(VALENTINO'S POV)
My head's pounding like a fucking drum. The kind that keeps beating even after the band's packed up and left.
I'm sprawled on the couch with a half-melted bag of ice pressed to my face. My jaw's stiff, my nose is throbbing, and my right eye is swollen shut. It feels like Raffaele took a sledgehammer to my skull. Which, knowing him, sounds exactly like something he would do.
My living room's dead quiet. The kind of silence that presses down heavy, like everyone's afraid to even breathe.
Sandra's sitting on the other end of the couch, arms crossed, her eyes on the floor. Bruno's pacing back and forth by the bar, muttering something under his breath. Leo's leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking between us all. Nobody's talking. Nobody knows what to say.
Then Bruno, bless his impatient ass, finally snaps. "So what the fuck are we gonna do now that Raffaele's taken everything?"
His voice grates against my skull, but I don't look up. I don't have it in me yet.
