Chapter 74
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Lily
Song- Tightrope, Michelle Williams
I don’t want to wake up, because it feels like I’m entering a nightmare. It’s making me feel physically ill.
Not anxiety-wrong. Not panic-wrong.
Just… sick.
My throat is raw like I’ve been swallowing glass in my sleep, my head feels stuffed with cotton, and my skin can’t decide whether it wants to burn or freeze. When I try to roll onto my side, dizziness hits so hard I have to grip the sheets and wait for the room to stop tilting.
Flu is the only thing I can think of. That’s what this is. It has to be.
My mind isn’t racing, and I’m not fighting memories or panic, so it can’t be a panic attack. But, there is that nagging thought in the back of my head. The reason I woke up in the middle of the night looking at my calendar app.
The dates fit. And so do some of the symptoms. I don’t want to say it out loud. Incase it’s not real. That it’s not something we deserve.
I blink slowly, forcing my eyes to focus, and that’s when I see him.
Drago is standing at the end of the bed, topless, already dressed from the waist down, pulling on black pants.
The morning light slants through the curtains and spills across his bare torso, catching the hard lines of muscle, the shadows of his tattoos, and the scars that are slashed along his side.
My stomach flips. Which is ridiculous, considering I feel like I might throw up. But my body doesn’t care about logic where he’s concerned.
He glances over his shoulder and catches me staring.
A wicked smile touches his mouth. “Morning, baby,” he murmurs.
My voice comes out rough, like my throat hates me. “Morning.”
He takes a step closer, and my eyes track every inch of him. The flex of his shoulders. The way the tattoos over his scars shift when he moves. He reaches the bed and leans down, pressing the back of his fingers to my cheek.
His smile disappears instantly. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.
I swallow. “I feel like crap.”
It feels like I’m lying to him by keeping this thought to myself. He needs to keep his head on his mission. Not worrying about me and the baby I may or may not be carrying.
His hand slides to my forehead, then down my neck, checking me like he can count my heartbeat through my pulse. His gaze drags over my face, taking in everything. As if he just qualified as a doctor.
And the worry that crosses his expression is so raw it almost hurts. “What do you need?” he asks quietly. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”
Never leave me is what I want to say.
My chest tightens at the softness in his voice, at how helpless it sounds coming from a man built for war.
I blink slowly, trying to find words through the fog. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just… I feel weak. Water and some painkillers?”
He leans closer, lips brushing my forehead.
“Okay,” he murmurs, like it’s a promise. “I’ve got you.”
He cups my cheek, thumb stroking under my eye. Wait.
“No. No painkillers. Just water,” I blurt out.
He frowns, assessing my face. I keep my lips tightly shut. It’s like this secret is going to spill out whether I like it or not.
I have no idea what I can and can’t take. I need a pregnancy test before I do anything.
“You know what today is, right? You know the rules,” he says. As if he didn’t run through them in extreme detail last night.
He showed me the panic room again, now linked to my thumbprint, too.
He showed me how to use the monitors. He told me what was happening at the church.
The necklace. I am upset that I’m losing the necklace itself—even if we have the information, it was really pretty and a present from my dad.
But, if it saves the life of the man I love, it’s gone. I don’t care.
“No one in or out of this house today. Decadence is on complete lockdown,” he says firmly. “You’re staying here. You don’t answer the door. You don’t go near the gates. You don’t leave your bedroom unless Lev is with you. Understood?”
My stomach twists.
My dad is staying behind to protect me.
That fact should soothe me, but it presses down heavier instead, because it means today is exactly as dangerous as everyone has been pretending it isn’t. And if my dad is here, who is protecting Drago?
I nod, throat tight. “Yes.”
“I hate leaving you,” he murmurs.
“I hate you going,” I whisper back, voice breaking.
He exhales as it hits him in the ribs. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “The second it’s over, I’m coming home.”
I nod, chest too tight for air.
He stands and walks to the chair near the dresser. And that’s when my stomach drops.
The bulletproof vest is sitting there. Like it’s normal. Like my man doesn’t have to armor himself to walk into a church full of monsters.
Fear slams into me as Drago picks it up.
“Drago…” I whisper.
He pauses, vest in his hands, and looks at me. Really looks at me.
His face softens instantly, and he crosses the room, setting the vest down like it’s too heavy to hold, while I’m looking at him like this. He crouches beside the bed again, taking my face gently between his hands.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” my voice cracks.
