CHAPTER 100: SECURITY ADJUSTMENT

CHAPTER 100: SECURITY ADJUSTMENT
KRISTIAN

The glint in Isabella Romano's eyes is enough to tell me just how wrong everything has turned.

Luca’s mother smiles, cool as ice, and raises her wine like she didn’t just choke on it thirty seconds ago.

“There you have it,” she says to the table, voice smooth, rehearsed. “Luca—always finding eventful ways to make an evening… unforgettable.”

A few people chuckle—nervous, unsure—but it’s enough.

She sweeps the conversation away from her son’s sexuality and toward the wine itself, expertly complimenting the one from the vineyard in Bari and praising their sustainable techniques.

It’s impressive, really, how she saves face without blinking. And when Zara Bianchi arrives, she engages her before Luca can further embarrass his mother, asking if she’s enjoying her visit to Rome.

But however brief it was, I can't get the flash in her eyes when she looked at me after Luca's declaration out of my head.

Like I’m the problem. Like I single-handedly converted her son to the dark side.

The rest of the evening continues, but the tension never really dissipates, lingering in the air like the scent of wine. I barely taste anything after that.

The next morning, I wake up earlier than I mean to. I dress slowly—navy trousers, crisp white shirt, blazer—and head down to breakfast.

Surprisingly, Luca’s already there, like maybe he, too, didn't quite sleep well.

He's dressed in a dark green button-up, sleeves rolled. His hair is pushed back, as if he gave up halfway through styling it.

There’s no sign of his mother.

“Morning,” I say. I look pointedly at the Prime Minister's empty seat, and then towards the door.

Luca shrugs. “She’s not joining us this morning.”

“Oh,” I say, slowly taking my seat.

Neither of us says anything else for a while. There’s just the sound of forks against porcelain, and the low birdsong outside the open terrace windows.

The air isn’t tense, per se. I just think neither of us has anything to say in this moment, and that’s fine. 

However, halfway through my meal, I remember that I do have something to say. So, I set my glass down and look at Luca.

“What you said last night,” I murmur, and he looks up at me. “That was pretty badass.”

He blinks in surprise and then, slowly, a grin tugs at his lips. “Yeah. I know.”

His smile reaches all the way to his eyes, and it’s like sunlight—a warmth I could bask in forever.

The silence returns after that, but the atmosphere is way lighter. I even find myself humming softly.

By the time we finish breakfast, Giovanni and Henrik are already waiting near the front entrance. A black car idles outside—sleek, with dark-tinted windows. Standard for our official fleet.

Giovanni steps forward and opens the back door for us.

“We’ll ride alone,” Luca says. “Get in the one behind.” His gaze shifts to me. “We need to talk.”

Henrik doesn’t look pleased, but Giovanni nods. “As you wish.”

We slide into the back seat, and the car doors close with a solid thud.

In the privacy of the tinted windows, I shift closer to Luca, and he takes my hand. His thumb strokes over my knuckles.

“So,” I say. “What do we think today’s press circus will be like?”

He huffs. “If we survive another fake vineyard toast, I think we deserve medals.”

“Knighthood.”

“Full sainthood,” he replies.

We laugh quietly, heads tilted slightly toward each other.

"Listen, Kristian..."

There's a sudden seriousness in his voice and I swallow. "Yes?"

But something distracts him before he can continue. He leans forward, squinting toward the front windshield. “Wait…”

“What?”

“This street. I don’t recognize it.” He sits straighter. “Driver, where are we going?”

The man doesn’t turn. “Change of route, sir. Security adjustment.”

Luca and I share a look. My stomach knots. “What kind of security adjustment?” Luca presses.

Before the man can answer, a sharp pop breaks the air.

It’s a sound I’ve only ever heard at one of those horse-riding events I attended with my family—the sharp crack that signals the horses to move: gunfire.

The window of the car cracks. Something zips past my ear and grazes my shoulder—a burn, hot and searing.

“DOWN!” Luca shouts.

The driver yells something in Italian and yanks the wheel. Tires screech. The car lurches sideways. I slam into Luca, then the window. There’s another shot. Then another.

The world tips over.

Everything spins. Metal screams. The car flips once. Twice. A third time—before crashing onto its side with a bone-jarring thud.

My body jerks and slams, weightless for one terrifying breath before the ceiling punches into my back. The airbag deploys too late—useless. Glass shatters. Smoke floods the cabin—thick, bitter, choking.

I cough hard and taste blood. My arm’s twisted, pinned.

Luca’s yelling my name, but it sounds distant—like we’re underwater, and the more he shouts, the further away he gets.

“Kristian! Hey—stay awake!”

I blink through the haze as my head spins. His face swims into focus. Blood on his cheek, his suit ripped at the shoulder. He’s trying to pull me free.

The front of the car is on fire.

“Kristian, we have to move!”

My hearing is coming back in fragments. I think I hear sirens in the distance, but I’m not sure. Luca gets the door open somehow, pries it with both hands, teeth gritted. I fall halfway out onto the gravel road.

And then everything around me starts to dim. He says something, but I can’t make out the words. There’s a thud—I hear it, or maybe I feel it—and then everything goes black.