Chapter Twelve - Lira #3
His gaze searches my face as if trying to read past the surface. “Call room service if you need anything. Don’t go anywhere. Promise me.”
I nod, softer . “I promise.”
His shoulders loosen with a breath. He steps forward and wraps me in his arms again. His kiss lands warm on my cheek. Not demanding—tender. Familiar.
But I don’t lean into it.
My hands hover lightly against his back, not gripping, not holding. Just resting .
He pulls back. “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it—at least the part that counts. “For everything.”
His eyes brighten, just a flicker of relief.
He presses a hand gently to the side of my face and holds it there, thumb grazing just under my jaw. “I’ll make this right, Lira. You’ll see.”
He kisses my forehead one last time, then pulls the door open and disappears into the hallway. The click of it shutting behind him echoes louder than it should.
As soon as I hear the soft ding of the elevator down the hall, something snaps in my chest.
The smile vanishes. My knees buckle.
I gasp and grab the edge of the dresser, one hand flying to my sternum. My breathing shortens— I can’t stop it. My pulse drums in my ears.
I rip the ring off my finger and hurl it across the room. It hits the floor with a sharp ping and rolls somewhere under the desk.
I stumble back, chest heaving, hands trembling.
I press my palms flat to my thighs, but the shaking won’t stop.
My skin itches. My mouth is dry. My face burns.
Then I bolt.
I swing open the closet and yank out the first thing I see—one of Mico’s sweatshirts and a pair of his track pants. They hang heavy on my frame, swallowing me up, sleeves past my hands, the hem nearly at my ankles. But the weight feels grounding. Real.
I sit on the edge of the bed for exactly one minute, counting each second with my fingers pressed to the mattress seam.
Then I cross the room and grab my mother’s journal from the side table. As I lift it, something slips from between the pages and flutters to the floor.
A folded paper.
I crouch to pick it up—hands still trembling—and unfold it.
Without thinking, I tuck the note inside my bra and bolt to the door.
The hallway is empty. I glance both ways. My hands fumble on the lock before I manage to open it. I step out into the corridor and shut the door behind me with care—not a sound. Then I walk, fast but not running, toward the service stairs at the end of the hall.
Down three flights, across the back exit, through the kitchen.
By the time I burst out into the side alley, my lungs are tight again, but this time it’s from adrenaline, not panic.
I rush out onto the footpath and flag the first yellow cab I see.
It slows. The driver eyes me in the oversized clothes, one brow already raised.
I slide into the back seat, yanking the door shut behind me. “Take me to the Dante family estate. Now.”
The driver turns fully in his seat, blinking. “You serious?”
I nod, breathless. “Yes.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Girl, you nuts?”
I don’t answer. I just stare ahead, hand pressed flat to the folded paper inside my shirt.
“I’ll pay you anything,” I say to the driver.
The man—mid-forties, tan skin, with silver curling at his temples—studies me through the rearview mirror. His eyes drift over the oversized hoodie swallowing my frame, the tear still clinging to the corner of my lashes, the paper crumpled in my fist.
He exhales, low and slow.
“You’re either going to your death,” he mutters, shifting the gear into drive, “or you’re someone I shouldn’t mess with.”
Then he nods to the seat beside me. “Get in. Buckle up.”
I do.
We drive.
Melbourne unfolds in streaks. The red-light flickers against the taxi roof, city noise fading behind us. The buildings blur. I press my forehead to the window and feel my heart crash against my chest.
Mico’s ring still burns in memory. The way it felt on my skin. The pressure of it—like a seal, a promise, a future carved out before I’d even said yes. And yet, the second it slipped onto my finger, I knew.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want him .
Not like this. Not as the safe option. Not if it meant I’d always be the girl someone had to rescue. Someone who stayed small.
I wanted to be something .
I wanted to be more.
And I wanted the man who said he could satisfy me. The one who looked at me like I was already dangerous .
The cab rolls to a stop just before the iron gates.
We both look at the towering mansion beyond it.
The driver whistles. “You sure?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes.”
He honks twice.
The gates groan open.
I reach into my pocket, fumbling for cash, but before I can speak, he waves me off.
“Keep it,” he says. “I don’t want anything to do with whatever this is.”
I hesitate. “Thank you.”
He offers a half-smile and drives off.
The wind catches the edge of my hoodie as I stand alone in the driveway. I hike the sleeves higher on my arms, feel the sweat along my back. Gravel crunches under my shoes as I walk toward the main entrance.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
The doors swing open.
He steps out.
He’s barefoot, casually dressed in black slacks and a faded linen shirt undone to the chest. The sun throws gold against his collarbones. Matteo looms just behind him, arms crossed, watchful.
But it’s his eyes I meet.
His gaze pins me in place.
I stop at the bottom step.
“I accept your offer,” I say. “I’ll marry you.”
My voice is steady, but my hands tremble.
“We need to do it quickly,” I add, breath catching. “Before Mico finds me.”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
He tilts his head, studying me with something like hunger and triumph twisted together.
“I told you you’d come back.”