Chapter 24 Adrian
Adrian
The bookshop is smaller than I expected.
Antiquarian Rare Books sits wedged between a bodega and a dry cleaner on a street that's seen better days. The storefront window displays leather-bound volumes arranged with care, but the gold lettering on the glass is faded, peeling at the edges.
This is where Sera spent her days. Where she felt safe.
I glance at her. She's been quiet since we left the penthouse, hands folded in her lap, but there's an energy radiating off her that wasn't there before. She bops her leg up and down as though she can't sit still, and the sight of it makes something twist in my chest.
A mixture of want and dread.
Gabe escaped three weeks ago and hasn't surfaced. The Morozovs haven't retaliated for Dimitri yet, which means they're biding their time. And we still don't know who sent the professional hit squad to the safe house—only that they weren't Morozov crew.
Sera is twenty weeks pregnant now. Showing. Anyone with eyes can see she's carrying the Nero heir. She's not just my wife anymore. She's a walking target.
One man with a knife nearly killed her when she was barely pregnant. Now? Now she's a fucking beacon.
"Ready?"
Sera nods, already reaching for the door handle.
I catch her wrist gently. "Wait for Leo."
Her jaw tightens, but she settles back and waits while Leo exits the second SUV and does a sweep of the street. Two more guards take positions outside the shop.
She lets out a sigh, and I know she's not happy about the precautions.
But I'm not taking any chances.
"All clear," Leo says through the comms.
I open Sera's door and offer my hand. She takes it, stepping out onto the sidewalk, and I see her shoulders relax the moment her feet hit the pavement.
The bell above the door chimes as we enter.
The interior smells like old paper and leather, dust and time. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with volumes, a worn Persian rug, a desk buried under books and invoices. Classical music plays softly from a radio somewhere in the back.
It's cramped and cluttered and completely at odds with the sleek, minimalist spaces I'm used to.
And Sera looks more at home here than I've ever seen her.
"Seraphina?"
An older man emerges from behind a velvet curtain at the back of the shop. Seventy, maybe older, wire-rimmed glasses, weathered hands, the kind of face that's seen a lifetime of stories.
Mr. Bolinger.
"Mr. Bolinger!" Sera's voice cracks, and she's moving before I can stop her, crossing the shop in quick steps.
The old man catches her in a hug, and I watch her bury her face against his shoulder. His hand comes up to pat her back, gentle, paternal.
"There now," he murmurs. "There now, kiddo. It's alright."
Leo shifts beside me, hand near his weapon, but I shake my head. Let her have this. Sera hasn't spoken much about the Bolingers, but I know that not seeing them has made things difficult for her.
When Sera finally pulls back, her eyes are wet.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry I disappeared. I should have called more, I should have explained—"
"Hush." Mr. Bolinger cups her face, studying her with the kind of attention I recognize. The way I look at my own people, evaluating, assessing. "You're alright. That's all that matters."
His gaze shifts to me, and I see the exact moment he registers who I am. What I am. His expression doesn't change, but his hand drops from Sera's face, and he steps slightly in front of her.
Protective.
I respect that.
"Mr. Bolinger," Sera says quickly. "This is Adrian. My husband."
The word still sounds strange in her mouth. Uncertain.
"Husband." Mr. Bolinger's eyebrows rise. "That was sudden. When you told me you were getting married, I thought you were joking."
"It's complicated," Sera says.
"I'm sure it is." He doesn't take his eyes off me. "Adrian Nero, I presume?"
So he does know who I am. Not surprising. You don't run a rare book shop in Manhattan for decades without learning to recognize the families that control the city.
"Mr. Bolinger." I extend my hand. "Sera speaks very highly of you."
He stares at my hand for a long moment before taking it. His grip is surprisingly strong for his age.
"She's a good girl," he says. "The best assistant I've ever had. Smart. Dedicated. Kind."
"I know."
"Do you?" His eyes narrow. "Because she disappeared for weeks without more than one phone call, and now she's back married to a man whose family—" He stops himself, glances at Sera. He smiles at her, reassuringly. "Forgive me. I'm protective."
"I would expect nothing less," I say evenly. "She's fortunate to have someone who cares about her welfare."
We're having two conversations at once. The surface one, polite and measured. And the real one underneath: I know what you are. I know what your family does. If you hurt her, there will be consequences.
I almost smile. As if this old man could do anything to me.
