5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Promise Me
Simone
My legs feel like blocks of lead as I step out of the elevator.
Every footfall lands too heavily against the hospital’s polished floor. Security officers line the corridor leading to Dad’s private room, with more stationed near the elevator and at both ends of the ward.
There are probably guards outside the hospital too.
Normally, that much protection would make me feel ridiculous.
Tonight, it doesn’t feel like enough.
And at least some of the anxiety twisting inside me comes from Luca’s silent presence several steps behind me.
I haven’t spoken to him since the argument in the car.
Not when he came inside to tell me what Bran said on the phone.
Not during the drive to the hospital.
Not once.
I can still feel the humiliation clinging to my skin like sweat. The embarrassment. The anger. The sickening knowledge that he saw me panicking and stripped every irrational thought from my head with brutal precision.
The silence between us crackles with everything I refuse to say.
If he touches me right now, I might shatter.
After the attack, I panicked so badly that I stopped thinking.
That happens sometimes when something is too large, too frightening, too far beyond my control. My mind narrows until I can only hold on to the last thing I remember clearly.
Before the gala descended into screams and gunfire, that thing was Adrien.
One second, he stood beside me.
The next, he was gone.
So I latched on to him.
I asked about Adrien because my brain couldn’t process the possibility that Dad and Bran might still be trapped inside. Because thinking about either of them getting shot would have broken something in me that I wasn’t ready to lose.
Luca either didn’t understand that or decided to be an asshole anyway.
Maybe both.
The worst part is that he wasn’t entirely wrong.
There were other people I should have asked about. People who mattered far more than a man I’d known for a few days.
But I could have taken that bitter truth from anyone else.
Anyone but Luca.
Bran is waiting outside Dad’s room.
His tie hangs loose around his neck, and his white shirt is stained with blood I’m almost certain isn’t his. He looks exhausted, but upright.
Alive.
The sight of him makes Luca’s words replay inside my head.
You haven’t asked about your brother.
And suddenly, I feel like a frightened little girl again.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Not here.
Not now.
And definitely not in front of Luca.
Bran crosses the corridor and pulls me into a crushing hug.
“At least one of us still looks good tonight.”
I bury my face against his chest for half a second before forcing myself to pull away.
He looks like hell, but he’s smiling as though Dad wasn’t nearly murdered a few hours ago.
The thought turns my stomach.
“How is he?” I ask.
The words barely rise above a whisper.
“He’s awake.” Bran squeezes my arm. “He’s out of surgery and stable. The doctors are optimistic.”
Relief leaves me in one long, shaking breath.
“Come on. He’s asking for you.”
Bran looks past me toward Luca.
Something silent passes between them. A brief exchange built from years of friendship and an understanding I’m not part of.
Then Bran guides me toward Dad’s room.
He opens the door quietly.
I stop at the threshold.
Seeing my father in a hospital bed feels like tasting death.
Bitter.
Smoky.
Impossible to swallow.
A monitor beeps softly beside him. His right shoulder is bandaged and immobilized beneath layers of gauze and hospital linen. An IV runs into his arm.
He looks pale.
Older.
Sweat dampens the hair near his temples, and the strong lines of his face seem deeper than they did yesterday.
But his chest rises.
He’s breathing.
He’s alive.
Still, I can’t move.
If the bullet had struck somewhere else, I could have ended tonight without either parent.
Dad turns his head as though he senses me standing there.
The moment he sees me, he smiles and tries to sit straighter.
Typical Francis Rochefort.
Pretending nothing can touch him.
Pretending he doesn’t feel pain.
He did the same thing after Mom died, even though her death destroyed him more than any of us.
“Simone.”
His smile widens.
Something inside me nearly collapses.
I hurry to his bedside and take his hand, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder.
“Jesus, Dad. You scared me.”
He shrugs with his uninjured shoulder, then winces anyway. “It’ll take more than one measly bullet to kill me.”
“Measly?”
I stare at the bandages, the IV, and the machines surrounding him.
“That isn’t funny.”
“I’m sorry.”
His gaze shifts toward Bran as he approaches the bed.
“You two shouldn’t have had to see me like this.”
“Next time, stay out of the bullet’s way.”
My voice cracks.
I swipe one knuckle beneath my eye before any tears can escape.
“That would be convenient for everyone.”
Dad releases a quiet laugh and shares an amused look with Bran.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then his expression changes.
The softness disappears, replaced by the calculating seriousness I’ve seen him wear during business negotiations and political meetings.
