Chapter Twenty-seven
Lorenzo
“So, is this how we’re going to spend our New Year?” Lev asks, bored, leaning against the hood of the car. “Spying on the woman you’re obsessed with while she’s having dinner with her annoying friends?”
We’re parked across the street from Serena’s mansion. Engine off. Windows tinted. From this distance, I can see movement through the glass. Shadows crossing the room. Laughter. Warmth. The kind of warmth I’m no longer allowed inside.
“You seem to like one of her friends,” I tell him calmly, knowing exactly how to annoy him. He fucking annoys me too.
Since the twenty-fifth, Serena decided she needs time away from me. Space. Distance. So here I am, like a sorry fuck, watching her from the outside, forcing Lev and Andres to keep me company so I don’t look like a creep standing here alone, staring at the woman I love through reinforced glass.
Lev scoffs. “Yeah. Kylie’s pretty decent.”
I roll my eyes. He doesn’t even try to sell the lie.
Andres takes a slow bite of his apple, far too relaxed for the tension in the room.
“I’m more into Clara,” he says casually, smirking at Lev.
His eyes gleam with deliberate provocation.
“I can’t stop picturing her dancing in front of me.
” He tilts his head slightly. “Maybe in that lace outfit she wore.”
Easy rage bait.
“Shut the fuck up, Rivera,” Lev grunts, jaw tightening.
Andres looks pleased with himself. He always does when he gets that reaction.
Of course, Lev can’t leave it alone. He never does.
“Actually,” he says, pretending to consider it seriously, “now that you mention it, I might explore the concept of a threesome.” He taps his chin thoughtfully.
“Kylie and that feral friend of hers. What was her name?” He looks at Andres with a slow grin. “Oh. Right. Sienna.”
Andres shrugs again. “Boyfriend. Sharp teeth. Bad idea.”
Lev grins. “Just the way I like it.”
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Mother.
Right. Christmas.
I didn’t forget to call her. Not really. After the incident, after I killed the piece of shit who grabbed Serena in front of me, I went back to my own place for the first time in a month and slept there. Alone. Because Serena wanted space.
I don’t fucking get it.
If it were up to me, I would’ve skinned him alive while he apologized to her again and again and again. But I didn’t. I ended it fast. Clean. I thought that was me trying to be better for her. I thought she’d see it as mercy.
Apparently, she wants me to stop ending lives altogether.
Which is not fucking possible.
I agreed to give her time. To let her sort her thoughts.
To think about us. But I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of backing off.
Even if she asks me to. I understand that she wants a quiet life.
A safe life. I can give her that to a certain extent.
But I am who I am. I can’t erase everything I’ve built and take a nine-to-five job like the world would suddenly forget my name.
While I give her the power to choose, I know what she wants. She doesn’t want quiet. She doesn’t want safe. She wants to feel alive. She wants to be consumed. That’s why she fell in love with me.
Still, I’ll give her time. For now.
I take a few steps away from Lev and Andres. They’re loud. And I need privacy. This is the first time I’m speaking to my mother since I found out the truth about my father.
The phone keeps vibrating in my hand.
I exhale slowly.
Then I answer.
“Hi, Mother.”
“Lorenzo, my son,” she says softly, and just hearing her voice makes something tighten in my chest. “I’ve missed you so much.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “I wanted to call you sooner, but Nicolas told me you were busy.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I say, because this time I don’t lie. I’ve been the worst son imaginable. Months without a call. No excuses that matter. “Work’s been. . . busy. I didn’t have much free time.” It isn’t entirely a lie. I’ve been busy trying to keep the woman I love alive.
“I won’t take much of your time, son,” she says gently.
“I have time, Mom,” I answer immediately. And I mean it.
Her breathing sounds uneven on the other end of the line. Too shallow. Too fast. A familiar fear crawls up my spine. I wonder if she stopped taking her medication again.
“I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year,” she says. “I’m sure you and Serena will be celebrating together tonight.”
I almost laugh at that. Almost.
“And,” she continues, her tone shifting, growing heavier, “I wanted to tell you something else.”
“Is everything alright at home?” I ask, already tense. My mind goes immediately to Luciano. To threats. To blood. To consequences.
“Yes,” she replies softly. “But I need to talk to you about your father.”
My grip tightens around the phone. “What do you mean?”
She inhales sharply again. I open a message thread with Nicolas and type quickly, asking him to check on her. He replies instantly. He’s already there. That does nothing to calm me.
