FiorellaI leaned against the corridor outside my dad's room, arms folded tightly over my chest. The night had clammily gone still, the kind of stillness that pressed down on your bones. The medic had stabilised him again, but comfort had long since departed the term. Stable was like being on the edge of a blade.Rocco stood beside me, his presence bold but reassuring. His cologne lingered in the air, smoke and leather and something black and expensive that shouldn't have reassured me, but did."You shouldn't be alone tonight."His was a deep, low. I looked up at him. His face was blank, but his eyes told me he wasn't making a suggestion, he was telling me how it was going to happen.And for once, I didn't argue."Okay," I croaked, my throat sore.He nodded once, like it had already been decided before I'd even opened my mouth.We returned to the sitting room. My feet seemed too light, too detached, as though I was watching someone else stroll. All inside me was twisted in knots, ang
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