phin
phone buzzed again, this time from an unknown n
te, 8808. Dante's here with m
bel
n't content with a private victory; she nee
talized in my mind. She wante
il I found the number for an infor
Rocco Moretti, I typed.
y was im
ng the
him a gift,
I added Rocco. He accepted instantly
hoto of Isabella and Dante in bed. Then, I sent t
he second message even
nsw
tight-a low growl of controlled
currently with my ex-boyfriend in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hy
he other end of the line, then a long,
in, his voice was
addr
nstairs. I just ne
ed on a black tracksuit and running shoes
a stranger. Her eyes were calm, but t
usy anymore. This was a
Rocco leaned against it, a mountain of a man dressed in an impeccabl
instant, an unspoken under
by betrayal, now the mos
iet word with the night manager and a flash of somethi
Isabella's high-pitched laughter from
estured towards the doo
dded
my phone an
beep, the lo
or open, and we sto
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