24. Lucrezia
Chapter 24
Lucrezia
I wake before the sky turns fully light, slipping out of the spare room Raiden left me to claim as my own. The door doesn’t squeak, but the hall floor does, and I hold my breath with every step I take. I don’t want to wake him if he’s still asleep. A few moments later, after a slow crawl down the staircase to the living room, a window throws pale, early-morning rectangles of light across the couch and coffee table. And that is when I see Raiden sleeping on the couch, head tilted back, one arm draped over his chest as if he fell asleep halfway through a thought.
It occurs to me that I could have slept with him last night. I could have chosen his bed over my quiet, lonely room. I’m not sure what stopped me—my pride, maybe, or the lingering anger still coiled in my gut after meeting Saverio. For a moment, I wonder what it would have felt like to wake up in his arms, his steady breathing in my ear. The thought unsettles me, but not unpleasantly.
Raiden’s brow is furrowed even now, in sleep, as if he’s fighting wars behind closed lids. There’s a faint scar above his temple, a pale line visible only in this gentle light. How can a man who walked into a meeting with Saverio Castiglione without an ounce of fear be vulnerable like this, so human and breakable?
I stand there longer than I should, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave, that wants to reach out and brush the scar along his temple, to smooth away the tension in his brow with gentle fingertips. The urge is so strong my hand actually twitches at my side, and I have to curl my fingers into a fist to keep from giving in to the impulse. It’s dangerous, this softness I feel creeping in around my edges.
My mind drifts back to Saverio’s words last night, replaying our tense exchange like a movie stuck on repeat. I said I wanted to belong, to be part of the family’s heart rather than a thorn in its side. Did I mean it? I think I did. Once, a long time ago, that was all I wanted. The fact that I voiced it aloud in front of everyone surprised even me. Maybe it wasn’t all a game. Maybe deep down, beneath all the rage and revenge, that desire to belong never left.
But I can’t let myself dwell too much on those vulnerable feelings, on what-ifs and maybes. I leave Raiden sleeping on the couch and head outside. The crisp morning air hits my face like a splash of cold water, shocking me into full wakefulness and clearing away the last wisps of introspection.
I slip into the driver’s seat of my stolen car—a beat-up sedan that rumbles softly as I turn the key. The streets are mostly empty at this hour, the sun just beginning to stretch its fingers across the rooftops. I navigate familiar avenues at a leisurely pace, passing silent storefronts and blinking traffic lights. The world feels oddly calm, as if all the tension of the last few days is still dozing beneath warm blankets. After a few turns, I spot a sign for the city park and follow it, eventually pulling into a small gravel lot. I get out and decide to walk for a little bit, to savor this strange, quiet lull.
It’s been a long time since I walked through Manhattan without looking over my shoulder. I haven’t been in Kansas for years. This town has no idea who I am anymore, and the anonymity feels like a stolen luxury. The streets are quiet, and occasionally, a car passes by.
The playground comes into view, a patch of green where a couple of early-rising children run after a ball, their shrieks of laughter punctuating the silence. Their parents stand by, chatting and sipping coffee from thermoses, trading stories about soccer practice and upcoming birthday parties. I slow my steps, observing from a distance. Is this what normal life looks like—no secrets, no violence?
For a moment, I let myself imagine a different childhood. A father who taught me business and strategy as readily as he did my brothers, who saw me as more than just a bargaining chip in his empire. Saverio, as a mentor, proud of my intelligence instead of threatened by it, guiding me through the intricacies of our world rather than trying to diminish my presence in it. What if I had never been forced to stand in a corner with a book in my arms until they ached, simply for wanting to learn? What if those endless hours of punishment had been spent at a desk instead, my curiosity celebrated rather than condemned? Maybe I’d be one of these parents now, strolling with a newborn, planning Sunday picnics, and laughing without having to check the shadows for an assassin.
The thought fades as soon as it forms, dissolving like morning mist in harsh sunlight. That’s not my life, and it never will be—the comfortable normalcy I see around me belongs to a different version of myself that never came to be. Some paths, once taken, can’t be undone, and the choices that shaped me are etched too deeply into who I’ve become.
I continue walking until I reach Parkside Station, a cute vintage diner that serves coffee and breakfast. The scent of fresh pastries and roasted beans drifts through the open door. I go inside, order a black coffee that comes in a plain white mug, and choose a seat by the window. It is warm, with wood floors and mismatched chairs and polite nods from strangers who know nothing of my name or the blood on my hands. I exchange a faint smile with a man reading a newspaper, and he nods back, unguarded and friendly. For a few minutes, I’m just another person killing time with caffeine and daydreams.
My phone vibrates on the table, the harsh buzz making several heads turn briefly before returning to their own worlds. Daniela’s name appears on the screen, and I steel myself before answering.
“Morning,” I greet.
“Morning,” Daniela replies, relieved to hear me. She sounds tired, maybe scared. “Everyone’s talking. Saverio’s survival has rattled the family. Some are rallying around him, trying to show unwavering loyalty, making grand gestures and public declarations. Others have gone silent, uncertain of where this leaves them. No one knows how to interpret his house being blown up—whether it was a show of strength or weakness, a victory or the beginning of something worse.”
I sip my coffee, letting the steam curl around my face. It’s hot enough to burn my tongue if I’m not careful, and the ceramic mug is almost too warm against my palms. “I’m sure they don’t.”