“The attack wasn’t random,” he says. “It was coordinated.”
I look at Bran.
He doesn’t appear surprised.
Cold slides down my spine.
“What?”
“Dad was the only person seriously wounded,” Bran explains. “The shooters positioned themselves around the ballroom and created panic, but their fire wasn’t indiscriminate.”
He rubs one hand over his jaw.
“The chaos gave them cover. Someone wanted a clear shot at him.”
My blood turns cold.
The idea that someone planned Dad’s murder sends bile rushing into my throat.
“At my own fundraiser too,” Dad adds. “They wanted the attack to be public.”
“Why?”
My mind races in every direction at once.
“Why would anyone—”
“I have enemies, Simone.”
He says it as casually as though he’s discussing the weather.
“Business competitors. Political rivals. People who would benefit from my absence.”
His jaw tightens.
“What matters is that they were bold enough to attack in a crowded ballroom. Whoever ordered this wanted to make a statement.”
“And they escaped,” Bran says. “Which means we have to assume they’ll try again.”
Dad shifts against the pillows and winces.
“We,” he corrects. “Not just me.”
His gaze moves between Bran and me.
“If someone wants to hurt me, my family becomes the next obvious target.”
My stomach drops.
“I won’t allow that.”
“Security has already been increased,” Bran says. “This floor has been swept three times. The hospital is coordinating with our team and the authorities.”
He glances toward the door.
“Luca saw two of the men before the shooting started. He may be able to help identify them.”
My spine stiffens at the sound of his name.
Dad has just informed me that armed killers might target our family, and somehow Luca still manages to provoke the more immediate physical reaction.
I hate that.
Dad nods. “Which is why I’ve made arrangements.”
He looks directly at me.
Something in his expression makes me dread his next words.
“Starting tonight, you’ll have full-time protection.”
I already know.
“No.”
“I’m assigning Luca to be your personal bodyguard.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Absolutely not.”
“He’ll stay close to you at all times until we identify whoever is behind the attack and eliminate the threat.”
“Hell no.”
Bran sighs as though he predicted this exact response.
“Sim, this isn’t the time to be stubborn.”
I stare at Dad.
“You’re assigning me a bodyguard like I’m some kind of precious doll who can’t be left unattended?”
“You’re my daughter.”
His voice remains calm, which somehow makes it worse.
“And I have no intention of losing you.”
“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”
“You froze in the ballroom.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
Dad’s expression softens slightly.
“That isn’t criticism, Simone. You experienced something terrifying. But tonight proved that none of us can assume we’ll be able to protect ourselves in the middle of a coordinated attack.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest.
“I’m not debating this with you.”
“What about Bran?”
I gesture toward my brother.
“Brandon and Cassie will have their own protection,” Dad says. “Neither of you will be moving around alone until this is resolved.”
Bran nods. “I’ve already agreed.”
“Of course you have.”
“Because it makes sense.”
“It makes sense for you. You don’t have someone planning every second of your life.”
“That’s not what this is.”
I look back at Dad.
“I’m a functioning adult with a career. I have a tour starting soon. Five cities. Rehearsals, press, interviews, fan events.”
I point toward the hallway as though Luca is the greatest insult waiting outside it.
“You expect me to travel with him following me like an armed babysitter?”
“You’ll cancel the tour.”
The words land with finality.
For a second, I’m certain I heard him incorrectly.
“What?”
“You need to stay out of the public eye until we understand the threat.”
Dad’s expression doesn’t change.
“No tour. No major appearances. Nothing that places you in a predictable location surrounded by a crowd.”
I stand so abruptly that the chair legs scrape against the floor.
He isn’t joking.
Neither is Bran.
“You expect me to throw away months of work?”
“It isn’t being thrown away,” Bran says. “It’s being postponed.”
“You don’t know that.”
My hands begin to shake.
“The venues are booked. My team has spent months preparing. Fans bought tickets. People arranged travel. Do you have any idea what canceling now will do?”
“Your fans will survive the disappointment,” Bran says.
His voice is gentle, but the words aren’t.
“You might not survive another attack.”
I turn toward him.
“If something happens to you, they’ll post tributes. They’ll cry. They’ll play your songs and talk about how much you meant to them.”
His expression tightens.
“Then they’ll continue living their lives. You won’t.”
The words hit a place inside me that has never healed.
Mom.
The endless sympathy after her death.
The flowers.
The speeches.
The strangers mourning a woman they never truly knew before returning to their normal lives.