ENZO'S POV
"So this is your home?" I asked again, for what had to be the hundredth time, my eyes still scanning the place with skepticism.
Alaric chuckled, the sound low and affectionate as he tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl on the narrow entryway table. "Yes, Enzo, it's my home," he said with that ever-certain tone of his. "And soon to be yours."
I stepped inside slowly, my fingers brushing against the textured wall as I looked around the modest but tastefully decorated living room. Everything about this house was contradictory. The furniture was plush, the lighting warm and golden, and the view from the rear window opened up to a sweeping landscape that looked like it belonged in a postcard. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood and citrus.
It was beautiful. Cozy, even. But still…
