26. Serafina
CHAPTER 26
Serafina
I scramble out of my car, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I sprint towards the source of the light, my feet pounding against the pavement, praying that it's not too late.
But it is.
I lean against the cold brick, shadowed in an alley that reeks of decay. Lucas stands over a crumpled figure, his chest heaving, dark hair plastered to his forehead. The silenced pistol in his hand trembles slightly—a stark contrast to the solid mass of muscle and resolve that I know him to be.
"Lucas..." My whisper barely carries over the pounding of my heart.
"What are you doing here?" His voice is a low growl, the grey depths of his eyes meeting mine for a split second before returning to the lifeless body at his feet.
My mind races, a torrent of fear and adoration clashing like thunderheads. There's no doubt that I fucking love this man, from the gentle brush of his calloused fingers against my cheek to the way he says my name as though it's prayer and curse all wrapped in one. But here, in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, he's not just my Lucas—he's officially a sicario, an executioner molded by the hands of my own family.
"Mi amore," I murmur, the Italian term of endearment slipping out. It's both a comfort and a dagger, a reminder of what they are—of what I could lose.
"I can't believe I've done this," he whispers back, his words mixing with the tension in the air.
"Lo so," I reply, my own Italian words wrapping around them. I know.
I watch him stand there, a statue carved from pain and duty. Every instinct screams at me to run to him, to erase the blood that stains his soul. But I'm frozen between the love that binds me to him and the horror of the darkness that now taints our world.
"Why did you do it?" My question is soft, a plea for understanding.
"You know I had no choice. It's my job now," he answers, his eyes never leaving the body.
Just then, the blaring sirens reach our ears. Distant at first, they slice through the night, growing louder, closer. Panic's icy fingers curl around my heart. I know the sound all too well—the harbinger of chaos, the anthem of my family's double-edged legacy.
"Merda," I hiss, the Italian slipping out as naturally as my next breath. I grab Lucas's arm, my nails digging in. "The cops."
"Let's go," he agrees, holstering the weapon and reaching for my hand with a touch that promises more than just escape—it promises a chance at salvation for both of us, at least for one fleeting moment.
His hand is warm, the warmth of life—a stark contrast to the coldness of death he just dealt. His eyes meet mine, a storm brewing within them.
We sprint, our footsteps echoing off the walls, a frantic drumbeat against the crescendo of wailing sirens. The night air whips past us, carrying the stench of garbage and the tang of fear.
"Almost there..." Lucas pants, pulling me along.
"Where even is 'there' anymore, Lucas?" I shoot back, half laughing, half sobbing. It's a hollow laugh tinged with hysteria. "To another dark alley where our souls get a little more lost?"
"Anywhere but here, Sera," he says, his voice steady despite the madness unfolding around us.
"Great plan," I retort, sarcasm my shield against the terror.
We dodge into a narrower passage, the graffiti-strewn walls closing in like judgmental spectators to their plight. My mind races, thoughts scattered like the pieces of the life I once thought I knew. Ahead, the promise of escape—or perhaps just another illusion.
"Keep moving, mi Reina," Lucas urges, his Spanish a comforting melody amid the dissonance of our reality.
Lucas skids around a corner, my hand clutched tight in his. The city's pulse hammers against the soles of our feet, every step an echo of desperation.
"Lucas, stop!" My voice cracks, breathless. "We need to think!"
He hesitates for a second, and that's all I need. I tug at his arm, pulling him into the shadow of a fire escape.
"Think? Sera, there's no time," he says, the words coming out ragged.
"We can't keep running blindly!" I fire back, my chest tight with panic and something else—something like grief.
Lucas's brow furrows; pain and resolve war behind his eyes. "What do you suggest we do then?"
"Amore mio, listen to me." I grab his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. "There's blood on your hands now. My family's darkness—it's swallowing you whole. I can't see you like this. We need to get out of town."
"You know it's more complicated than that," he counters, his voice breaking.
