CHAPTER 7
1316 Words
IVY
The minute I got home, I didn’t bother pretending. I made a straight, desperate beeline to the bathroom, shutting the door before Lila could wedge her foot between the frame. My hands were shaking—not dramatically, but that subtle, traitorous tremor that creeps in when your mind is louder than your heartbeat.
Lila kept knocking, kept insisting I explain what she’d seen on the dance floor.
What she saw pressed up against Gabriel.
What she saw in my eyes.
But I couldn’t speak.
Not yet.
When I finally came out, I changed into my soft pajamas, climbed onto my bed, and curled my knees to my chest like a child trying to fold into safety. Lila climbed in beside me without being asked—she always knew when words were optional. She sat cross-legged next to me, arms crossed over her chest, staring until I finally looked at her.
She took a deep breath.
“If this is about him—”
I shook my head sharply. “No. It’s not… it's not about him.”
But the lie didn’t even last a heartbeat.
She saw right through me.
She always does.
“I know what a man like Gabriel can do,” I whispered. “And I don’t want to find out how far he’ll go. I just… I want out of this life, Lila. Out of all this danger. Out of all these men who think they own everything they touch.”
My voice cracked. And my chest tightened like invisible hands were closing around my ribs.
Then the memories came creeping up my spine like cold fingers.
What happened two years ago.
What I survived.
What still hunts me every night.
The threats.
The promises he hissed in my ear.
The certainty in his voice—like he was describing something scheduled, not hypothetical.
I felt tears sliding down my cheeks before I even noticed I was crying.
“And he said he’d kill me,” I whispered, voice shaking. “And any man I get with. He said he’d find my kids one day… and—”
The words cut off, choking me.
Zayd Marwan.
A name I couldn’t say out loud without swallowing dread.
His death threats echoed in my skull like the faintest but sharpest bells.
Even after a year.
Even after distance.
Even after the world moved on.
Some monsters don’t need to be physically present to cast a shadow.
Lila’s expression softened instantly. She wiped my tears with her thumbs like I was something fragile she refused to let crack. Then, without warning, she launched a pillow straight at my face.
“Lila—!”
Another one came flying.
We ended up full-on wrestling with pillows and blankets until both of us were breathless on the mattress, hair messy, hearts lighter. Comfort disguised as chaos—her specialty.
We eventually lay still, staring at the ceiling, breathing gradually settling, our thoughts drifting in different directions.
Then—
A noise.
Very faint.
But unmistakably human.
Right outside my door.
Lila froze. I froze. The air froze.
I nudged her quietly, and she slid off the bed without making a sound. We’d practiced this—too many times. Growing up under men with enemies meant survival was a rehearsed routine. I reached under my pillow and grabbed my pistol, the familiar weight grounding me.
I positioned myself near the door, watching the shadow under the gap.
Someone was standing there.
Not moving.
Listening.
I nodded at Lila.
She nodded back.
In one swift motion, I slammed the door open, ramming it straight into whoever was standing there. He doubled over, and I delivered a knee straight into his balls. He groaned and folded like a dying accordion.
I raised my gun to pistol-whip him, but—
A strong arm grabbed mine, twisting it behind my back so fast my breath caught.
“Calm down,” a deep voice commanded. “It’s just us.”
Papa.
And—
Gabriel.
Holding me.
Again.
And this time, not because he wanted to…but because he had to stop me from killing one of his men.
I grunted and kicked him—not hard enough to injure, but definitely enough to make a point. He barely reacted, which annoyed me even more. Either he was built like reinforced concrete, or he enjoyed restraining me a little too much.
Dad cleared his throat.
“Lila, Ivy… I know you’re confused,” he began. His tone was firm, but tired. “There are some changes of plans. We were supposed to leave for the south tomorrow, but after… discussions… we decided it’s safer for you two to stay in New York.” And Lila will be going to Germany sooner than expected.
My stomach dropped.
He had brought a whole entourage of mafia soldiers to tell me something he could’ve said over text?
“This could’ve been a phone call,” I muttered irritably.
Dad continued, ignoring me. “You’ll stay under Mr. Santis’s security for the remainder of your trip. And that means—listen to whatever he tells you to do. It’s for your own safety.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Gabriel’s presence behind me made my whole spine stiffen.
No way out.
Fate sealed.
Security upgraded to a prison.
Dad kissed my forehead and left, taking his soldiers with him—leaving a suffocating silence behind.
I sighed. A long, heavy, resigned sigh.
And accepted my fate.
---
GABRIEL DE SANTIS
I parked and escorted the two girls inside. If I had given in to my instincts, I would’ve carried Ivy upstairs just to feel her weight against me. But patience isn’t just a virtue—it’s a survival strategy.
Lila spoke first as I showed them their guest rooms.
“Thank you, Mr. Santis.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “But you can call me Gabriel.”
She nodded politely.
I turned to leave, but a soft hand grabbed my forearm.
Hers.
“I’m… starving,” she murmured. “Is there anything I can eat?”
Her voice.
That sleepy velvet tone.
It slid down my spine like warm syrup.
I took her to the kitchen. “There’s leftover food in the fridge.”
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
I didn’t let myself react—not on my face, not in my posture. But something about her—her vulnerability wrapped in steel—was pulling at parts of me I didn’t let anyone see.
“So,” I asked quietly, leaning against the marble counter, “how long do you plan on staying in New York?”
She turned to me, eyes soft.
“We came here for research purposes.”
I nodded.
She plated some pasta—then handed me a plate without asking. It threw me off more than it should have.
I grabbed a bottle of wine from my cellar, opened it, and poured us both a glass. We ate silently, sitting at opposite ends of the kitchen island, the atmosphere weirdly domestic for two people who had dry-humped each other in a public club a few hours ago.
She eventually slid her phone toward me.
“Can I—have your number?”
I hid my surprise behind a simple nod.
I handed her my phone.
She typed her number in.
She didn’t need to know I already had it.
Nor that I still had no idea why my PI couldn’t dig up anything useful on her.
She finished eating, stood up slowly, and thanked me again.
I gave her a curt nod—professional, distant.
My eyes, however, were not professional.
They stayed on her back.
Her waist.
Her legs.
And especially the sway of her ass as she walked down my hallway.
I closed my eyes for a second.
This girl is going to ruin me.
- Writer
