Emilia Rossi

I’m not jealous of a dog.”

I held my ha

as I stroked his soft fur.

I would rather believe that people were fundamentally good than spend my life expecting them to lie or hurt me.

I might do just about anything to ensure she was always as happy to see me as she’d been this evening.

I wouldn’t get to see her get up this morning, looking all messy and rumpled. And for that, the Albanians needed to die.

Angelo rubbed his hands together as he peered at the cinnamon rolls in the oven. He’d put on at least ten pounds since I married Sofiya. Not that I had a leg to stand on—I’d been forced to add an extra workout to my week with all the sweets my wife made.