CHAPTER 16
Roxanne
The ride back was mostly quiet.
A million thoughts crowded my head.
The wind whipped strands of my hair loose from the helmet, but I barely noticed. My mind kept replaying the evening in a loop.
What had just happened?
Who were those men and what did they want?
My pulse was still racing, not just from the ride but from the memory of their eyes on me. Fear clung to my skin, even as heat from Santino’s body seeped through.
And the ride—it had been exhilarating.
The vibration of the bike thrummed through my thighs, syncing with my pulse until I couldn’t tell where adrenaline ended and something else began.
And Santino—so close. The twitch of his lips.
The scar on his brow. And I tried my best to not get pulled into his frost-grey eyes, but they were hypnotic, drawing me in, leaving me transfixed.
The smell of mint, leather and something unbearably masculine sank so deep into my bones that it kept me from pushing him away.
My body betrayed every ounce of logic I had.
We were pressed together and I could feel his chest muscle move with every breath he took. The way his hand lingered on me made me feel like I’d combust into ash.
Why?
Why could my body not behave for once?
And his breath on my lips—fuck.
We almost kissed.
Logic dictated I push him away, but instead I let him crowd into my space, let the hardness of him press against the softness of me.
I wondered how his body would feel under my hands. Would his muscles shudder under my touch? I wondered if his touch would be gentle or harsh and needy the way he gripped my waist beneath the underpass.
Those wanton thoughts sent heat crawling up my neck, pooling low in my belly.
No.
I cannot.
I will not think of those things with Santino.
I barely noticed when he pulled the bike to a stop outside Ritu’s building and killed the engine. The sudden quiet felt strange after the roar of the ride. He removed his helmet first, scanning the street automatically. Always watching. Always calculating.
The rough stubble shadowing his jaw and those cold grey of his eyes shouldn’t have looked as good as they did under the yellow streetlight.
How did something so simple look so dangerously hot on him?
Brain behave.
I slid off the bike and pulled my helmet off, shaking out my hair.
“Why here?” I asked. “Why not the cottage?”
“They’re probably scoping the place,” he said flatly.
I crossed my arms. “Great.”
“I’ll go deal with them.”
“What?”
He stepped closer and rubbed a stray strand of hair between his fingers. Just like that the tension returned between us like a live wire. I stood straighter. An act so simple felt far too intimate.
“I’ll be back,” he said. “Until then, stay put.”
His knuckle brushed the edge of my jaw. A violent shudder ran through me. My knees weakened, stomach flipping, every instinct screaming at me to step back—but I couldn’t.
My body suddenly remembered the underpass. His scent. His warmth.
His eyes held mine for a second longer than necessary, as though he wanted to say something but was holding it all in. He gestured me toward the door, leaving only once I stepped in.
Ritu was more than happy to accommodate me for the night. Her only condition—gossip. She wouldn’t let me be till I told her everything. I groaned internally, collapsing onto the couch and telling her the details.
“He did what?” she asked.
I shook my head. Of course she would tune out the rest and focus only on one thing.
“He begged?” she exclaimed. “Like on his knees?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Fuck, Roxy! He’s got it bad for you.”
“No way. Just his way of saying sorry.”
“You say sorry by buying flowers, not crawling across the room unless you’re completely fucked for them.”
A shiver ran down my spine and images of him stalking on his fours flashed before my eyes.
“You’re reading into this,” I said flat. “He was just apologising.”
“Sure. If you say so.”
“Hey, what’s with the sarcastic tone?”
“Are you that blind, Rox?” she said with legs crossed.
“Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
I furrowed my brows. “Like how?”
“Like there is a storm waiting to be unleashed but he’s kept it restrained.”
I shook my head. “You’re trying to dissect something that isn’t there.”
“I’m just trying to caution you as a friend.”
We spoke some more about mundane things and life before slipping into our rooms. I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, replaying the events of the evening.
What if what Ritu said was right?
Nope. She’s definitely reading too much into this whole situation.
My phone pinged.
This was tangible. Safe. Familiar.
