Chapter 8 #5
The curtains were half drawn, allowing soft morning light to spill across the room.
My mother remained asleep.
She looked impossibly fragile beneath the blankets, her face pale and thinner than I remembered.
Illness had stolen so much from her over the years that each visit felt like watching another piece of her disappear.
My chest tightened.
Walking closer, I gently adjusted the blanket where it had slipped from her shoulder.
“Please get better,” I whispered so softly that even I barely heard the words.
The door opened behind me.
I turned to find her nurse entering with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent years caring for patients.
Relief washed through me.
“Does she usually sleep this deeply?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.
The nurse offered a reassuring smile.
“We started her on a new medication yesterday after receiving her latest test results,” she explained. “One of the expected side effects is drowsiness. She’ll probably sleep more than usual for the next day or two.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“She’s stable,” the nurse replied gently. “There’s no need to worry.”
Some of the tightness around my heart eased.
Despite her illness, my mother had never been someone who slept so deeply that she couldn’t wake to the sound of voices in the room.
Seeing her so still had frightened me more than I wanted to admit.
I nodded slowly.
“Thank you.”
I glanced back at my mother before returning my attention to the nurse.
“My sister isn’t here... and my father is still gone. That means my mother is depending on you more than ever.”
The nurse’s expression softened.
“I know.”
I managed a faint smile.
“Please... take good care of her.”
“I will.”
She spoke with quiet conviction.
“I promise she’ll receive the best care possible. And if there’s any change—good or bad—I’ll contact you immediately.”
Gratitude swelled in my chest.
“Thank you.” I offered her a faint smile before turning back to my mother.
As I stared at my sick mother, my mind drifted back to the time I was eleven, when a vicious fever had nearly taken everything from me.
My mother never left my bedside.
She spent night after sleepless night pressing cool cloths against my forehead, whispering old Russian lullabies, promising that no hardship would ever be stronger than her daughter.
When I was seven, sitting beside her in a quiet park far from Bratva business and bloodshed.
She had woven tiny wildflowers into my hair while patiently teaching me how to braid daisy stems together.
I still remembered how we laughed until our stomachs ached, how for one precious afternoon, the weight of her life seemed to disappear.
She wasn’t the wife of a ruthless mafia leader.
She was simply my mother.
Healthy. Radiant. Happy.
Back then, she had stood like a wall between me and the darkness that surrounded our family.
Now...
Now that same woman lay imprisoned inside her own body, her spirit trapped behind limbs that refused to obey.
A devastating stroke had stolen her independence. She couldn’t even bathe herself without help.
The contrast hollowed something inside me.
I looked away before the tears gathering in my eyes could fall.
Without another word, I slipped out of the room.
Outside, I climbed into my car and started the drive back to Romeo’s bungalow.
I still couldn’t bring myself to call it ‘home.’
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
My thoughts remained with my mother until a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror pulled me back to the present.
A black sedan.
It stayed several car lengths behind me, matching every turn I made.
I frowned.
Hadn’t I seen that same vehicle earlier?
At first, I’d dismissed it as coincidence, but now there was no denying it.
Someone was following me.
But who?
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Should I call Romeo?
Or try losing whoever was behind me?
Before I could decide, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
A chill crept up my spine.
Slowly, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Juliet.” The voice was old and gruff.
Weathered by age, yet carrying the unmistakable confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
By then, I had reached the estate gates.
Without slowing, I drove through.
The security guards immediately lowered the barrier behind me.
I glanced into the mirror once more.
The black sedan stopped outside.
It wasn’t allowed inside.
Only then did I release the breath I’d been unconsciously holding.
My pulse slowed as I continued toward the bungalow.
“Who is this?” I asked cautiously.
“Flynn.”
The name alone made my stomach tighten.
“Romeo’s grandfather.”
My grip loosened on the steering wheel in pure surprise.
By the time I reached the parking area, another car was already waiting.
Romeo was home.
Of course he was.
He had ordered me to return within two hours.
I switched off the engine but made no move to leave the car.
Romeo’s grandfather.
The only member of the Flynn family Romeo had spared.
No one seemed to understand why.
The old man had been just as cruel as the rest of them, yet somehow he had escaped the massacre that had erased the Flynn bloodline.
“Good day, sir,” I said quietly.
He ignored the greeting.
“As you know, your husband was responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone in my family,” he said, his voice low and measured. “He made one fatal mistake. He left me alive. I want you to finish what he started.”
My stomach tightened.
“Kill him.”
He said it without anger, as though discussing a business arrangement.
“In return, I will see to it that you receive everything that is rightfully yours. Your inheritance, his inheritance, the properties, the accounts—everything. The necessary legal arrangements have already been made.”
“You won’t need to concern yourself with the details. You need only decide whether your husband is worth more to you alive than everything his death would place in your hands.”
I couldn’t speak.
“This should not be a difficult task for you,” he continued. “There are countless ways to end a man. Poison his food. Put a bullet through him while he sleeps. Choose whichever method you can live with. I know you don’t love him. And whatever passes between you, he certainly doesn’t love you.”
The casualness of it made my stomach turn.
A complete stranger was calmly asking me to murder my own husband as though he were assigning me an ordinary household duty.
“Of course,” he added calmly, “you should understand that refusal is not really an option.”
My heart lurched.
“Your mother—the woman you left at your father’s mansion moments ago—is now in my custody.”
My blood ran cold.
“Complete what I’ve asked of you, and your mother will be returned to you unharmed.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“No...”
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles ached.
“If you tell Romeo—or anyone else—about this call, your mother dies.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“You have forty-eight hours.”
His words came one after another, each more horrifying than the last.
The call ended.