Chapter Twenty
Serena
I try to relax on the massage table, but my body refuses to cooperate.
The room smells like lavender and warm oil, the music soft and distant, yet my mind keeps dragging me back, back into memories I don’t want, into nightmares that cling to me even when I’m awake.
They come every night now. Sometimes fragments, sometimes whole scenes.
Sleeping has become difficult. Almost impossible.
Unless I’m with Lorenzo.
When he’s there, when his body is wrapped around mine and he’s fucking me until I can’t think, I fall asleep instantly. Like a child. Like nothing in the world could touch me. I feel safe with him. Completely, terrifyingly safe.
And that scares me.
Because the moment he’s not around, I’m tense again.
Looking over my shoulder. Counting exits.
Bracing for something I can’t name. I keep telling myself I need distance from him, that this closeness is dangerous, but I don’t even know why I feel this way.
Just that the honeymoon will end soon. I can feel it in my bones.
So why does he have to be so perfect?
The birthday gift. Gosh. It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. The flowers. The care. The way I realized, almost immediately, that the spa, the shopping, the entire day was his doing. The moment we walked into the Moretti Grand Hotel; I knew.
I let it go.
I told myself it was okay to accept kindness.
That it was okay to let someone give you nice things without paying for them in blood later.
I spent his money, new clothes, a completely new wardrobe, and more books than I want to admit.
Special editions. Rare covers. Things that made my heart ache with joy.
But he wants to give me so much.
And I don’t know how to take it without breaking.
I wonder how long I can live in this strange, delusional state, where I pretend I’m not sleeping in the same house as the man who killed my father. Where I’m fucking the man who killed my father almost every day.
No normal person thinks like this.
And yet, there’s relief tangled in the horror.
That makes me feel disgusting. Like something inside me is rotten. But then I remember what my father did. The way he forced me into that engagement. How he tried to control me. Own me. Take everything from me.
My stomach twists. I feel nauseous.
I remember the word whore on his lips when he found out about Lorenzo.
I know he was my father. I know he probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But how do you grieve someone when their absence feels like freedom?
Since he died, besides the kidnapping, I’ve been. . . happy.
Happy that I don’t have to see my mother anymore. Happy she disappeared after the funeral. Happy I don’t have to sit in that office and slowly suffocate. Happy I can write. Happy that with Lorenzo, we could have been so good together.
And now there’s nothing stopping us.
Except there is.
Even in death, my father is still between us. And now, Luciano’s daughter.
The thought hits me hard, sharp and sudden.
Jealousy coils in my chest, ugly and hot. I hate how intense everything feels lately. Every emotion amplified, raw. I blame the pregnancy hormones again, because blaming them is easier than admitting how deeply this hurts.
The idea of Lorenzo with another woman makes me feel sick.
How did the tables turn so completely? A few months ago, I was the one being forced into a marriage. Now it’s him. It’s like the universe is mocking us. Like it’s telling us to stop trying.
Maybe it’s a sign.
But the jealousy doesn’t listen to reason.
A mafia princess. I imagine her, beautiful, flawless, always put together. Sexy dresses. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. And then I think about myself. My changing body. My exhaustion. The days I don’t even bother with makeup anymore, just skincare and surrender.
I tell myself Lorenzo is painfully hot. They’d probably look perfect together.
And that thought almost breaks me.
The massage therapist’s hands move gently over my shoulders, but my chest feels tight, my thoughts too loud.
Then my phone vibrates.
Once.
I open my eyes and reach for it, my fingers suddenly cold.
UNKNOWN: The monster deserved to die. He did the right thing.
My stomach drops.
“What the hell?” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Sienna lifts her head from the massage table beside me, brows knitting together. The other girls don’t react, thank God. They don’t know the truth. Not really. They don’t know what my father was. What he did.
“What happened?” Sienna asks quietly.
I don’t answer. I just turn the phone toward her.
Her eyes scan the screen.
“What the fuck?” she blurts out.
“Yeah,” I murmur, still staring at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. “That was my exact reaction.”
She looks at me carefully now, cautious. “Do you think it’s Lorenzo?”
The question makes my chest tighten. I think about him. His control. His directness. The way he never hides behind shadows.
“No,” I say after a moment. “It’s not his style.” I swallow. “He’d never send me messages from an unknown number.”
