as his hand moved in slow circles across her back. She sniffled, broken sounds catching in her throat. His fingers slipped into her wild mane, ...