Alessio Falcone and Isabella Vitiello meet in the midst of chaos where the war between families leave marks and demons that haunt their nights, now with peace sealed between them and many unfinished business, they must try to resist the strong attra...
Should run, run, run for the hills Should be running for the hills The way you touch me —Run for the hills,Tate McRae
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— Isabella Vitiello
Red, red, red.
The world had narrowed down to a single color. The blood on the floor wasn't just a fluid it was a map of everything I feared, spreading across the polished marble and spilling downward in a cascade that seemed to reach for my feet, dragging me down into the abyss.
I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt like they had turned to stone, and every attempt to inhale felt like I was trying to breathe in crushed glass. My body locked. My legs wouldn't respond, rooting me to the ground, holding me in place. Horrible memories flooded me like a thick, black tide. I wasn't in that old theater anymore. I was back in the backseat of that car, feeling the cold metal, the smell of fear, the looming presence of the Falcones around me. The face of the dead man on the floor twisted into the face of every nightmare I'd had over the past two years. My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest, slamming against my ribs with a violence that made me dizzy, and I could barely hear the voice calling me from far away. It was muffled. Like I was underwater.
The oxygen was gone, and my body spiraled, dragging me deeper and deeper into a pit— until a brutal shock, like lightning, hit me. I felt my lips being touched, yanking me back to reality by force. Alessio Falcone was kissing me.
The man who was the symbol of my trauma, the "ghost" I swore I hated had his hands on my shoulders and his lips pressed against mine with fierce focus. His taste invaded my senses, numbing my mind, ripping away what had been a dark, suffocating spiral and replacing it with him. An intoxicating mix of mint, expensive tobacco, and the metallic trace of blood he carried on his hands. His hands slid up to my face, pressing against my cheeks, his tongue claiming mine, pushing out the scent of death and dragging the dark memories away.
For one terrible, wonderful second, my body betrayed my mind. Instead of fighting, I clung to that contact like it was the only solid thing in a universe that was collapsing. Oxygen finally rushed back in, filling my lungs in a desperate gasp and I shoved him away with every ounce of strength I could gather, my hands hitting his firm chest.
"What... what do you think you're doing?" My voice came out in a broken whisper as I blinked, trying to steady myself, my heart still slamming wildly.
Alessio pulled back just enough to look at me. His dark eyes were lit a storm of deep, shadowed blue that seemed almost amused by my collapse. There wasn't a trace of regret on his face. He watched me for a moment, something unreadable passing through his expression before he spoke.
"You're back," he said, his voice low and hard. "Good. Now move. The world is on fire out there, and I don't intend to die here because you decided to have a poetic moment with someone else's blood."
