Drio Rossi. The man who, despite having terrible pitch and impressively bad range, had sung his heart out to me just over a week ago and then showered me in Italian endearments. He'd had a rule about not kissing anyone since the love of his life had been murdered, but he'd broken it, all for me. And despite his nonstop sarcasm and an arrogance that was so massive, I swear it had a moon and gravitational pull, he'd honestly been kind of perfect-until he'd hied off across the ocean and ...