His thumb wipes my cheek. “Don’t look at me like you’re going to say goodbye.”
“I can’t help it,” I whisper. “You’re basically putting on armor.”
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I see the truth he’s trying to hide. The fact that he knows exactly how dangerous today is, and he just refuses to let it touch me.
“This is precaution,” he says. “We’ve got men everywhere. The Quinn’s army. Enzo’s. Frankie and Mikhail. We’re not walking in blind.”
“But what if—”
What if he never gets to be a dad? What if he doesn’t get a chance to see his baby grow up? What if I’m left to do this all by myself?
I’m not sure I’m strong enough on my own.
He kisses me hard, cutting me off before the thought spirals. When he pulls back, his voice is rough. “I love you,” he whispers. “You hear me?”
I nod, tears spilling again. “I love you,” I whisper back.
His eyes shine faintly, because this is wrecking him too.
“You’re my reason,” he murmurs. “My center. My fucking home.”
My heart aches.
He kisses me again, slower now, like he’s imprinting himself into my bones.
Then he stands, grabs the vest, and slides it on over his bare torso. One strap. Then another. The sound of the clips feels too loud in the quiet room. He tightens the sides, adjusts it like he’s done it a thousand times. Like my heart isn’t cracking with every movement.
I sit up a little, and my head starts to spin, but I don’t make it obvious. I can’t be a distraction that gets him killed.
He looks over immediately. “Stay in bed.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, even though I’m not.
He finishes the last strap and comes back to me, hands cradling my face again like he can’t stop touching me. “I need you to do exactly what I say today,” he murmurs.
I nod.
“Just get some rest, and by the time you wake up, I’ll be cuddled right beside you.”
“Yes.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. He wants another kiss. I can tell.
He takes it. And it’s like a goodbye wrapped in love.
When he pulls back, he stands again, turning back to the dresser.
This time, he grabs the white shirt and buttons it up over the vest. Like if he looks calm enough, death will hesitate.
His phone buzzes somewhere behind him, dragging him back to reality.
And at the exact same time, my phone rings beside me.
MOM.
My stomach twists.
Drago’s eyes flick to the screen, his expression shifting instantly into cold assessment.
I swallow hard and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Lily!” she says brightly, too bright for this early. “I’m heading back home today.”
I blink. “Home?”
“Yes. I’ve had some cleaning jobs come in,” she says, like it’s exciting news, like she’s proud of herself. “And I thought… maybe we could do lunch?”
My throat tightens.
Lunch.
Normal. Casual. A mother and daughter moment.
In the middle of a day that feels like a countdown.
“I can’t today,” I say softly, trying to keep it gentle. “I’m really busy.”
There’s a pause.
“Oh,” she says, voice dropping into something wounded. “Busy.”
I close my eyes for a second. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t feel very well either. I think I’ve got the flu.”
Another pause.
Then she sighs, like I’ve disappointed her without even trying. Maybe it would have been nice to speak to my mom about this. I could work out where she got it wrong to make sure I don’t ever do that to my own kid.
“This is my last day here, Lily,” she says quietly. “I thought… I thought you wanted me in your life again.”
My chest tightens. “I do,” I whisper.
“I don’t know when I’ll next be able to visit,” she continues, softer now, turning it into something that sounds like heartbreak. “I’m trying, Lily. I’m trying so hard to be your mom again. And it feels like you don’t even want me.”
That guilt hits instantly. Because I do want her in my life. Or at least, I’m trying to rebuild something.
I just don’t know if I can trust her yet. I don’t know if she’s safe, if she’s stable, if she’s being honest. I don’t know how to undo years of damage with a few lunch trips.
And I feel really sick.
Drago is dressed for war.
My entire body feels stretched too thin.
“Mom,” I whisper, voice shaking, “it’s not that. It’s just a really bad day for me.”
“How bad can lunch be?” she presses gently, too gently. Like she already knows how to make me fold. Even as a kid, she had a way of convincing me to go places with her.
“We don’t even have to stay long. Half an hour. I’ll look after you.”
I swallow hard. “I-I can’t leave the house, Mom. I’m really too sick to even drive.” It’s a half lie. I can’t leave the house because there is a war.
She doesn’t know that safety has a very different meaning in my world now.
“I’m not alone,” I say. “I have people here.”