Chapter 36: Silent Knight

Everything had slowed down in the car — the silence, the mood, even the air.

Sebastian drove across the wet street with Lucian seated beside him, both swallowed by the dull hum of the engine and the faint hiss of rain.

Lucian wore his usual calm, detached look, eyes on the window, watching the city gather itself back to life. The storm had passed, and people were already filling the streets again, like nothing had happened.

Even in that cold calm, Sebastian could see it — the quiet guilt sitting behind Lucian’s eyes. Maybe he missed the girl. Maybe he didn’t. But even he couldn’t deny that she had stirred something in him — something human, fleeting but dangerous.

Still, she had to go. She wasn’t good for his survival, and he wasn’t good for hers. They were both better off without each other.

“You spent a long time out this morning,” Sebastian said, cutting through the silence. “Pretty sure searching for clothes for the girl didn’t take that much time.”

Lucian didn’t look at him. “Actually, it did,” he said quietly. Then after a pause, “Ruxandra is here. She is looking for me.”

Sebastian’s fingers froze slightly on the wheel. “The sister?”

Lucian nodded once.

“That’s not good.”

Lucian said nothing, eyes still on the window. His reflection looked distant, almost lifeless, like something hollow had taken the shape of him.

Sebastian sighed and went on. “We haven’t exactly kept a low profile, you know. Especially since it’s her money we’ve been using for everything.”

Lucian’s tone was steady, almost indifferent. “Money is not her problem.”

Sebastian gave a faint, humorless scoff. “Yeah. But you are.”

He leaned back in his seat. “We need to lay low for a while. Leave the city after. Got any place in mind?”

Lucian turned to him. “No. Where are we laying low?”

“Somewhere safe,” Sebastian muttered, eyes fixed on the road. The windshield caught the red glow of traffic lights, bleeding faintly into both their faces.

\---

It was close to 7 p.m. when they arrived.

The sign above the building flickered Donna’s Motel in half-lit letters, the parking lot soaked with puddles that caught the dim streetlights.

They parked. Both men stepped out, the air heavy with damp asphalt and engine smoke. Lucian followed Sebastian to the entrance and stopped by the door while Sebastian went in.

The lobby was small, quiet, smelling faintly of cheap air freshener and stale coffee. Behind the counter, a tired woman leaned on her elbow, half-watching the TV. She barely lifted her eyes when the door opened—until she saw who it was.

“Sebastian?” she said, her voice catching as she stood.

He didn’t react. His face was blank, the warmth gone from it.

He simply handed her a card. “A room. Two beds.”

She stared, unsure if she was seeing right. The man in front of her wasn’t the same Sebastian who used to stop by, joke with the staff, make everyone laugh.

This one looked… empty.

“I—Sebastian?” she tried again, voice breaking slightly.

“I’m waiting,” he said, raising his brow. The flat tone was enough.

She quickly swiped the card, hands trembling slightly.

“One-twenty,” she said, sliding over the receipt and a key. “Room twenty-five. I’ll assume you know—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He took the key and card and turned toward the door.

When he opened it, another figure stepped through the darkness into the light.

The moment Lucian entered, the temperature seemed to drop. His calm presence carried something heavy — an invisible stillness that pressed down on the room. The woman’s breath hitched. He looked at her once and nodded politely, his eyes pale, unreadable. Then he followed Sebastian upstairs.

As soon as the door closed, she realized she was trembling. She clutched her arms around herself and looked at the counter where Sebastian had stood seconds ago.

“What the fuck,” she whispered under her breath.

\---

Sebastian unlocked room 25 and flicked on the light.

“Come in,” he said.

Lucian stepped inside and squinted, the brightness making his eyes narrow.

“The light,” he murmured.

Sebastian turned it off without hesitation. The room fell back into darkness, lit only by the faint orange glow from the street outside.

Lucian walked to the far bed and stood over it for a while before turning to Sebastian. “Have you ever left the city?”

Sebastian sat down, starting to untie his shoes. “Never really had a reason to,” he said, and for a brief second, a faint smile tugged at his lips — tired, soft, but gone before it could mean anything.

Lucian could see him clearly in the dimness. The sight disheartened him. There was something about the emptiness in Sebastian’s eyes that ached his heart.

“Get some rest,” Sebastian said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Sebastian?”

He looked up — and froze.

Lucian was standing close, his face half-lit, his eyes glowing. There was no malice in them, only a strange calm that carried weight.

“Goodnight,” Lucian said.

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut, his body slackening as he collapsed softly onto the bed.

Lucian tucked him in gently, pulling the blanket up to his chest, his movements slow and deliberate. Then he lay back on his own bed.

For a while, he stared at his hand — at the small cross necklace wrapped around it.

Francesca’s necklace.

He closed his eyes.

The room fell silent again.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sound of dripping water from the roof filled the space — a quiet, lonely rhythm that refused to end.

\---

But It wasn’t the same in the hospital where Ross had been rushed.

