Chapter 25

I opened my eyes to a familiar ceiling — white, high, with faint gold trims that caught the morning light. The sun poured in from the window, too bright, burning through the ache behind my eyes.

Ouch.

The pain wasn’t just in my head. My entire body ached, every muscle tight, my neck stinging beneath a line of gauze and tape.

“What the fuck…” I whispered, touching the plaster. My head spun, trying to piece things together — the rain, the alley, the voice and then… nothing.

And then it hit me.

This was Lucian’s room.

My heart skipped. I pushed the blanket off and froze — I was wearing one of his cream shirts, oversized and hanging open at the collar, the sleeves brushing my thighs. Nothing underneath except my panties. My stomach twisted as panic kicked in.

I swung my legs out of bed, but they gave way beneath me, and I dropped back with a thud. The second time I managed to stay up, leaning on the wall, dragging myself toward the living room.

The faint hiss of something frying met my ears, followed by the smell of butter and garlic. I paused, frowning.

Someone was in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” a voice said before I could even step in. Calm, warm and unfamiliar.

My pulse jumped. I rounded the corner and stopped.

“Sebastian?”

He turned, spatula in hand, wearing an apron like it belonged to him. “You’re awake,” he said with a smile that almost made me forget where I was. It was soft. Warm. Almost too normal for everything that had happened. “You want coffee?”

I nodded before I even thought about it and sat at the counter.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You got attacked yesterday,” he said, sliding a mug toward me. “You should rest. You lost a lot of blood.”

I took the mug with shaky hands. “Thank you.” The smell of roasted beans and milk grounded me a little. “Is that what this is for?" I pointed at the gauze on my neck "Lemme guess — a metal rod to the neck?” I joked weakly.

He didn’t laugh. He just looked at me — steady, unreadable. “Something like that,” he said finally.

My hand froze halfway to my neck, my mile fading instantly. “Wait. That’s not possible.”

“Relax,” he said with a laugh. “i was just joking. It was just a scratch.”

Well this one understands sarcasm

“Doesn’t feel like it,” I muttered, taking a sip. The warmth burned down my throat, but my nerves didn’t ease.

“I tried my best with the dressing,” he added, eyes focused on the pan. “But I'm sorry. I’ve only ever done it once before — on my son...”

He stopped mid-sentence, like the words had slipped out. His gaze went blank, just for a second, like he’d wandered too far into a memory.

“How old is he?” I asked softly, pulling him out of his head.

Sebastian blinked, smiled faintly, and turned back to the stove. “Eat,” he said. That was it.

Something about that smile — kind and seamless. It made me uneasy.

“Where’s Lucian?” I asked.

“He went out,” Sebastian said, plating spaghetti like a chef who’s done it a thousand times.

I nodded, my mind turning. “Okay. I can’t really remember what happened last night. What actually happened?”

He paused. The sound of sizzling filled the silence. “You probably hit your head. Lucian brought you here unconscious, so I don’t know the full story. He only said you were attacked by a…” He stopped. Again.

“By who?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know if I'm supposed to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what he’s told you, and what he hasn't” he said quietly, eyes flicking to mine.

The way he said it — calm but careful — made me feel like I was standing at the edge of something I didn’t want to see.

“Lucian?” I said, frowning. “Why are you acting so weird? Who attacked me?”

He met my gaze then, his eyes colder than his smile. “What do you know about Lucian?”

The question hit harder than it should’ve. Because the truth was — I didn’t know anything. Except that he was Romanian, I knew nothing else and it was concerning how unbothered I felt about it.

I opened my mouth, closed it, tried again, but nothing came out. “You didn’t answer me,” I finally said. “And for the record, he doesn’t know who I am either. I’m just trying to protect him, that’s all.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” Sebastian said quietly. “Ever heard of stranger danger? My advice — stay away from him. Whatever you think he is, he’s not that. he’s keeping you around so that means he's probably taking a liking to you…” He exhaled through his nose. “But that’s exactly what you don’t want.”

Something in his tone — half pity, half warning. It made my skin crawl. It pissed me off and scared me at the same time.

“Did Lucian tell you to say that?”

“No,” he said simply.

“Then let him tell me himself,” I snapped. “If he really wanted me gone, I wouldn’t be here. And whatever he’s into, because I know the feds are after him and he's on the radar of some pretty powerful people. But trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

Sebastian’s lips curved. “Oh really?”

He slid the plate toward me. The smell of garlic and spice filled the air, grounding me again. I twirled my fork, took a bite — and my stomach melted. “Okay,” I mumbled through the food. “That’s ridiculously good.”

He smiled — a real one this time, soft and almost proud. “You should get some rest before you go.”

“Go?”

“Yes. You're leaving. We’re also leaving once Lucian gets back.”

That’s when it hit me.

“Shit — what time is it?”

He glanced at the wall clock. “Twelve thirty-six.”

“Fuck!” I nearly choked. Panic surged up again — hard, fast. I was supposed to be home. Aria. My dad. Yesterday’s plan. This place should be busted by now.

"There's a phone on the couch,” Sebastian said before I could even ask, like he read my mind.

I grabbed it, dialed Aria’s number. She picked up after one ring.

“Aria! Oh my God, I’m sorry, I know I promised—”

“Francesca?” Her voice cracked — shaky, raw, like she’d been crying.

“Oh, Aria, I’m fine, I swear, I just—”

“You haven’t heard?” she interrupted.

My heart dropped. “Heard what?”

“Check the news.”

The words turned my veins to ice. I fumbled for the remote and turned on the TV.

A reporter’s voice filled the room.

“We’re still live at Hudson Yards, the scene of a brutal attack yesterday. Police have identified one of the victims as Tyler Hagen — nephew of Italian businessman Larry Gambino. His body was found alongside two other unidentified victims…”

The words blurred. The room tilted.

Tyler.

I just saw him yesterday.

How could he—

The phone slipped from my hand, thudding against the rug. The reporter’s voice drowned under a rising hum in my ears. Everything turned distant — Sebastian’s voice, the TV, the light.

Then everything looked blurry, I could feel my self falling back unconscious.