She drinks, slow and steady, eyes never leaving mine.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I mutter.

“Sorry,” she whispers and offers me a faint smile.

I shake my head and press a kiss to her temple. “Don’t apologise.”

Her hand slips into mine, fingers cold but firm. And for a moment, we just sit there in the crumbling bones of a house neither of us belongs to, and somehow, it feels like the safest place in the world.

Jordyn leans into me, her breath slowly evening out, but her skin is still pale, too pale. The cold edge of worry scrapes at the inside of my chest.

I study her for a moment, then ask, low and firm, “Have you eaten today?”

She blinks up at me. “…No.”

Of course not.

I exhale through my nose and run a hand down my face. “Jesus, Jordyn.”

“I wasn’t hungry this morning,” she says, like that’s a valid excuse. “And then Bianca questioning me and everything with the appointment?—”

I’m already standing, already helping her up.

“That’s enough,” I mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. “You’re not staying here another second like this.”

“Where are we going?”

“To get food,” I say, guiding her toward the bike. “Someplace better than this wreck.”

She doesn’t argue.

Her head rests lightly against my shoulder as we walk, and I feel the faint tremble in her body. She’s trying to be strong, still pretending she’s fine.

But I know better. I always know when someone’s about to fall apart, I’ve just never cared this much before.

The road curves along the cliffside, the ocean unfurling beneath us like a living thing, restless, wild, endless. Jordyn’s arms are wrapped around me again, her body warm against my back, but she doesn’t hold as tightly as before.

She’s tired. I can feel it in the way she leans into me.

It’s not far. Just outside town. Hidden and quiet.

The café sits at the edge of the world, or it feels that way. Tucked into a cove of sun-bleached stone, with a small terrace that overlooks the sea. There’s no sign, no flashy entrance. Just a weather-worn door and the scent of bread and lemons riding the breeze.

I park the bike and kill the engine. Jordyn climbs off slowly, and I catch her hand without thinking.

She glances around, eyes wide. “Ares, this place is beautiful…”

I nod once. “My mother used to bring me here.”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, she doesn’t say anything. “I’ve always come here alone, until now,” I add, and Jordyn smiles.

I open the door, letting her walk in first. The owner, an old man named Vince, looks up from behind the counter. His eyes narrow for a beat, then widen.

“ Ares. Dio mio. You’re alive.”

“Still breathing,” I answer. “And hungry.”

He chuckles and waves us toward a table near the window. The one my mother always claimed, overlooking the water, just close enough to hear the waves crashing against the rocks below.

We sit. No menus. Vincenzo already knows what to bring. Jordyn turns her face toward the breeze, eyes closing for a moment, and she draws in a long breath.

“Why did she love this place?” she asks quietly. I rest my forearms on the table, watching her.

“Because no one knew her here. She could just… be.”

She nods slowly, like she understands more than I’m saying.

“Hm,” she hums, “I think I would’ve liked her,” she says after a moment.

My throat tightens, but I reach out and take her hand into mine. “She would’ve liked you more.”

The food comes out quickly. Fresh bread, olives, grilled fish drizzled in lemon and oil, and a bowl of caponata that smells like my childhood. Vince gives me a look before disappearing back inside, the kind that says you bring her back here, or don’t come at all.

Jordyn eats slowly at first, then with more appetite. Colour returns to her cheeks. Her posture softens. Watching her across this table, in a place so tangled with memory, does something strange to me. It feels permanent.

She sets her fork down after a while, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip.

“Bianca’s getting suspicious,” she says.

I lean back in my chair. “Of?”

She lifts a brow. “Take a wild guess.”

I roll my eyes and exhale slowly.

“She’s been hounding me since yesterday. Asking where I was, who I was with. Accused me of lying to her. Then started connecting dots she has no business touching.”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you tell her anything?”

Jordyn shakes her head. “Of course not. But she knows something is going on between us. I don’t know how long I can keep brushing her off. She’s relentless when she senses something’s wrong.”

A bitter smile touches my mouth. “Like someone else I know.”

She glares, but there’s no heat in it. And then her expression shifts.

“Maybe avoid sending me flowers if we’re keeping our relationship a secret. Because they didn’t help her suspicions.” I look up sharply, and she offers a small smile. “Even though they were beautiful… and I loved them.”

My stomach twists in agitation.

When I don’t say anything, she frowns. “The white roses. They were waiting for me when I got back to the manor. No note, just a sleek little black card with my name on it. I thought they were from you.”

Again, I don’t say anything.

I just stare at her, scowling. She watches me now, smile fading. “Aren’t they?”

I force a breath through my nose. Shake my head once. “No, Jordyn. I didn’t send you flowers.”

Her expression falters. “But… the picture. I texted you?—

“I saw it,” I cut in, voice low. Controlled. Too controlled.

Her brow creases. “Then who?—?”

I’m already standing. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, tossing enough euros onto the table to cover the meal and buy a new roof for the café.

She’s on her feet, confused, anxious. “Ares, what’s going on?”

I step close, hand on the small of her back.

“Those roses weren’t from me,” I say quietly, my eyes scanning the street beyond her shoulder. “Do you really think I’d be careless enough to send flowers to the manor when we’re trying to stay invisible?”

She opens her mouth, but I cut her off with a look.

“And even if I did…” I step closer, voice dropping to something darker, steadier. “It wouldn’t be cheap white roses shoved in a box without a name. That’s not how I do things, Jordyn.”

I pause. “If I send you flowers…” I lean in, my breath brushing her ear, “You won’t mistake who they’re from.”

Jordyn blinks up at me as I pull back, her brows furrowed, her voice soft.

“If it wasn’t you, then who?—

I shake my head, already shutting it down.

“You don’t need to worry about who, ” I say, my voice low and deliberate. “You just need to remember this...if anything shows up again with no name, no message, no explanation... you come to me. Immediately. No hesitation. Do you understand me, bambina?”

She nods, slowly, but I don’t move.

“Say it,” I murmur.

“I understand.”

“Good girl.” Because the second Nicolai Moretti decided to send her white roses…He signed his fucking death warrant.