Page 39

I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache. The rain has slowed now, but the sky is still a heavy gray, like it’s waiting to split open again. The freeway hums beneath the tires as we speed away, but I can’t breathe. My chest tightens more with every mile.

I slam the brakes. The tires screech, the car jerks forward, and Emilia screams, “Are you insane?”

The car skids a little before settling on the shoulder of the freeway. I shove open my door and swing around to the passenger side, flinging open Serevin’s door.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Emilia yells behind me.

Serevin blinks, dazed, wounded, barely holding himself up. His lips part like he’s about to ask the same question. But I don’t give him time.

“Out,” I snap.

His brows pull together. “Fioretta—”

I yank him by the arm before he can argue. His body is heavy against mine, but adrenaline fuels me. He grunts as I pull him out, his injured side pressing into me. I slam the door behind us.

Emilia throws her door open, leaning out, voice shrill. “Have you lost your damn mind?! We don’t have time for this! The meeting! The council! Do you want to die? Do you want him to die?!”

Her voice echoes across the empty road. She’s panicking. Always panicking.

“No one ever listens to me!” she shrieks again. “You’re all fucking stupid!”

I barely hear her anymore.

His face contorts as pain shoots through him, and I see it—the tremor in his jaw, the sharp exhale through gritted teeth—but still, he doesn't resist.

The moment his boots hit the ground, his knees buckle like they’re giving out from under him, and he crumples in front of me, collapsing hard onto the rough pavement.

He crawls to me, and his arms wrap tightly around my waist like a drowning man grasping for something—anything—to stay afloat.

His fingers fist into the fabric of my shirt, clutching me like I’m the last thing tethering him to life itself.

His head presses against my stomach, and I feel his entire body trembling.

His eyes lift to meet mine—red-rimmed, glossy, desperate.

“You remember, don’t you?”

I can barely breathe through the lump rising in my throat.

I slap him.

The sharp sound cuts through the thick air, my palm stinging as his head jerks slightly from the impact. But he doesn't pull away. He doesn't loosen his grip. He only stares at me with that same broken look, like he expects and deserves every bit of my fury.

“I was wrong.” His voice breaks as soon as it leaves him. “I—” His throat closes around the words, and he has to swallow to push them out. “I was going to steal from you. I was.”

The tears burning in my eyes threaten to spill, but I grit my teeth, forcing the ache in my chest down.

“Don’t you dare act like you’ve changed,” I whisper, my voice raw, venomous—because the pain feels like it might rip me apart.

His hands shake harder now, squeezing my waist tighter, as though he’s terrified I’ll vanish.

“You were in the hospital for days after you jumped,” he whispers, voice ragged, eyes flickering with grief. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I—I—”

“Yeah, he was pretty bad,” Emilia’s voice cuts in from behind, dry and exasperated, her head sticking out the window. But even her sarcasm feels thin beneath the heavy moment.

I ignore her.

He leans his forehead against my stomach like a man breaking.

His voice cracks fully this time, completely unguarded.

“I don’t care about any of it,” he gasps, his breath shallow, almost choking on his own words.

“I—I just need you. Please, Fioretta, I can’t—” His voice breaks again, helpless. ”I can’t go on without you.”

And then he says it. The words that shatter my defenses.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you more than anything, Fioretta. More than my life. More than the world. I can’t lose you again.”

A bitter laugh bubbles out of me through my tears, shaky and cracked, as the weight of it crashes over me.

Because the worst part—the most twisted, cruel part—is that I need him too.

I hate him. I love him. I loathe him. I crave him. He’s poison and air, and I’m drowning all at once.

My knees give out beneath me, and I drop to the ground with him.

My hands reach for his face instinctively, cupping his bruised jaw as his chest heaves beneath my fingertips.

His breathing is ragged, desperate, and his eyes stay locked on mine, as though letting me out of his sight will be the end of him.

He lifts his hand, brushing the tears off my cheeks with fingers that tremble uncontrollably. “Stay with me,” he whispers again, barely audible. “Please…stay with me.”

The dam breaks completely inside me, my tears falling freely as I gasp for breath.

I press my forehead against his, my lips quivering, and then finally, finally—our mouths crash together.

The kiss is desperate, messy, and soaked in tears.

It’s hungry and raw, all teeth and trembling lips, like we’re clinging to each other on the edge of a cliff.

