Salvo's voice echoed like a gunshot in a church.
"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Him."
Riccardo didn't flinch. Of course he didn't. He was an officer. The hero of this goddamn novel. He had that kind of presence—like a mountain that wouldn't move, no matter the storm.
Instead, he stepped in front of me like a wall, eyes locked on Salvo with the kind of glare that could start wars.
WTF...is wrong with this person here? He is clearly causing trouble for me..
"What are you doing here, Mancini?" Riccardo asked with a glare.
There was a beat of silence. Then—Scoff.
That unmistakable sound of arrogance wrapped in amusement. "Looks like our country's law enforcement is a little slow… or should I say you're suffering from a touch of dementia, Officer Costa?"
Riccardo snapped, fists clenched. "What did you just say?"
Salvo clicked his tongue, lips curling with mock sympathy. "I mean, what else can I say? You're shielding someone like a lover—when that boy doesn't even belong to you."
