Chapter 31
T he car speeds through the darkness, trees and buildings blurring past my window. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering without my coat. The night air still streams through the partially open window, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
"You okay?" Daniel asks, his eyes flicking between me and the road.
"Fine," I lie, my voice thin and brittle.
But I'm not fine. My chest tightens with each passing mile. The familiar pressure builds behind my ribs—the start of a panic attack. Not now. I can't fall apart now.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Small, controlled breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Just like Daniel taught me during that first night in the panic room. It is strange that it took me so long to learn the tactic.
"We're going to be okay," Daniel says, reaching for my hand.
I nod but keep my eyes closed. I need to find my center before the panic consumes me.
I think of my studio. The smell of oil paints and turpentine. The texture of canvas beneath my fingertips.
I imagine dipping my brush into cerulean blue, the color of calm seas. I see myself making long, sweeping strokes across blank canvas. Blue bleeding into white. Creating something from nothing.
My breathing slows as I weave deeper into the memory.
I remember the first painting I completed after the attack. Nothing special. But it was mine. Proof that I could still create beauty after experiencing such ugliness.
The memory shifts to my nineteenth birthday. Enzo had surprised me with tickets to the Guggenheim. We spent hours wandering through the spiral galleries, arguing about abstract expressionism and eating overpriced sandwiches in the café.
"You're going to be bigger than all these dead guys someday," Enzo had told me, gesturing at a Kandinsky.
I'd laughed and shoved him playfully. "You're obligated to say that. You're my brother."
"Doesn't make it less true," he'd replied, completely serious.
The memory warms me from the inside. I focus on that feeling—the certainty in Enzo's voice, the lightness in my heart, the endless possibilities that stretched before me.
My breathing steadies. The tightness in my chest loosens its grip.
I open my eyes to find Daniel watching me at a stoplight, concern etched across his face.
"Better?" he asks softly.
"Better," I confirm, surprised to find it's true. "Just using some techniques my therapist taught me."
Daniel nods, understanding without needing explanation.
The light turns green, and we move forward again. I look out at the unfamiliar landscape rushing past, feeling strangely calm despite everything.
"I used to imagine colors when I felt panic coming," I tell him, my voice steadier now.
Daniel takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "What color are you thinking of now?"
I consider this for a moment. "Indigo. Deep and certain. The color of night sky just before complete darkness."
"Sounds beautiful," he says.
"It is," I reply, squeezing his hand. "It really is."
But as the words leave my mouth, something cold and terrible washes over me. Daniel is going to die because of me.
Not might die. Will die.
I've known it all along, haven't I? Somewhere deep down. But now the knowledge sits heavy and undeniable in my chest. Damiano will never stop hunting us. The Sartoris won't forgive this insult. The Russians are still out there.
Daniel Hayes is a dead man walking, and it's all because of me.
I stare at his profile as he drives. The strong line of his jaw, the focused intensity in his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows as he scans the road ahead. Memorizing him. Because soon he'll be gone.
"What's wrong?" he asks, catching my stare.
I force a smile. "Nothing. Just tired."
An hour later, we pull into another motel parking lot. This one looks even more run-down than the last. Peeling paint, flickering neon sign, cracked concrete. Perfect for disappearing.
"Wait here," Daniel says, squeezing my hand. "I'll talk to the owner and get us a room."
I nod, watching as he approaches the small office. Through the window, I can see him speaking with an older woman with gray-streaked hair. She looks tired but kind.
Then I notice another woman—younger, maybe in her thirties—walking toward the restrooms at the side of the building.
"Daniel," I call out, opening my car door. He turns back to me. "I need to use the bathroom. I can't hold it anymore."
He frowns slightly. "Don't be long. And be careful."
I hurry toward the restrooms, catching up to the woman just as she reaches the door.
"Excuse me," I say, following her inside.
The bathroom is small and dingy.
The woman glances at me curiously as she washes her hands.
"Please," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Can I use your phone? I need to make a call. It's an emergency."
She hesitates, studying my face. I must look terrible. Whatever she sees in my eyes convinces her.
"Okay," she says, reaching into her purse and pulling out a smartphone. "But make it quick."
My hands shake as I take the phone from her. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
I turn away slightly, punching in the number I know by heart. My breath comes in short, panicked gasps as I wait for someone to answer.
The woman watches me with concern, but stays quiet, giving me this small privacy in the cramped space.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. My heart hammers against my ribs. What if he doesn't answer? What if?—
"Who is this?" Damiano's voice cuts through, cold and sharp.
"It's me," I whisper, turning further away from the woman who lent me her phone. "It's Lucrezia."
Silence stretches for one terrible moment. I can almost see him—sitting straight in his leather chair, knuckles white around his phone, jaw clenched tight.
"Where are you?" His voice is dangerously calm.
"Pine Ridge Motel." I swallow hard. "I want to come home."
"Stay where you are. We're coming for you." There's rustling on his end, the sound of movement. "And Hayes?"
My throat tightens. "That's why I'm calling. I'll do whatever you want—marry Bruno, make peace with the Sartoris, anything. But if your men touch Daniel, I'll make sure they have to kill me too."
"Lu—"
"I mean it, Damiano." My voice breaks. "Not a hair on his head. He gets to walk away. That's my condition."
Another silence, longer this time. I can almost hear him calculating, weighing options.
"You understand what you're asking?" His voice drops lower. "Hayes betrayed me. Betrayed our family."
