Chapter 11: Zefiro

Past

The flowers dropped by the doorframe and I peered into the room, confused.

Priya’s black eyes are large as she clutches the sheets to her chest and her lips are swollen, injured, from kissing. Her neck is covered in purple bruises and hickeys. Her hair disheveled, her skin sleek with sweat.

I fall back a step, the strength in my legs failing me for the briefest of moments. My lungs constrict and trying to take in a deep breath forces the sinful smell of sex and Priya’s orgasm down my throat. It settles terribly, much like poison, and I wheeze the next breath.

The male jumps off the bed and bolts out the door, naked. I let him run past me, but not before I mark every damn feature of his face, the damn tattoo that marks him a Rossi.

“Zef,” Priya starts, her eyes watering, and she knows better than to try explain it to me. So, she tries something else instead. She gaslights me, and I let her