CHAPTER FIVE
SERAFINA
The cursor blinked on my screen, and all I could think about was the seconds I’d spent not writing.
The words used to flow so easily.
Now, I have been smacked in the face with writer’s block.
Day after day. Over and over again. Maybe I should put the pen down and stop writing.
I had been sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed for nearly two hours, the yellow glow of my laptop the only light I’d allowed myself in the darkness of my room.
The document opened before me contained exactly six hundred and twelve words.
And I loathed every six hundred and twelve words.
The chapter refused to cooperate. I deleted the last sentence for the third time and pressed my thumb against the bridge of my nose.
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be an author, after all.
My phone buzzed against the mattress beside me.
I glanced at it. The tightness in my chest eased at the sight of the name on the screen. A slow breath released from between my parted lips, my lungs unclenching after they had been coiled with tension for too long.
Arabella: Are you alive? You’ve been ignoring my calls.
I smiled despite myself.
Me: Hotel wifi is terrible. The walls are a boring beige. The mini-fridge is empty. I’m living my best life.
Arabella: Don’t be funny.
Arabella: I’m serious. Are you safe?
My thumbs hovered over the phone. Arabella deserved an honest answer to her question. She cared about me and my safety, but I didn’t know how much I could share without it threatening my life.
Me: I think so. No one’s tried to kill me yet.
It was true. It had been two months since I shot Adrian and disappeared. I knew by now that word had spread; the rest of the Cosa Nostra probably knew I tried to kill my husband.
My father was probably enraged.
Damon, my brother, was probably trying to get Salvatore to forgive me. Maybe he was planning to come after me himself. But I knew my father cared too much about his heir to let him risk his life and reputation by protecting me.
Once I was married into the Salvatore family… I was no longer a Morelli concern. Not really. I had failed at my duty, after all. I was meant to marry Matteo, to carry the heir in my womb.
But then I married Adrian, the second son.
I was no longer important to my father. I lost credibility.
I lost the one thing that he needed. I was meant to give birth to the heir, but now I was nothing but… a castaway.
Because of my sins, I didn’t think my father cared if I lived or died.
Arabella: Serafina.
One word. My name in text carried the same weight it always did when she said it aloud in that solemn voice of hers—that particular blend of exasperation and love that made my world feel a little less threatening.
Arabella: Listen to me. If you’re ever in trouble, real trouble, you come to me. You understand? You tell me where you are and I will send someone to get you. I will do everything I can. I have resources. Killian has resources. You don’t have to do this alone.
I read it twice. The words blurred slightly on the second pass, and I blinked hard, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Arabella had always been like this, the person who offered concrete help rather than vague sympathy, who didn’t ask if you needed anything but instead told you what she was going to do.
It was a quality I’d spent my life surrounded by but rarely encountered without strings attached. Arabella didn’t care what I could do for her.
Her adoration didn’t come under conditions.
She simply cared. Truly. Deeply.
Arabella: You mean a lot to me. You know that, right? I hate that you’re going through whatever this is and I can’t fix it. I hate that you’re in some hotel room alone and I can’t do anything about it.
I stared at her message for a long minute before I finally typed a response.
Me: How are the girls?
I sent it before I could reconsider. The deflection was transparent and I knew she’d see through it, but the alternative was me spilling my truth to her… and I knew Arabella wasn’t ready for it. My ugly, deceptive truth. And the things I had done that led me where I was today.
Not that I regretted any decisions I had made.
Every lie, every choice was intentional.
There was a pause. I could almost hear her sigh through the phone.
Arabella: Fine. We’ll circle back to your situation later.
Arabella: The girls are walking now. Full-on, unstoppable walking.
They’re absolutely devious. They’ve figured out that if one of them distracts me, the other can make a break for the stairs.
Cameron caught Lydia halfway down the stairs yesterday, and I nearly had a heart attack.
He carried her back up and then stood guard at the top step for twenty minutes.
A real smile pulled at my mouth.
Me: Such a protective older brother. Though, I believe he’s going to be insufferable when he’s older.
Arabella: He already is. Killian’s influence, obviously.
Me: Do you want more? Kids, I mean.
The three dots appeared and disappeared twice before her response came.
Arabella: No. I love my three babies, and the doctors were clear after the girls. It’s not safe for me to carry another pregnancy, and Killian won’t even discuss it.
Arabella: He would never put me in a position that could harm me, and we’re both well aware of the risks...
This was the kind of devotion that existed in Arabella’s world but not in mine. She had a husband who adored her… and well, my husband was a monster in disguise.
He was heartless. Cruel and ruthless in his ways.
Me: Killian is a good man.
Arabella: He is. And you deserve someone who would do the same for you.