“Lucrezia, are you okay?” My sister asks, a fragile note in her voice that makes me pause. It’s genuine concern—rare and delicate between us these days.
I consider lying, but what’s the point? “I’m tired,” I admit, forcing a small laugh to ease the tension. The sound feels hollow in my throat. “But I’m okay. I’ve had worse nights.” And I have, though not many immediately come to mind.
Daniela doesn’t press. “I’ve heard whispers that some of Saverio’s allies are questioning his strength now. The empire’s shaken. Please, be careful.”
I’m always careful. It’s become second nature, like breathing or watching my back. “I will,” I say simply, wishing I had better words to reassure her, something more substantial than a threadbare promise. “I can handle myself.”
We end the call amicably, and I linger a moment longer at my table, finishing off the last bitter dregs of my coffee. I watch the final swirl of dark liquid at the bottom of the mug as if reading tea leaves that can’t promise anything better.
Outside, the sky is a softer blue, and a few more cars trundle by as I make my way back to my car. The engine sputters once, then catches, and I guide the car onto the street. The route back to Raiden’s place is straightforward, but I take it slowly.
My thoughts drift, replaying Daniela’s words and worries. I can’t shake the feeling that she might be right to worry, even if I’d never admit it to her face.
Pulling into Raiden’s driveway, I notice again how quiet his neighborhood is. How unremarkable. Stepping out of the car, I close the door softly. It’s odd to think of this place as a refuge. Raiden is no old ally tied to me by heritage or obligation. He’s chosen this path, chosen to stand with me in ways I never expected. That choice matters—it’s something earned and kept, not forced by bloodlines.
I stand at his door for a second, keys in hand, realizing that in a world built on grudges and violence, having someone who’s here by choice might be the one piece of safety I didn’t know I needed. Then I let myself in, shaking the thoughts out of my head.
Raiden’s awake, stretched out on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand, flipping through channels on the TV. He looks up, raising an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and feigned hurt. “Snuck out without a word,” he teases, mock-offended.
I snort, rolling my eyes. “I figured you needed the rest since you fell asleep on the couch,” I shrug, tossing my jacket over a chair. “Besides, you looked too peaceful. Would’ve been a crime to disturb that.”
He smirks and lifts his mug in a mock toast, the coffee sloshing slightly against the ceramic sides. “Generous of you,” he drawls. “Such consideration for my delicate sensibilities.”
We dance around the tension, acknowledging its presence but choosing levity. He switches off the TV with a soft click, leaning forward until his elbows rest on his knees. “So what’s next?” he asks, voice losing its playful edge, replaced by something more cautious. “You can’t keep kicking the hornet’s nest forever. Eventually, you’ll get stung.”
I cross my arms tight against my chest, leaning back against the wall’s cool surface. “I’m not done yet if that’s what you’re asking.”
Raiden grimaces, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Might be safer to lie low, give things time to settle.” His eyes search my face, looking for any sign of wavering.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze with a stubborn tilt that brooks no argument. “Safer isn’t better. Not this time. I still want closure. I still want Saverio to understand what he cost me.” My fingernails dig into my arms. “He needs to face what he did.”
Raiden studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes softening as understanding settles across his features. “Alright, I get it; you gotta do what you gotta do. I’ve been there. And I’m here to help whenever you want to do it—whatever form that takes.” He gets off the couch with a quiet groan, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulders pop. Then he changes the subject with practiced casualness as if we weren’t just discussing vengeance and closure. “Look, before you go charging back into hell—and I mean that in the most supportive way possible—how about dinner tonight? My treat.”
I arch an eyebrow, caught off guard by the whiplash-inducing change in subject matter. “Dinner?” The question hangs in the air between us, suspiciously normal after everything we’ve done since meeting one another. “You mean, like... a date ?” The word feels strange on my tongue, almost comically ordinary given the circumstances.
Raiden shrugs. “Yeah, a date.”
For a moment, my heart stutters. After everything—bombs, blood, broken bones—he wants to share a meal. I consider turning him down, reminding him this isn’t a story with a happy ending. But his eyes hold steady, and in his gaze, I see something genuine. The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh—here we are, planning revenge against a man who’s threatened to kill us on more than one occasion, and he’s asking me out like we’re normal people who met at a coffee shop.
Maybe that’s precisely why it feels right, like a small act of defiance against the chaos that’s consumed our lives these past few weeks. A reminder that we’re still human underneath it all.
“I’ve never been on a date,” I confess, the words feeling strangely vulnerable.
Raiden clears his throat, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. “Me either. Not really. But I figure if we’re gonna die together, might as well cross this off my bucket list.” There’s a trace of gallows humor in his voice, but underneath it lies something earnest, almost hopeful.
It’s not a promise of a future free from chaos, but it’s a step toward something less grim. The world outside might be shifting, alliances crumbling, and old grudges blazing. But for one evening at least, we can pretend that people like us can sit at a table and share something other than threats. Maybe that’s all anyone can really hope for these days: these small, defiant moments of connection.
“Okay,” I agree. “But only because I need to eat anyway.”
He snorts in amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, I figured that was the case. Wouldn’t want me to think this means anything more than it does. God forbid we enjoy each other’s company.”
In the lighthearted way he accepts my consent, it softens things between us even more. “Exactly,” I echo, finding myself almost smiling. “It’s just dinner with someone I slept with and then asked to help me kill my brother. Tale as old as time.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he agrees with a casual shrug. “Just another Monday in our completely normal lives.”