Sienna nods slowly. “You’re right.” She exhales. “Then who the hell is it?”
I try to think. Someone who hated my father enough to call him a monster. Someone who knows, or suspects, that Lorenzo killed him. But the thoughts slip through my fingers. No one knows. Officially, it was a car accident. That’s what the news said. That’s what the world believes.
And if hatred were the clue, the list would be endless.
My father was despised by too many people, men who smiled to his face and sharpened knives the moment he turned his back.
The realization makes my skin prickle, a slow, cold awareness crawling up my spine.
This person isn’t just watching from the shadows.
They know something. Something real. Something dangerous.
And worse, they want me to know that they know.
I lock my phone, my hands trembling slightly, and lie back against the table, but the room no longer feels safe, the lavender scent suddenly suffocating.
The monster deserved to die.
The words echo in my head.
“Maybe I could ask Knox to check it out?” Sienna says carefully. “If you’re okay with that.”
I nod. “Yeah. If that’s alright.”
There’s a pause, the kind that settles heavy between friends, and then the question slips out of me before I can stop it. “What’s going on with you and Knox, anyway?”
Her face drains of color. Sienna has never been good at hiding things.
“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I guess we’re. . . back together?”
“But why?” I ask gently. I’ve listened to her cry too many nights about that open relationship. About feeling like she was never enough.
She looks at me with tired, soft eyes. “I honestly don’t know. We’ve been together for so long, Serena. He just feels. . . safe?”
“Are you asking me?” I tilt my head, watching her carefully. I already know the answer.
Her gaze drifts somewhere past me. “I was so lonely when we were apart. And when he’s not being an asshole, he’s really sweet. Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about him.” A small grin appears. “Especially after sex.”
I squeeze her hand. “But maybe you deserve more than someone who just gives you good orgasms,” I say softly. “Maybe you should be with someone you actually feel deeply for. Someone you know will be there for you.”
She exhales slowly. “I know.” Then, quieter: “He’s been away with his family for a week, and I don’t really miss him. I don’t feel anything.”
That hurts in a way only truth can.
“When he comes back, his new stepmother and stepsister are coming too,” she adds.
“Stepsister?” I blink. “I didn’t know he had siblings.”
“Yeah. His mother died five years ago. He has two brothers, Theo and Silas, and now his dad’s getting married again. Apparently, I’m getting a stepsister-in-law.” She scoffs. “I’ve seen her a few times on holidays. She’s a complete bitch.”
I laugh softly. “Well, I guess you’ll have to get used to her if she’s moving here.”
Sienna rolls her eyes. “That’s the problem. I can’t stand her. I know they’re step-siblings and there’s nothing going on, especially since we’re apparently in an open relationship, but sometimes. . .” She hesitates. “Sometimes I get this feeling that something’s off between them.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I really don’t think he’s screwing his sister.”
I try to laugh it off, but Sienna doesn’t.
“Well, technically she’s his stepsister,” she says flatly. “They’re not related. I don’t know. I don’t actually imagine it happening, but—”
She stops suddenly.
“Oh, fuck,” she hisses, her face contorting in pain.
I sit up instantly. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She curls into herself on the massage bed, clutching her stomach. “Yeah, God, yes, it’s just, this hurts so fucking much.” Her voice cracks. “I’m on my period. It’s always like this. I can’t even work when I have it. I take so many painkillers I feel like I’m going to overdose.”
I move closer, rubbing her belly gently. “Have you seen a doctor about this?”
She fumbles in her purse, pulls out two painkillers, and swallows them dry. “Yeah. Apparently, this is just how my periods are. The gynecologist put me on the pill, but it’s still unbearable.”
“What about ultrasounds?” I press, worry settling heavy in my chest.
She takes a long drink of water. “I did them. Everything looks fine. They couldn’t find anything.” Her shoulders sag. “I guess I just have really bad periods.”
She sounds defeated.
And something about that, about pain with no explanation, makes my chest ache in a way I don’t quite understand yet.
“Do you feel better now?” I ask, watching her closely. The tension in her body has eased; the painkillers are finally working.
“Yes,” she says softly. “Sorry.” She exhales. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just. . . it’s been getting worse these past few months.”
I pull her into a hug without thinking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”