But he matters to Sera, so I play nice.
"Things have been difficult," Sera says quietly. "I should have visited sooner. I'm so sorry."
"I'm just glad you're here now." Mr. Bolinger touches her stomach gently. "And that you're well. Both of you."
"Pregnant. Yes." She says it softly. "Twenty weeks."
"Oh, kiddo." He pulls her into another hug, and over her shoulder, his eyes meet mine. The message is clear: You better take care of her.
I nod once. Understanding.
When they separate, Mr. Bolinger gestures to the back room. "Come. Sit. Catch me up on everything."
We follow him through the velvet curtain into a small restoration workspace. A table covered in tools I don't recognize, bottles of solutions and adhesives, brushes, gloves. A work lamp. Books in various states of repair.
This is where Sera disappeared when the world got too heavy. I can see it in the way she trails her fingers over the tools, the almost reverent way she picks up a leather-bound volume.
"First edition Dickens," Mr. Bolinger says. "Someone tried to fix it with scotch tape. Can you believe it?"
"Sacrilege," Sera murmurs, and there's actual pain in her voice.
I watch her examine the book, completely absorbed, and something shifts in my chest.
At the house, I gave her a workspace. Bought her tools. Thought that would be enough, but I can see that there is more to her work than the work itself.
Watching her with Mr. Bolinger, I realize that this is where Sera feels like she belongs, a place where she has a purpose beyond being my wife or carrying my child.
The weight of all this feels heavy on my chest because it's a reminder that there is something I can't give her.
And I fear it's the thing that's going to take her away from me.
"Mr. Bolinger," Sera says carefully, setting down the book. "I need to ask you something."
"Anything, kiddo."
"I want to come back to work."
The words hang in the air.
Mr. Bolinger looks surprised. Then pleased. "Of course! Your position is still—"
"No." I don't mean to say it out loud, but the word is out before I can stop it.
Sera turns to me, and I see the flash of anger in her eyes. The defiance.
"Adrian—"
"It's not safe." I keep my voice even, reasonable. "You know it's not safe."
"I'll have security—"
"Security can't be everywhere." I choose my words carefully, aware of Mr. Bolinger listening. "Think about what happened before. What could happen again." I glance at the old man. "No offense, but this shop isn't equipped to handle the kind of... complications my wife might face."
Mr. Bolinger's expression shifts. He understands what I'm not saying.
"Your wife," he says slowly, "seems perfectly capable of making her own decisions."
"My wife is pregnant with my child." The words come out harder than I intend. "Her safety isn't negotiable."
"My autonomy is," Sera snaps.
We're staring at each other, and I can feel Leo's discomfort from where he's positioned near the door. This is the conversation we should be having in private. Not in front of her former employer.
But Sera doesn't back down.
This is a test. If I say no, lay down the law, I'll lose her. Maybe not today, but eventually.
But I won't risk her. Not ever.
"You can work at home," I hear myself say. "And one day here."
Sera blinks. "What?"
"You want to work? Fine. But on my terms." I cross my arms. "Leo assigns the guards. They stay with you the entire time. Any sign of trouble, any threat at all, and this arrangement ends. Understood?"
She's staring at me, glaring. "Three days."
"No."
Her eyes narrow. "Two days most weeks, and one extra day a month."
"No." My voice is flat. "One day. That's what I can safely give you right now. Once the baby is born and things settle, we'll revisit this."
I want to give her more. God, I want to give her more.
But I can barely protect her for one day. Three would be reckless.
"Adrian—"
"I'm not negotiating on your safety, Sera." I hold her gaze. "Not on this."
Mr. Bolinger clears his throat. "Seraphina, maybe... maybe one day is a good place to start. You're getting further along now, and honestly, some of the chemicals we use, the way you have to hunch over the table for hours..." He squeezes her shoulder gently. "It's probably wise to take it slow."
Sera looks between us, and I see the moment she realizes she's not going to win this.
"Fine." The word is clipped. "One day. For now."
That "for now" gives her the illusion of control. I'll take it.
"I don't joke about your safety." I turn to Mr. Bolinger. "Is that acceptable to you? Having armed security in your shop one day a week?"
The old man looks at the guards positioned near the door, then back at me. Something passes across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or concern.
"If it means I get my assistant back?" He nods slowly. "I can work with that."
"Thank you," Sera says quietly. Then, to me: "Thank you."
