Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Rocco had handled the body.
I called him to Lisbon six days ago, a decision driven by an instinct I couldn’t quite understand. The third assassin was different from the others. Smarter, more patient, operating with a discipline that had unnerved me.
I knew I might need backup. I knew if something went wrong, I couldn’t afford to be the one dealing with the aftermath while Serafina needed me.
I wished my instinct had been wrong, but unfortunately, I was right.
Rocco had taken one look at the lifeless body, then at Serafina huddled against the wall, and said nothing.
That was Rocco.
He didn’t ask questions that didn’t need asking. He didn’t offer senseless comfort.
He simply moved the body and arranged the new hotel while I took care of my wife. The cleanup had been thorough because Rocco has always been thorough in everything he did.
Serafina hadn’t let me near her at first.
She sat in the corner of the small bathroom for the first hour, her back against the tile, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing. I remained on the floor across from her, close enough to reach her but far enough that she didn’t feel cornered.
It took three hours… for her to let me touch her.
Three hours of sitting on that bathroom floor as I watched my wife fall apart without me being able to do anything about it.
But Serafina was strong in ways I could never understand. The silent kind of strength that no one really saw unless you paid careful attention.
I watched her fall apart and then reassemble herself in fragments, each piece more fragile than the last. But she did it; she held herself together on her own until she was ready for me.
When she finally reached for me, her trembling hand extending across the wet tiles, I wrapped my fingers around hers. I took her hand in mine, because I had been desperate to touch her, to feel her skin against mine, to hold her.
I needed it.
I had needed it more than I could have known, more than I could ever understand.
When she finally let me, I carried her from that hell, wrapped in a blanket and cradled in my arms. I took her to the car and then to this hotel suite, where I would keep her safe.
Serafina stirred.
Her breathing changed first, becoming shallower, more erratic. Her fingers twitched against the duvet as a low, pained whimper escaped her.
I straightened in the chair, my body going still as I recognized the threat. Not her, never her. The threat lived inside her now, and I couldn’t fight it for her.
Her head turned on the pillow, left and right, the movement restless and agitated. Her brow furrowed even as she remained asleep, her lips parting, and the sound that came out was thin and reedy, the ghost of a scream.
“Serafina.” I said her name quietly, not wanting to startle her but needing her to hear my voice.
She didn’t wake.
Her thrashing started small, a twitch in her shoulders and knees, before her whole body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her hands clawing at the emptiness in front of her face.
Her mouth opened with a soundless scream.
“Serafina.” I leaned forward, my hand hovering above her shoulder.
I didn’t touch her. I remembered what had happened the last time I reached for her—the way she had flinched, a full-body recoil.
But I couldn’t let her drown in this nightmare, in the memories that haunted her.
My fingers brushed against her shoulders, a featherlight touch. “You’re safe. Wake up, Serafina. You’re dreaming.”
Her eyes flew open.
They were unfocused, glassy, her pupils wide. She looked at me, and she screamed, a raw, shattering scream that tore from her depth of damaged throat.
Serafina wasn’t seeing me. I knew that. The terror in her eyes wasn’t directed at me.
Still, it pained me.
Her terrifying screams… her uncontrollable tears… her crippling fear.
It fucking killed me.
Her hands flew to her neck, fingers pressing against the bruises there. She released a small, fractured whimper and then a pained moan.
“Serafina.” I kept my voice low, steady, as if I were speaking to a wounded animal. “It’s me. It’s Adrian. You’re safe. Look at me.”
Her eyes found mine, and for a moment, just a small heartbreaking second, the terror receded.
“Look at me, Princess,” I repeated. “Just look. It’s me. It’s only me.”
Recognition flickered in her eyes, and her expression shifted from blind panic to mindless…rage.
At me.
My hand dropped from her shoulders as she scrambled backward on the mattress, the movement graceless and desperate. Her eyes never left my face.
“You’re awake,” I said. “You’re in a new hotel. We moved, remember?” I licked my lips, watching her carefully. “Do you remember?”
Serafina didn’t answer.
Her chest heaved, each breath a visible struggle against her bruised throat.
I stayed where I was and didn’t make any sudden moves. My hands remained on my knees, visible to her and empty. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t holding anything, that I wasn’t a danger to her. That I may have beaten a man to death, but I would never, ever be a threat to her.