STEFANO
I punch the life out of the punching bag in front of me, my knuckles bruised and covered in blood. The rhythmic thud of my fists against the leather echoes through the empty gym, drowning out the sound of my ragged breathing. I’ve lost track of time, but the fading stars and the soft glow of dawn filtering through the windows tell me I’ve been here all night.
The creak of the door and the sharp click of heels against the marble floor break through my haze of anger and guilt. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“Stefano,” Aurora’s voice is soft, concerned. I ignore her, continuing my relentless assault on the punching bag. “You need to take a break,” she says, grabbing the bag to stop its swinging.
I move wordlessly to another bag, my hands aching for the impact. Auro