“When you came to Florence with Serena,” she says, “I told you your father didn’t die of a heart attack.”
She pauses. “Please don’t interrupt me. If you do, I’ll lose the courage to finish this.”
I swallow hard. My throat feels dry, tight, like I’m being slowly strangled.
“Your father was killed,” she says.
I hear her cry then. Quiet. Broken. It cracks something in my chest.
“And because it’s the end of the year,” she continues through her tears, “and because I want to have an honest relationship with you and Serena. . . because I hope you’ll find the strength to forgive me, the way I finally found the strength to tell the truth.
. .” Her voice trembles. “I need you to know everything.”
I close my eyes.
“Because, son,” she whispers, her voice breaking completely now, “I killed your father.”
The words land like a gunshot, but they don’t shock me. Not really. They sink in slowly, heavily.
“Not because I wanted to,” she rushes on, desperate. “I thought he was someone else. Someone who hurt me. Those people are dead now, and I can finally say it out loud.” She sobs. “I was ill, Lorenzo. I still am. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was an accident.”
Her pain is real. Raw. Unbearable.
“I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after this,” she adds softly. “I loved your father with all my heart. I will never forgive myself. I just. . . learned how to live with myself.”
Live with myself.
The words echo in my head.
Serena’s voice. Her tears. Her shaking hands. Her saying she wants to be able to live with herself. That she wants our children to make choices they can live with.
This isn’t the same. And yet. . . it is.
“I know,” I say quietly.
The line goes silent.
And on the other end of the phone, my mother breaks down.
“What?” she asks, her voice cracking with shock.
Since Andres is wiping every trace of this conversation anyway, I let myself speak freely. This is why I let her confess. This is why I didn’t stop her.
“I don’t have to forgive you, Mom,” I tell her quietly. Firm. Certain. “Because you were a victim of John’s sexual assault. And Thomas manipulated you and my father until you both broke.”
I hear her inhale sharply, a sob trapped in her chest.
“John confessed before I killed him,” I continue, my voice steady. “And Thomas confirmed everything.” I pause. “I didn’t tell you because I don’t blame you. Not for a second.”
She starts crying harder.
“You were a victim, Mother,” I say, slower now. “Just like my father was.” My jaw tightens. “And I hope you know he isn’t angry for what happened. He forgives you.” My voice lowers. “You don’t need forgiveness from me. I understand you.”
The silence on the line is heavy, thick with grief.
“Thank you,” she whispers through tears. “Do you think. . . do you think I’ll ever be able to come and visit you and Serena?”
That does it. Something in my chest fractures.
She hasn’t been to New York in ten years. Ten years of fear. Ten years of running from ghosts. And now she’s asking me for permission, like she doesn’t already belong in my life.
“Mom,” I say firmly, “my home will always be your home. You can visit anytime.”
I hesitate for half a second, wondering if I should tell her about the pregnancy. About the twins. But this isn’t my truth to give away. Serena deserves that choice. If she wants to tell her, she will.
“Thank you, son,” she says softly. “I miss you. And I miss Serena. Maybe I’ll come in spring.” She pauses. “Could you give me Serena’s number? If she’s comfortable with that. I’d like to. . . connect with her.”
That’s perfect.
“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll text it to you later.”
“Happy New Year, my son,” she says. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mother,” I reply.
The call ends.
I barely lower the phone when Andres’ voice cuts through the night.
“Lauren Beaumont just arrived in Manhattan.”
I close my eyes for a moment. Just one.
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter.
Lev grins beside me. “Isn’t that your mother-in-law?”
He’s not wrong.
Even if Serena’s mother is poison. Even if she’s done nothing but hurt her. She’s still Serena’s mother.
And that’s exactly why she’s still breathing.
“I can’t kill her,” I say flatly. “Serena might forgive me for killing her father.” My jaw tightens. “But I don’t think she’d be so forgiving if I killed her bitch mother too.”
Yet.
And that last thought stays right where it belongs.
“Can we at least go grab some burgers?” Lev asks, irritation lacing his voice. “It’s almost midnight, and I’m not starting the new year hungry.”
I glance at the house again, lights glowing softly through the windows. She’s in there. Laughing. Breathing. Alive. That’s all that matters right now.
“We can order something,” I say, rubbing a hand over my jaw. I’m fucking hungry too. “Or you two can go get burgers. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them.”
Andres raises a brow slowly, unimpressed. “You know there are guards assigned to protect her. Protect them. Right?”