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She reaches out, tracing an invisible line along my arm, her touch featherlight.

“What do they mean to you?”

I take a slow breath, glancing at the ink covering my forearm.

“I get one each time something hurts me.”

Her fingers pause against my skin. The air between us shifts—heavier now.

When I look up, her expression is soft, but there’s something else in her eyes.Sadness.

“But… you have tattoos sprawled all over your chest,” she says quietly.

“I do.”

Her throat bobs. “Does that mean…”

I nod. “It’s a hard world,Bambina.”

Her hand lingers on my arm for a beat before pulling away.

I can tell she wants to say something.But she doesn’t.

Instead, she returns to the cake batter, pouring it into the greased pan.

I watch her closely—the way her shoulders tense slightly, as if she’s carrying the weight of my words.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through so much,” she finally says, her voice soft.

She doesn’t look at me when she says it.

I reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

My fingers linger, my palm brushing her cheek, letting the warmth of her skin settle against me.

“We don’t always get a choice,” I murmur.

She nods, and we fall into a comfortable silence as she slides the pan into the oven. The warmth radiates outward, filling the kitchen with a soft, cozy heat.

Leaning against the counter, I watch as she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, unaware of how effortlessly she commands my attention.

But before I can say anything else, the kitchen door swings open.

Matteo steps inside.

Well, fuck.

I hate how good I am at reading people because the second I see his face, Iknow.

Something is wrong.

“There’s an emergency,” he says, his gaze flicking between Aria and me.

The softness of the moment vanishes—slipping through my fingers like sand.

Matteo glances at Aria again, hesitating.

I nod once.Go ahead.