He’d been brought in not long ago, and the doctors wasted no time taking him into the ICU — mostly because they knew who he was. The moment they recognized the name Ross Gambino, the whole place shifted gears.

They managed to contact the family. Larry didn’t waste a second.

He stormed through the hospital doors with his men, anger already dripping off him like sweat.

“Where is he?” he barked, moving fast down the hall. Nurses tried to block him.

“Sir, he’s in the theater, you can’t go in—”

“Hey! Somebody get these bitches outta my way!” he shouted. One of his men yanked the nurses aside and they all pushed through the double doors.

The surgeons froze mid-action as Larry barged in, the room instantly flooded with his voice.

“Where is he?”

They stood in shock, hands raised as if he’d pulled a gun.

“Fucking answer me, you morons!” he roared, grabbing one by the coat and shoving him against a trolley. The instruments clattered to the floor, metal echoing off the tiles.

“We’re—we’re done with him! He’s in the ICU!” one of them stammered.

Larry released him with disgust and stormed out, his men trailing after.

He burst into the ICU moments later. Ross lay there — a giant of a man now small under the white sheet, tubes running into his mouth and nose, the ECG’s beeps breaking the silence in steady rhythm.

Larry stood over him, his jaw clenched so hard the veins in his neck stood out. He leaned close, staring at Ross like he was trying to pull him back to life by force.

“Hey, you,” he said, pointing at the doctor on the other side of the bed. “If he dies, you’re going with him. You hear me?”

The doctor blinked behind his mask, confused and terrified.

“Answer me, goddammit!” Larry roared again.

The doctor nodded frantically. Larry turned away.

Moments later, the door opened again. Several men entered — among them Michael Bonanno, sharp as ever in his dark, tailored suit. The kind of man who carried authority in the tilt of his chin.

He stopped beside Larry, looking down at Ross. The machines beeped, steady but faint, filling the silence that hung between them.

“You gonna explain to me why Ross is on life support?” Michael asked finally, voice low but burning.

Larry didn’t turn.

“I don’t owe you no fucking explanation, Michael. I don’t owe you nothing.” Larry’s voice cracked as his anger rose again. “Look what they did to Big Ross. Right after killing my nephew! So don’t stand here and yell at me!”

Michael’s composure broke. “What part of playing our cards right did you not understand?”

Larry’s eyes flared. “Say that again — and you and Ross’ll share the same machine. You think I’m just gonna sit quiet after what they did to my blood?”

Michael rubbed a hand down his face, pacing. His patience was thinning fast.

“Oh my God…” he muttered, then turned sharply back. “I called you, Larry. The moment I heard. I told you — stand down. Clear orders. But you just had to do it your way. And now look at this!” He pointed at Ross.

Larry brushed past him, shoulder slamming into Michael’s as he moved. “Get the fuck outta my face,” he growled. He leaned on a table for balance, breathing heavy.

For the first time in years, Larry Gambino looked… shaken.

“Twenty-five men, Michael,” he said softly. “Twenty-five fucking men — and only Ross is barely alive.” He sat heavily on a chair, elbows on his knees, his voice losing its fire but not its edge. “Didn’t think it’d go down like this. Worst case, I thought maybe a retreat. Not a massacre.”

Michael’s tone softened slightly, his anger cooling into calculation. “I had guys check the site. The feds were already there.”

Larry’s head snapped up. “The fuck are the feds doing there? Call them off. This is family business. They got no right poking their dirty hands in it.”

“I tried,” Michael said, shaking his head. “But the word from our guys in the Bureau is that it’s out of their reach. Some other unit took over. Higher clearance. Which is… strange.”

He looked at Larry, his brows furrowed. “You sure this was the Falcones?”

Larry glared at him. “Of course I’m sure! You think I’m a fool? You think I sent twenty-five men to attack some random schmuck whose dog shat on the wrong porch?”

Michael sighed. “Alright. Just wanted to be sure. If that’s the case, we’ll have to change how we deal with the Falcones and the Genovese. If they’ve got that kind of firepower, we hit them back — and hard.”

Larry nodded faintly, rage simmering just beneath his skin. “You better.”

“I’m calling a meeting tomorrow,” Michael continued. “We need all the bosses present — Santiago too. We’ll make sure this doesn’t touch the drug trade. Can’t afford another loss.”

Larry grunted. “As long as it ends with the Falcones picking grains in the sand, I don’t give a fuck.”

Michael gave one last look at Ross, then at Larry. “He’s strong, Larry. He’ll pull through.”

He turned and walked out, the door closing quietly behind him.

Larry was left alone with the sound of the machines. The steady beeping. The mechanical hiss of Ross’s breathing tube.

Each sound made his jaw twitch, his fists clench. He could see it in his head — Vittorio Falcone’s face, the man he thought responsible. The image burned. He wanted to tear him apart, piece by piece.

Funny thing was, Vittorio had no idea what was coming — no hand in it at all.