Page 25 of Tower of Temptations

"Not quite up to Vittorio's standards, huh?" he said, watching me take it all in.

"No," I breathed. "It's so much better."

His grin came back, full force. "You might want to hold that thought until you see the kitchen."

"I'm serious." I wandered to the shelf, noticing a motorcycle helmet beside stacks of well-read comics. "Everything in Vittorio's world is for show. Perfect and cold and empty." I picked up a graphic novel, finding coffee stains and handwritten notes in the margins. "This is actually lived in."

"Well, if you like mess, you're definitely in the right place." But something in his voice had softened.

"Kitchen's through there," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Though I should warn you, my cooking skills are limited to exactly three meals, and one of them is cereal."

My stomach growled, reminding me how long it had been since dinner. "Cereal sounds great, actually."

"Really? A girl after my own heart." He moved to the kitchen, grabbing bowls. "Though I should mention I only stock the kind that turns milk into interesting colors."

I settled at his kitchen counter, watching him pour what looked like tiny rainbow explosions into our bowls. "I can't believe theystill make these. The milk's going to be nuclear pink in about two minutes."

"That's half the fun." He hopped onto the counter opposite me, his own bowl filled to the brim.

I took a bite, tasting pure childhood nostalgia. "I haven't had cereal like this since..."

"Since?" He leaned forward, something shifting in his expression.

"Since before my father died." I surprised myself with how easily the words came out. "He used to sneak me the sugary snacks. Called it our secret rebellion."

Something flickered in Luca's eyes, his usual smile fading. "Sounds like a good man."

"He was." I stirred my cereal, watching pink swirl through the milk. "Vittorio... he tried to erase all that. Make everything perfect and controlled."

Luca's jaw tightened. For once, there was no hint of his usual playfulness. "Vittorio's good at destroying things people love."

The bitterness in his voice made me look up. He was staring into his bowl, shoulders tense, like he was fighting some internal battle.

"I had someone once," he said quietly. "Sonia." His voice softened on her name. "She was an artist—always had paint on her clothes, saw beauty in everything. Even in me, I guess." He traced patterns in the condensation on the counter. "We were good together. Happy. Until we weren't."

"What happened?" I asked gently, recognizing the pain in his voice.

"It started with parties, you know? Just having fun, letting loose. I thought I could handle it—we both did. But Sonia..." His knuckles whitened around his spoon. "She started needing it more. To sleep, to work, to feel normal. And I was too caught up in my own shit to see how deep she was getting."

His voice caught. "Then Vittorio started pushing this new synthetic on the streets. Said it was pure, safer than the other stuff out there. She thought it would help her quit. But what he was selling..." He swallowed hard, looking away.

"I should've known better, but by the time I found her..." His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "I tried everything, but..." He drew in a shaky breath, his knuckles white around the spoon. "The doctors said it was cut with something else. And I couldn't... I couldn't save her."

Without thinking, I reached across the counter, laying my hand over his. His fingers were cold despite his usual warmth.

"After I lost her, I was empty. Apart from anger, that is. Did some stupid things." He turned his hand over, gripping mine like an anchor. "Giuliano found me when I was at my lowest. Gave me purpose. A chance to make sure it didn't happen to anyone else."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, understanding now why he'd been so quick to help me escape.

He met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw him without any masks. "Sometimes, I still see her everywhere. In little things, you know? Like..." He gestured vaguely at our cereal. "She used to eat this stuff at midnight, too."

I stood up, moving around the counter. When I wrapped my arms around him, he stiffened for a moment before melting into the embrace. We stayed like that for a while, his breath warm against my hair, sharing a grief that needed no words.

Neither of us seemed willing to break away first. His hand had drifted to my lower back, steady and warm. When we finally pulled apart, the air felt different—charged with something that made my pulse quicken. His eyes had darkened, all traces of their usual mischief gone.

His phone buzzed, making us both jump.

"Good news; everyone's safe," he said after checking it, his voice rougher than before.

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