Chapter 20 Chapter 20
Lily
Giana doesn’t come back.
The wineglass before me remains untouched, and the once-appetizing scent of roasted herbs now seems to turn my stomach. The night air drifts in from the open balcony, cooling the back of my neck.
Sebastian returns alone.
He approaches with a thunderous silence, jaw sharp, his whole frame coiled tight with fury. His eyes flicker across the restaurant like a loaded gun searching for a target. Without a word, he slides into the seat beside me.
I wait for him to speak.
He doesn’t.
I swallow the tight knot in my throat and break the silence. “What were you doing?”
My voice is quiet but sharp, like cracked glass. I don’t want to believe the worst, but the image of Giana pulling his hand into her dress is burned behind my eyelids.
Sebastian exhales harshly, leaning forward on the table. “She forced herself onto me, Lily. I didn’t do anything.”
“She kissed you,” I say, barely holding back the tremble in my voice.
“And I pushed her off.”
I press my lips together. “I saw her message.”
He goes still.
“What message?” he asks cautiously, but his eyes darken like he already knows.
“The picture. On your phone. She sent it earlier today.”
He curses under his breath and snatches his phone from his pocket, unlocking it with an angry swipe. “Look—” He opens the thread with Giana and shoves the screen gently toward me. “I didn’t respond to her. Not once. Not to the photo. Not to the location. Nothing.”
His voice is low and hoarse, like he’s trying to keep his anger from exploding all over the table. “You think I’d disrespect you like that?” he asks. “After everything?”
I look at the screen. He’s right. Every message she sent is one-sided. No replies. The silence on his end speaks louder than any words.
Still, it doesn’t erase the sight of her hands on him.
“It was my idea to have this dinner,” I admit quietly. “I just… I wanted to know if you still love her.”
His expression breaks—his rage softens, the fire dims into something deeper.
“God, Lily,” he breathes out, his voice dropping with emotion. He reaches for my hand under the table, curling his fingers around mine. “I don’t love her. I haven’t loved her in a long time.”
He tilts his head, meeting my eyes with such devastating sincerity. “She’s my past,” he says, slow and certain. “And you—you, Lily Manchini—you are my future.”
My chest tightens. The storm inside me starts to ease, the tremble in my bones quieting under his touch.
I squeeze his hand back, not with full forgiveness just yet, but with trust.
Because no matter what Giana tried tonight, she couldn’t touch what we have.
Not even close.
Just as the last sip of wine settles bitter on my tongue, Sebastian’s phone buzzes again — this time with a different weight to it. He frowns as he sees the caller ID. Not Giana. Not business. His entire expression changes.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing abruptly.
“What is it?” I ask, alarmed by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
He holds up a hand gently, signaling me to wait, then steps away from the table to take the call. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can see how his back stiffens. His hand curls into a fist. Whatever he’s being told — it’s serious.
He turns slowly, his face grim, jaw tight.
“We need to go. Now,” he says sharply, his voice clipped and laced with urgency.
“Sebastian—what’s happening?”
He’s already pulling out his wallet and dropping a thick wad of cash on the table. “The Godfather called. There was an attack.”
“An attack?” I echo, standing now, heart racing.
“The Bratva hit one of our warehouse in New York. Three men dead. One of them was personal to Don Salvatore. He’s calling a war council tonight.”
My stomach drops. New york— the territory under the Godfather’s control. An attack on it is practically a declaration of war.
Sebastian’s hand finds mine and he starts walking swiftly, pulling me with him. “Our jet is waiting. We take off in less than thirty minutes.”
I stumble slightly in my heels but don’t protest. The air outside is thick with tension as we exit the restaurant. Sebastian’s black car is already pulled up. A guard stands by the back door and nods at him.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper as he helps me in. “Why now?”
“Because the Bratva are unpredictable, and they’re getting desperate. This wasn’t random. This was timed. They waited until Salvatore was vulnerable.”
“And you? Why does he want you there?”
He glances at me as the car speeds into motion, city lights flashing past. “Because I’m his left hand. And now, he wants his family close.”
His tone leaves no room for argument.
“But what about us?” I whisper.
Sebastian leans forward and places his hand over my heart. “We’ll finish our honeymoon later, after I protect what’s ours.”
He says it with such certainty that I feel the tension shift into something colder — calculated. Ruthless.
I nod.
Because I know now—I didn’t marry just a businessman or a lover.
I married a mafia king.
And tonight, the kingdom bleeds.
As the car speeds toward the private airstrip, I realize we’re heading in the opposite direction of the hotel.
“Our bags,” I say, glancing out the tinted window. “We left everything at the hotel.”
Sebastian doesn’t even blink. He takes my hand again, firm but gentle. “We won’t have time to go back. The jet is being fueled. We leave the moment we arrive.”
“But—my clothes, everything—”
He turns his gaze to me, sharp and focused, but there’s a surprising softness behind it. “Lily,” he says, low and certain, “whatever you’re leaving behind, I’ll buy again. Everything. Ten times over.”
I blink at him, stunned for a second.
“I don’t care about things,” I whisper, the truth falling from my lips without hesitation.
“I know,” he replies. “But I do care about you having what you need. And right now, I need you on that jet, not worrying about dresses or makeup bags. Just you.”
I nod slowly, the tension still coiled in my chest—but something about the way he said just you makes it easier to breathe.
The security at the gates waves us through, and the runway lights flash like warning signs against the night sky. The jet is sleek, black, and ominous—exactly what you’d expect from a man like Sebastian.
He squeezes my hand once more as the car halts.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“I’m with you,” I say, stepping out beside him, heels clicking on the tarmac. “That’s all that matters.”
He smirks just slightly. “That’s my girl.”
Moments later, the jet door closes behind us—and we leave Paris behind in the dust of something much darker.
The jet lifts smoothly into the night sky, leaving behind the twinkling lights of Paris—the city that gave us stolen kisses, tense dinners, and now a sudden, chaotic goodbye.
I sit beside Sebastian on the leather seat, the cabin dimly lit with a golden hue. The silence is thick, the only sounds being the hum of the engines and our shallow breathing. I glance at him, and for the first time since the call from the godfather, I see a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
He turns to me, resting one arm on the armrest, the other brushing his fingers over mine. “I couldn’t take you to Disneyland,” he says softly, almost like he’s apologizing for something bigger than just a missed amusement park. “But I’ll bring you here again. I promise.”
I study his face—the man I’ve come to trust, and follow into fire if I had to. And all I see now is exactly that: a man of his word. Steady. Fierce. Loyal.
“I understand, Sebastian,” I say gently, my voice barely above a whisper. “I know you didn’t plan this. And I’m not angry.”