His hands cup my face like I’m fragile, like I’ll break, while mine fist his bloodied shirt, pulling him closer, trying to absorb him into me.

“Fioretta, we don’t have time!” Emilia yells from behind, voice sharp with urgency.

I snap out of the moment, my hands still clutching Serevin’s face. His breathing is heavy, eyes locked on mine, but I give him a small nod, forcing down every ounce of emotion.

I grip his hand tightly, pulling him up with me. He stumbles, his legs still weak from the stab wound, but I steady him.

Emilia swings open the car door as Cassian leans against it, half-smirking despite the bruises darkening his jaw.

“You guys are so cute,” Cassian mutters dryly, then turns his head slightly toward Emilia, flashing that cocky grin. “This could be us.”

Emilia glares. “Shut up before I push you out of the car.”

Serevin groans as I help him into the backseat, and I slide in next to him.

Cassian slams the passenger door shut, and Emilia jumps into the driver’s seat.

With a sharp turn of the ignition, the car rumbles to life, and she stomps on the gas.

The tires screech as we lurch forward, heading toward the meeting grounds.

The drive isn’t long, but every second stretches, tight with tension. Serevin’s hand wraps around mine, cold and unsteady, but strong in its grip. I squeeze back, my eyes locked ahead.

The location isn’t just a mansion—it’s practically a fortress, tucked into a remote hillside on the outskirts of Melbourne. This is where the old council meets when decisions are too dangerous for public eyes.

As we approach, the first barricade appears. A series of black SUVs block the road, armed men standing beside them, already raising their rifles.

“Identify yourselves!” one of them shouts through a megaphone.

But Emilia doesn’t slow down. She slams her hand on the horn, leaning over the wheel as the car barrels forward.

“Move!!” she screams.

The guards scatter at the last second, some diving out of the way, others scrambling to point their weapons.

Bullets slice past the car, shattering the side mirror with a sharp crack. Glass sprays into the car, and I instinctively shield Serevin with my arms as Emilia swerves sharply, tires screeching, weaving through the first barricade.

The second checkpoint is even tighter. Steel gates this time, thick with guards trying to close them.

“Hold on!” Emilia growls.

The car fishtails as she throws it into a tight turn, swerving through the narrowing gap before the gates fully shut. We speed past just as one of the guards tries to grab the handle. I feel his fist slam against the window.

Another shot hits the rear bumper. Metal grinds, but we keep moving.

Behind us, more engines roar to life.

“They’re following us,” Cassian mutters, pulling a gun from under his jacket, rolling down the window slightly.

We round the final curve, the main building rising before us—sleek, modern, cold. Spotlights beam into the night sky, illuminating the security teams scrambling as we pull up to the entrance.

“This is it,” I say, voice steady despite my pulse hammering in my throat.

Cassian and Emilia leap out as soon as we screech to a stop. Cassian slams the car door shut and immediately turns, spotting the caravan of vehicles speeding down the hill behind us.

Armed men pour from the vehicles, shouting orders, guns raised.

Cassian turns to me, fierce determination in his eyes. “We’ll hold them back. You two go.”

Emilia swallows hard but nods, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Cassian as they both raise their guns.

“Fioretta, go!” Emilia yells.

I grip Serevin’s hand tighter. His steps are unsteady, but his jaw tightens with resolve. Side by side, we sprint toward the building’s towering doors, leaving the gunfire roaring behind us.

We burst through the corridor, Serevin leaning heavily on me but refusing to slow down. My shoulder is practically beneath his ribs, keeping him upright as we sprint past guards who freeze mid-step, their mouths opening in stunned shock.

“It’s them,” one of the guards whispers hoarsely. “It’s Serevin.”

Another’s hand twitches toward his radio, but he hesitates. No one expected us here. No one knows whether to stop us or let us pass.

Serevin’s breathing is ragged beside me, his blood leaving faint streaks on the polished floor, but his eyes burn with one thing—rage.

At the end of the grand hallway stands the council’s chamber—tall oak doors sealed shut.

“They’re inside,” he growls.

With the last of his strength, Serevin pushes forward and slams his boot into the double doors.

The heavy doors explode open with a thunderous crack that echoes through the hall. The council of Families, seated around a massive round table, jerk back in alarm. All heads whip toward us.

At the head of the table, Vittoria freezes mid-speech, her perfectly styled hair glowing under the chandelier, her smile faltering for a brief second—but only for a second. Her poise returns as quickly as it slipped.