"Please! We can start somewhere new. Together." My green eyes shimmer with unshed tears, reflecting the flickering light from a neon sign above. "I don't give a fuck if it's in the middle of nowhere as long as it's with you."
"Damn it, Sera..." Lucas chokes on his words, his throat thickening with emotion. "You know that I can't. Sicarios are killed if they run."
The sirens in the distance wail louder, a reminder of the line he's crossed—a line we can never uncross.
"But I can at least protect you," he grits out.
"Protect me?" I scoff, my laugh brittle. "Lucas, look at me—I don't need saving."
"Then what do you need?" he asks, raw and seeking.
I search his grey eyes, once a wellspring of tenderness, now a turbulent sea. "I need the man who fought for hope, not the one who kills for it."
His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then resignation settles over his features, and he pulls me close.
"We gotta keep moving," I hiss, grabbing Lucas's hand. My pulse thunders in my ears, a drumbeat urging us to move. "I need you to trust me."
"Which way?" Lucas pants, his gaze darting down the alley's dark mouth.
"Left. There's a back way through Rossi's Deli."
"Rossi's? At this hour?"
"It'll be fine." I pull him along, muscles coiled tight, every sense on high alert.
We burst out of the alley and into the night, the distant sirens now a shrill crescendo. Lucas skids on the damp pavement, but my grip is iron, unfaltering. We weave between shadows, our feet pounding against the concrete, a desperate rhythm.
"How do you know these streets so well?" Lucas grunts as we round a sharp corner.
"Perks of being a Mancini," I retort, the irony bitter on my tongue.
"Since when did perks include escape routes?"
"Since always," I breathe out, my chest tight with the run and the fear that claws at my insides.
We duck under a dimly lit archway, the scent of oregano and aged cheese greeting us like an old friend turned traitor. The deli, once a place of comfort, is now a passage to fleeting safety. My hand doesn't shake as I punch in the security code, the numbers etched into my memory.
"Come on," I urge as the door clicks open.
"Jesus, Sera, if anyone finds out?—"
"Then we're dead either way," I cut him off, my voice steel-wrapped in velvet. "Keep up."
We slip through the stainless steel kitchen and silence - our only witnesses. A chef's knife glints on the counter, and for a second, I hesitate, considering the weight of it in my hand – protection or burden?
"Leave it," Lucas whispers, reading my thoughts. "You're lethal enough without it."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," I quip, but my heart isn't in it.
Not tonight.
"Especially out of trouble," he counters, half-smile flickering in the dark.
"Shh!" I press a finger to his lips, then I point to the delivery exit. A sliver of light frames the door, promising freedom.
"Tu primero," he murmurs 'you first,' but I shake my head.
"Together," I insist, because if we're going down, it'll be side by side.
We slip through the door, emerging into the chilled embrace of the night. I cast one last look back at the deli, at the life I'm leaving behind. Then I'm running again, Lucas's hand in mine, our fate entwined in the shadows of Oakland's underbelly.
After we leave the deli, we quickly locate my car. Our men usually carry out hits with no getaway vehicles to link them to us, so I don't waste time worrying about potential repercussions as we speed towards the vehicle and hop inside. Lucas slams my car door, and the engine roars to life. His hands grip the wheel, knuckles white. We peel out of the alley, tires screeching against the unforgiving asphalt. The rearview mirror reflects a ghostly version of me—a woman with soft black hair and haunted green eyes.
The city blurs past us, an abstract painting of lights and shadows. I glance at Lucas and see his jaw tight as he stares ahead.
We drive on, silence settling between us, heavy as the night sky. Two souls who found love in each other, hopes and dreams of having a normal life together, now navigating through the darkness we never imagined would become our reality.
The car veers into an abandoned warehouse lot, and its tires crunch on gravel. Lucas kills the headlights and plunges them into darkness. My pulse thumps in my ears and syncs with the ticking of the cooling engine. We're alone and safe for now.
"Here we are," Lucas whispers, his hand still entwined with mine.
"Where are we?" My voice is a mere breath as I survey the shadows that drape the interior of our makeshift sanctuary.
"Somewhere safe."