I didn’t respond to that. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound either bitter or delusional, and I was trying very hard to be neither. My friend deserved happiness.
She was a good woman, someone with a gentle soul.
I wasn’t a good woman.
My heart was broken and my soul was tainted.
Me: Give the babies a kiss from me.
Arabella: I will. And Serafina?
Me: Yes?
Arabella: I meant what I said. Come to me. Whenever. Whatever. Promise me.
I looked at those words for a long moment. Then, I typed.
Me: I promise.
I set the phone face down on the mattress. For a long moment I sat in the silence of the room, listening to the hum of the hotel’s ventilation system and the distant pulse of traffic three floors below.
The chapter sat abandoned on my laptop, the cursor still blinking its patient, indifferent rhythm. The words wouldn’t flow tonight, and I knew better than to force it.
It was time to accept defeat. At least for tonight. Tomorrow was a new day.
I untangled my legs from the bedsheets and stood up, stretching my sore, aching muscles. The numbness in my legs slowly faded away.
The cream-colored carpet was thick beneath my bare feet as I walked to the window and stood there, looking.
Thud.
I looked for a long minute, my eyes searching into the unknown darkness of the night.
Thud.
He was there. I knew he was.
Thud.
I didn’t know how I knew. It didn’t make sense to me how I knew, but I just did. There was no figure standing in the shadow across the street, no silhouette in a parked car, no telltale glint of binoculars catching light.
It was almost two in the morning and the streets were empty except for one or two random passing cars.
I knew he found me a couple days ago. I felt it, the unmistakable sense of him… but then, somehow, I had been lucky enough to slip past him. I didn’t know how because Adrian Salvatore wasn’t a distracted man.
He was perfect in everything he did. Meticulous. Calculated. Precise.
Yet, I had successfully eluded him. I would be lying if I said it didn’t stroke my ego more to outmaneuver a man like Adrian. There was something intoxicating about knowing I could still stay one step ahead of him.
Again and again.
His defeat lingered on my tongue, sweet and satisfying.
I thought I escaped him, but now here I was in Brussels, and my husband had found me yet again. When I realized he had tracked me down again, I thought this time I was truly done for.
Only for him to keep his distance, watching from far away, always invisible to my eyes…
Adrian had tracked me to this hotel, to this room, to this specific window where I stood in an oversized white shirt with my hair still damp from the shower.
He was here, but he wouldn’t come to me.
That was the part that gnawed at me. Not that he was watching—I had expected that, had almost counted on it.
But it was the distance that had started to bother me.
The careful, deliberate, maddening distance. Goddamn it.
He had positioned himself in the darkness across the street like a man conducting surveillance on a target rather than a man who had crossed continents to find his runaway wife.
What was he waiting for?
I scanned the dark night again, slowly this time, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Nothing.
He was very, very good at being invisible.
The corner of my mouth lifted at the realization that Adrian was playing a game. He wanted me to know he was here. Close enough to feel but impossible to find.
He was making me wait on purpose, lurking just beyond my reach, content to let anticipation drive me mad. Every passing minute was an attempt to wear down my patience as he played with my mind.
He was challenging me. He was waiting for me to break.
“Oh, how foolish of you,” I whispered into the silence of my hotel room.
Hadn’t he learned yet that I was just as good at this game as he was?
A woman scorned was patient, with impeccable restraint.
And if someone was going to break… it would be him.
The thought sent something sharp and exhilarating through my veins. My lips twitched again with the thrill of accepting his challenge.
I pressed my palm flat against the cool glass and scanned the street below. There was no other movement that didn’t belong to the ordinary rhythm of the city at this hour.
He was perfectly invisible through the sheer discipline of stillness, the ability to become part of the darkness, to fold himself into the spaces where eyes couldn’t see.
My reflection stared back at me from the glass—dark, hazel eyes and a composed expression, the careful arrangement of a woman who had been taught that her face was a negotiation.
I held my own gaze for a long moment, and something shifted behind it.
A dark, calculated need spread through my veins, my body humming with it.
If he wouldn’t come out of the dark, I would drag him into the light.
Two can play a game, husband.
My fingers found the hem of my shirt first—the soft cotton I’d changed into hours ago, oversized and comfortable. I slowly pulled it over my head, the cold air kissing my bare skin inch by inch before I dropped the shirt to the floor.
Goosebumps peppered my skin along my arms, and I resisted the instinct to cross them over my chest. Instead, I reached behind my back and unhooked the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. The bra dangled in my fingers for a second before it joined the shirt on the carpet.
Thud.
A tingle ran down my spine. Blood roared between my ears, and my pulse thundered at the base of my throat.
The awareness of being watched crackled through the room, an invisible current that prickled beneath my skin and settled deep in my bones.
Let him watch.
Let him see what he couldn’t have