Dante’s pov

The apartment was silent; a type of silence Dante was still learning to rely on. He lounged on the sofa, idly browsing the newspaper as Lia nestled beside him, her feet drawn under her. Luca rested on the ground, sketchbook propped on his lap, softly humming while he added details. It was tranquil. It ought to have sufficed. Yet still— Dante's grip on the edge of the paper grew firmer. Lia looked up from her novel. "What's the matter?" Dante compelled himself to unwind, ...