"Because of me," I press my forehead against the cold tile wall. "It was me, Damiano. I asked him to take me away. I seduced him. I manipulated him." The lies taste bitter on my tongue, but I need Damiano to believe them.
"That's not what happened." His voice is flat.
"It is," I insist. "I'll tell you everything when I see you. But please, promise me. Daniel walks away unharmed, and I'll do whatever you need me to do. I'll marry Bruno tomorrow if that's what it takes."
The bathroom door creaks open, and I tense, but it's just another motel guest. I turn my face to the wall.
"Why should I agree to this?" Damiano asks finally.
"Because you love me," I whisper. "And because you know what it's like to lose someone you care about. Don't make me watch him die, Damiano. Please."
I hear him exhale slowly. "Fine. Hayes walks away. "
"They'll be in the parking lot in thirty minutes. Come out alone."
"Tell them to wait until I get out. I don't know how much time I'll need."
"Okay." Damiano says and I can hear how tired he is.
The call ends. I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing.
I hand the phone back to the woman, who's watching me with concern. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"
I shake my head, forcing a smile. "No. Everything's fine now. Thank you for the phone."
She doesn't look convinced, but nods and leaves me alone in the bathroom.
I splash cold water on my face.
I straighten my shoulders and walk out to face Daniel for the last time.
Daniel unlocks the motel room door and steps inside. I follow him, my heart heavy with the knowledge that these are our last moments together.
"It's not much," he says. "But it'll do for tonight."
The room is basic—queen bed with a worn floral comforter, laminate nightstands, a small TV bolted to the dresser. The carpet is thin and stained in places, but clean enough.
I stand frozen by the door, memorizing everything about him. The broad set of his shoulders, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his neck.
Thirty minutes. That's all we have left.
"You okay?" Daniel turns to me, concern etching lines around his eyes. "You've been quiet since we left the last place."
I force myself to move, crossing the room to him. My fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. "I'm just tired," I lie.
His eyes search mine. "We're going to be okay, Lu. I promise."
The certainty in his voice nearly breaks me. He has no idea what's coming.
"Hold me," I whisper, pressing myself against his chest.
His arms wrap around me immediately, strong and secure. I breathe in his scent. Clean sweat, faint traces of his cologne, something uniquely him that I can't name but would recognize anywhere.
I pull back just enough to look at his face.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks softly.
Instead of answering, I kiss him.
I deepen the kiss, pouring everything I can’t say into it. My hands slide under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. He groans low in his throat, his hands already on my hips, pulling me tighter.
“Need you,” I breathe against his mouth. It’s the truth, even now. Especially now. “Right now, Daniel. Please.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His hands are rough and urgent as they strip off his shirt, then mine. His belt buckle clinks, the sound loud in the quiet room.
The air is thick with the scent of our bodies, clean sweat and desire. Outside, the distant rumble of a truck passing by fades beneath the rush of our breathing.
Our bodies collide on the worn comforter. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deep. He feels like everything solid and safe in my world, and my heart cracks a little more.
I bury my face in the curve of his neck, fighting back the hot prick of tears. Not yet. Not now. I kiss his skin, salty and warm.
“Look at me, Lu,” Daniel commands softly, his voice a deep vibration against my ear. He shifts, his weight settling more completely over me.
His eyes are intense, searching mine. “I need to see you.”
I tilt my face up, meeting his steel-blue gaze. I let him see the need, the fire, but I hold the sorrow back. I arch against him, drawing a low groan from his chest. His kiss is hard and possessive, claiming my mouth like he’s staking his claim all over again.
His body moves against mine. Every thrust is a promise, a vow that we’re in this together. I cling to him, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back. The friction builds, tight and perfect. I can feel the heat coiling low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like wildfire.
He whispers my name, a soft curse against my damp skin. His rhythm falters for a second, his control slipping.
“Come for me, Lucrezia,” he rasps, his breath hot on my neck. It’s both an order and a plea.
My release hits like a wave, stealing my breath. A muffled cry escapes me as my body shudders against his. I clutch him tighter, riding the pulses of pleasure that seem to go on and on. His own release follows almost immediately.
With a guttural sound, he pushes deep one final time, then withdraws, his hand quickly working himself. Warmth spills across my lower belly, a startling sensation that makes me gasp softly.
He remains above me for a moment, his body trembling slightly with the aftershock, his head bowed near my shoulder.
We lie tangled, breathing heavily. The scent of sex and sweat fills the small room. I feel the wetness cooling on my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating off him.
“Wow,” I manage, forcing a breathy chuckle. My voice sounds thick to my own ears. I swipe a hand over my damp forehead. “We’re… sticky. Full-on sweaty mess territory here.”
Daniel lets out a low, satisfied laugh against my skin.
His fingers trace idle, soothing patterns on my hip bone. “I like you messy.” He lifts his head, his gaze soft, almost lazy with contentment.
He studies the mark he left on my belly, his thumb brushing gently against my skin. “Want to wash up? We can share the shower.” He nods towards the small bathroom door. “Water pressure’s probably crap, but…”
“Actually,” I say, pushing myself up slowly, avoiding his direct gaze.
“Mind if I just… take a minute alone? I need to… gather my thoughts.” I gesture vaguely towards the bathroom. “A shower alone sounds perfect right now. Just a few minutes of quiet steam.”
He understands needing space, even now. Always.
“Of course,” he says. “Take all the time you need. I’ll… try to find something edible on that channel guide. When you're done I'll go take a shower too.”
I force a small smile. “Thanks.” I walk towards the bathroom, feeling the weight of his gaze on me the whole way.