And still—it felt hollow. Like a script I knew by heart but couldn’t believe tonight. This is what I understood.
Santino and I, I never understood. We had a firecracker dynamic. Somehow being around him made me feel free, liberated. I didn’t have to put on a facade of being the perfect person, pretending to have it all in control.
It was like his darkness recognised mine, and instead of moulding it into something more palatable, he let it exist. He didn’t hold it—he stroked it, rekindling the fire still living in the dying embers of my soul.
There was always heat. Every time we locked eyes, he looked away first, like watching me too long would set him ablaze.
Maybe Ritu was correct. Maybe I chose to ignore the signs. I tossed and turned, then picked up my phone and typed out a message.
I deleted it.
I deleted it.
Before I could think, I hit the send button.
And waited.
An hour passed. I checked the phone. And another.
It was almost 2 a.m. I called him, and it went straight to voicemail. The same cold voice.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I hated that message. Hated that voice. Hated what it did to me. Still, I tried again. The silence ticked inside my head, each second louder than the last, scraping against my nerves, until it was all I could hear.
Somewhere between worrying for him and thinking about my fucked-up feelings, I drifted to sleep.
Morning came too quickly. Every call went straight to voicemail, every message unanswered.
Panic had settled to something colder. Familiar.
I knew this feeling. He’d done this before.
It dragged me back—two years ago.
The same silence. The same disappearance. Back then I called until my battery died. Called until hope became humiliation. Until anger became easier than admitting he’d left.
And now here I was again, listening to the same fucking automated voice. Like some pathetic part of me still expected him to answer.
I bit the back of my forefinger to distract me from the bile that was starting to rise in my throat. Ritu insisted on driving me back to the cottage.
“Call me if you need backup,” she said as she pulled away.
I nodded, already distracted.
The cottage felt different in daylight without him. Too quiet. Too empty. I made coffee.
Then another.
And another.
By noon I had also eaten half a box of the chocolate biscuits Santino kept in the cupboard.
Stress eating. Fantastic.
I slammed the cupboard shut harder than necessary, the sound ricocheting in the empty kitchen. My phone slipped from my hand once, clattering against the table, my fingers trembling as I picked it up again.
I tried to distract myself.
I called Kyra. She spent ten minutes talking about her friends at school. Romano tried snatching Marcello’s phone twice, like it was his toy. Marcello asked about the site.
I answered automatically. Everything sounded normal until the call ended. And then the silence crept back in.
By late afternoon, my nerves had frayed into something sharp. I told myself Santino was fine. He’d dealt with trouble before. Dealt with them. He was probably caught up. Slept somewhere.Except…
He hadn’t answered. Not once. Not after twenty-five calls—all of them straight to voicemail. And the countless messages, all of which went unanswered.
My phone sat uselessly on the table. A migraine blooming, making the vein in my forehead pulse.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Like a fucking time bomb waiting to explode.
I tried distracting myself by scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, then tried putting something on Netflix so that the silence would go away. Nothing helped.
By evening, the worry had twisted into anger. And now the ticking in my head had just gotten louder; every unanswered call sharpened it. My chest tightened, fear clawing at me, but anger rose hotter, swallowing it whole.
Fine.
If he wanted to disappear again, he could go ahead. I didn’t care.
I started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Like if I stopped moving, everything inside me would crack open and spill everywhere. Biting the back of my finger didn’t help either.
Why should I be worried about him? He was repeating the pattern. Leaving. Disappearing. Like I was supposed to just… wait.
Marcello would say when patterns become predictable, you can anticipate the next step. With Santino, it was going MIA.
Fuck him.
I didn’t care if he lived, ran, or ended up dead in a ditch.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t—
An engine cut through the quiet outside. The sound threaded through me instantly, sending a tumble through my chest. My breath stalled and everything inside me went still.
Relief unfurled so suddenly it almost hurt, making my knees weak. A shiver followed close behind. I hated it.
Every nerve in my body sharpened at once. And then my pulse came roaring back to life.