Cinnamon Girl

Alla and Duca belong to worlds that couldn't be more different.
She grew up in scarcity, abuse, and compromises that taught her how to endure without hoping. He grew up in violence, power, and control, in a reality where weakness isn't allowed and attachment comes at a brutal cost.
Their meeting brings neither salvation nor promises. It brings unease. It brings an attraction that slips slowly but surely under the skin, defying both of their survival instincts. Alla knows she should run. Duca knows he should let her go. Neither of them does.
He pulls her out of one nightmare only to push her into another-more refined, more dangerous-where freedom has a price and every gesture comes with a condition. And she, without meaning to, begins to shake his balance, to touch old wounds, to force him to feel things he believed long dead.
What grows between them is not a gentle love. It is one that consumes, that errs, that destroys pieces of them both before making room for something new. A bond where desire tangles with fear, and closeness becomes just as dangerous as loss.
Because sometimes love doesn't save you.
It breaks you down to the bone-and forces you to discover what's left of you afterward.