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And all I know is I’m not letting her out of my sight.

Chapter 3

Amanda

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t prepared to see him again.

Alessio Figueroa.

Not mentally.

Not emotionally.

And definitely not physically.

Because, good Lord above, the man looks even better than he did three years ago.

Which feels wildly unfair, considering he’s the one who walked away without a word.

When I saw him standing there on the tarmac earlier, my brain completely short-circuited for a second.

Like someone had slammed the rewind button on my life and dropped me straight back into the past.

Except the past didn’t look like this.

Back then he was dangerous in that quiet, mysterious way that made my pulse race.

Now?

Now he’s bigger.

Harder.

His shoulders fill out that black jacket like it was painted onto him.

The sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal tattooed forearms and strong hands that I remember very, very well.

And his face—God.

Same dark eyes.

Same sharp cheekbones.

Same mouth that used to make promises in the middle of the night.

Except now there’s something else there too.

Something colder.

Something guarded.

Like he’s built a fortress around himself and posted armed guards at every door.

Three years.

You learn a lot in three years.

And I learned a very hard lesson at his hands.