Sara shifted and turned to look at Luca. He was fast asleep, the kind of stillness that only comes from utter exhaustion. A silent sigh escaped her as she saw his serene expression.
"I can't sleep," she whispered. Her thoughts, however, were loud in her mind, 'What is it, truly, that you find so good about this life? About being mafia?' It wasn't a judgement, but a haunting question, a need to understand the man who wore danger like a second skin.
Her gaze was drawn to his face. Her hand rose, trembling slightly, drawn by an invisible current toward his chiseled jawline. She hovered, her fingertips close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from his skin. But she stopped.
