"You vicious woman, today you can finally die miserably!" "Finally, we killed the murderer of our dead mother with our own hands! We have avenged our mother!" The sextuplets spoke in unison, their voices fierce, each child's face filled with the pleasure of revenge. TWANG. Pain exploded through me. And everything went black.
A low humming sound pulled me from the dark. My eyelids felt like bricks. My throat burned. My whole body… it didn't feel like mine.
I opened my eyes. Bright, white ceiling. Circular windows. A soft beeping sound beside me.
I was lying down. Strapped to tubes. A clear one in my hand. A needle in my arm. Something cold on my chest.
My heart started to race.
What is this? Where am I?
I tried to sit up and pain exploded through my side. I cried out, gasping.
"No, no, don't move!"
That voice.
I turned my head, slowly.
He stepped into view. Tall, lean, slightly older. His hair was neater, darker now. But I'd know that voice anywhere.
"Marco?" I croaked.
He rushed to my side, his hand instantly covering mine. "It's me. You're safe now, Seraphina."
I blinked through the blinding pain and tears. "You're… here?"
He smiled softly. "Yeah. I'm here."
My chest trembled. "Am I… alive?"
He let out a shaky breath. "You are. And you're going to be okay."
"But I… I fell. I remember arrows. I remember falling," I whispered, voice cracking.
Marco sat beside me. "You were shot with six arrows. They hit you almost at once. You were standing at the edge of the cliff when it happened."
I flinched. That part I remembered. The faces. The betrayal. The sound of their bows snapping.
"I fell, didn't I?" I asked.
"You did," he said. "But you didn't hit the ground."
"What?"
"You clung to a boulder just beneath the edge. Somehow, even after being shot like that, you didn't let go."
I stared at him. "But I passed out."
"You did. By the time we got to you, you'd lost so much blood. You were barely conscious."
"How… how did you even find me?"
"I had eyes on your phone. I'd been worried, Sera. I hadn't heard from you. Something felt wrong."
Tears spilled down my cheeks. "You saved me…"
He nodded, his own eyes turning glassy. "I thought I lost you. But you're still here."
I tried to lift my hand to touch him but winced again.
"Don't force it," he said gently. "You're hooked up to pain meds, blood transfusions. You're still healing."
I looked around slowly. "Where… are we?"
He smiled faintly. "Private jet. I had you moved from the cliffside straight to emergency care. This was faster. Safer."
"Marco…" My voice trailed off. "We grew up in a one-room apartment over the bakery on Mulberry Street. You used to run numbers for old Sal just so we could eat dinner. How in the world do you have a private jet now?"
He chuckled. "A lot's changed since we last saw each other."
"Ten years," I whispered. "It's been ten years."
"I know," he said, a shadow passing over his face. "We lost time."
We both went quiet for a moment.
My chest ached, both physically and emotionally.
Marco was my only family left. After Mom and Dad were killed in that fire, the one everybody in the neighborhood knew wasn't an accident, we had no one but each other.
He was only seventeen when I left. We had one fight, just one, and I disappeared into Enzo's world. Into the Montecarlo compound where no one from the old life could reach me.
And now… he was the one who pulled me out of the abyss. Literally.
"You look… good," I said softly.
"You look like hell," he joked.
I cracked a small smile. "Yeah… I feel like it too."
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. "I can't believe how strong you were. Holding onto a rock while bleeding out. That's something else."
I blinked. "I didn't even know I was that strong."
Marco looked serious. "You always were. You just forgot."
I swallowed hard.
"So," I said, shifting my eyes back to the ceiling. "You're successful now?"
"I run with a powerful outfit. Partnerships. Logistics. High-stakes recovery." He paused, choosing his words the way men in this life always did. "The kind of work that keeps certain families very well protected."
"Must be pretty high-stakes if you're using jets like taxis," I muttered.
He laughed. "It's not that glamorous. But it gets the job done."
I studied him. "You're really not the skinny boy who used to cry when I scraped my knees."
"No," he said, then added, "and you're not the reckless girl who used to think love could fix everything."
That hit deep.
Silence again.
Until the door opened.
I looked over, confused.
A man stepped inside.
He was tall. Maybe 6'3. His suit looked like it cost more than a year of tributes from a mid-level capo. Sharp lines. Pressed cuffs. A heavy signet ring on his right hand that caught the cabin light.
He had dark eyes, full lashes, and skin that practically glowed under the cabin lights.
His hair was neatly styled. His jaw was carved like stone.
I couldn't look away.
The two soldiers flanking the cabin entrance straightened without being told. The air in the jet shifted, tightened, as if the pressurization had changed when he walked through the door.
"Uh…" I blinked.
Marco stood up. "Seraphina, I want you to meet someone."
The man stepped forward with calm, confident strides. He moved like a man who had never been denied entry to any room in his life.
"Dominic," Marco said. "This is my Don. My business partner."
Dominic gave me a slight nod. "Pleasure."
Even his voice sounded like it could buy you or bury you, and you wouldn't know which until it was too late.
I blinked again. My throat was suddenly dry. "Hi…"
Marco looked at me, then back at him. "And…" He hesitated. The knuckle of his right index finger cracked once, sharp, as if bracing for the blast radius. "He's also your husband-to-be."
I froze.
My ears rang. My heart stopped.
"What?" I whispered.