She crosses the space between us, rising on her toes to press a kiss to my cheek. Brief. Tentative. But genuine.
It's the first time she's kissed me without it being part of sex or a performance.
"Same," she mutters against my skin.
I know what she means. Don't make me regret trusting you.
Mr. Bolinger clears his throat. "Well. I suppose we should discuss schedule then. When can you start?"
"Next week?" Sera looks at me for confirmation.
I'm about to answer when my phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Three times.
Bianca.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
"You should answer that," Sera says quietly.
She's right. Bianca doesn't call repeatedly unless it's important.
I step away, pressing the phone to my ear. "What?"
"Adrian." My mother's voice is cool, controlled. "Where are you?"
"Out. Why?"
"Because we have a family dinner tonight. The Marinis are coming to discuss Sofia's engagement to Matteo Caruso. You're expected to be here."
I check my watch. 3:47 PM. "What time?"
"Seven. Sharp. Don't be late." She pauses. "And bring your wife. It's time the family met her properly."
The line goes dead.
Fuck.
I turn back to find Sera and Mr. Bolinger discussing restoration techniques, her face animated in a way I rarely see. She's gesturing at the Dickens, explaining something about binding structures and wheat paste.
I don't want to take this from her. Don't want to cut this moment short.
But I don't have a choice.
"Sera."
She looks up, and I see her expression fall the moment she sees my face.
"We have to go," I say. "Family dinner. Tonight."
"But we just got here—"
"I know." And I do. I know this is exactly what she was afraid of. That every small freedom would be temporary. Every moment of happiness cut short. "I'm sorry."
Mr. Bolinger pats her hand. "It's alright, kiddo. We'll have plenty of time to catch up. Starting next week, yes?"
She nods, but the light has gone out of her eyes.
I help her into her coat, guide her toward the door. Leo and the guards fall into formation around us.
At the threshold, Mr. Bolinger catches my arm.
"Mr. Nero," he says quietly. "A word."
I nod to Leo to give us space.
The old man looks at me with those sharp, assessing eyes. "She's special. I hope you know that."
"I'm beginning to," I say honestly.
"Good." He doesn't release my arm. "Because that girl has been through more than most people could handle. Lost her parents. Raised a brother who..." He trails off, diplomatic. "Well. You know."
I say nothing. Just listen.
"Whatever's happening in your world, whatever's keeping her locked up in that penthouse with armed guards following her everywhere..." He glances toward where Sera waits by the door. "She deserves better than to be kept like a bird in a cage. Even if the cage is gilded."
"I'm trying," I say. And I mean it.
"I believe you." His voice is gentle but firm. "But try harder. Or you'll lose her. Maybe not physically. But you'll lose the parts of her that make her who she is."
He's right.
I know he's right.
"I will," I promise.
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns back to his books.
I join Sera at the door. She's quiet as we walk to the SUV, quiet as Leo opens her door, quiet as we pull away from the curb.
"I'm sorry," I say again.
"It's fine." But her voice says it's not fine.
"Sera—"
"You gave me one day a week." She turns to look at me, and there's something fragile in her expression. "That's more than I expected. Thank you."
But I can see the truth underneath the gratitude.
She's realizing what I've known all along.
This life—my life—doesn't leave room for normal. For bookshops and restoration projects and quiet afternoons with father figures who care about her.
Every moment of freedom will come with guards and guns and the constant threat of violence.
Every small happiness will be borrowed time before the next crisis.
I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. Her fingers are cold.
"Next week," I say. "I promise. You'll have this."
She nods, but she's already pulling away. Already retreating into herself.
And as we drive through Manhattan toward the Nero mansion, toward a family dinner that will introduce her to more of the darkness she's been pulled into, I realize Mr. Bolinger was right.
I'm losing her.
Not to another man. Not to escape.
But to the slow suffocation of this life. This world. This cage I've built around her, no matter how gilded I try to make it.
The question is: am I capable of actually changing that?
Or will I choose her safety over her happiness every single time?
My phone buzzes with another text from Bianca: Don't be late.
I look at Sera staring out the window, one hand resting on her stomach where our child grows.
Gabe is out there. The Morozovs are planning something. Unknown enemies are circling.
And Sera thinks I'm her prison.
She doesn't understand that I'm just trying to keep her alive long enough to see our son born.
But maybe that's the problem.
Maybe survival isn't enough.