Chapter 23 Unanswered Questions
••Luciana••
The sun streaming through the curtains felt rude. Warm, bright, loud.
My eyelids fluttered open sluggishly as if my body needed written permission to move. When I finally grasped the clock on the bedside table, the time blinked back at me in bold disbelief.
10:14 a.m.
So I slept like someone hit me with a tranquilizer dart.
Memories of yesterday flooded back in a chaotic rush—sharp snapshots falling into place. The masked figure. The struggle. The knife. Roman’s hands dragging me from that bathroom.
A small ache pulled at my arm when I shifted. Not unbearable, just enough to remind me that I wasn’t imagining anything. My body felt stiff, like every muscle had been wrung out and left to dry overnight. I inhaled slowly.
Why is this all happening to me? Was it related to Pier Twelve? Had they tracked me down? Or was there someone else behind this?
I pushed myself up carefully. The movement tugged at my ribs on one side. Wonderful. Even breathing came with commentary today.
I swung my legs over the bed, lips tightening as a dull ache shot down my arm. I just needed answers. Roman owed me that much. As I dragged my foot toward my slippers, the door clicked open behind me.
It was Roman.
He stood there like he had been waiting for me to try something.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“To you,” I answered.
“Well, now I’m right here,” he replied, stepping further inside. “So you can get back in bed.”
I gave him a snort—the kind that said I’m not made of glass, calm down—but I sat back anyway. His eyes swept over me, checking if I was still intact. It almost annoyed me how attentive he looked.
“I’m better than yesterday,” I muttered.
He shot me a flat, unimpressed stare that seemed to say, 'I didn’t ask.'
Sighing, I pushed my hair back and met his gaze. He observed me intensely, almost as if he could sense that I was struggling to piece my thoughts together faster than my body could manage.
“What did you want to see me about?” he asked.
I hesitated, gripping the sheets tightly. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to his. For a moment that felt too long, neither of us averted our gaze.
Roman raised an eyebrow slightly. “I suppose you just wanted an excuse to leave the room.”
I chose to ignore that.
“How did you know to come into the restroom?” My voice was low but steady. “How did you know I was in danger?”
Silence enveloped us. Roman’s expression remained unchanged, not even a blink.
“Because I’m the Silent prince,” he answered calmly, almost lazily—like it was a title he wore the way normal men wore cologne. “I sense things before they happen.”
I swallowed.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.” His tone held an edge of finality.
“Same way you knew to show up at that accident scene… that day.”
His breath hitched a little, he hadn’t expected me to bring that up.
“I told you,” he whispered, “I just felt it.”
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
For once, the room stayed painfully quiet. No insults. No snappy retorts. Just the two of us staring at each other like we were trying to decipher something neither of us had no words for.
“I just can’t wrap my head around why you were there yesterday… and then, before.” I said.
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression sharpened.
“Excuse me,” he muttered as he answered.
Russian spilled from him in rapid, clipped phrases. His tone escalated, frustration threading through each word. He began pacing the room, hand resting on his hip, his voice growing tense. This conversation wasn’t friendly; it didn't feel casual at all. Something was amiss.
I watched him, hoping to catch even a hint of what was being said.
I really need to learn Russian.
The call dragged on. A curse escaped his lips, and his hand swept through his hair in agitation.
Then he paused in the doorway, still on the call, and met my eyes for a fleeting moment.
He mouthed, “See you later,” before stepping out.
The room felt heavier without him, like the silence wanted to wrap around my thoughts again. Grabbing my phone, I yearned for something familiar—anything that could help dissipate the confusion swirling in my mind.
But there were no messages from Matteo. Not a single one from Antonio, either. Their responses had been thinning out, each day quieter than the last. Matteo used to blow up my phone with hilarious jokes, random updates, and memes he’d pretend not to have found online. And now? Almost two days of complete radio silence.
As for Antonio… my heart clenched.
I can only hope he’s managing everything alright. I can only hope he’s not caught in any trouble.
I leaned back against the pillows, letting my eyes close for a moment. The ache in my arm pulsed gently.
Roman knew more than he let on. This attack was anything but random.
What on earth is going on?