[ S E R A P H I N E ] It's almost sunrise. I'm pretty sure he didn't have more than a two-hour nap after I left him alone in his room. But he's still having a hard time falling asleep. We're in the living room, the fireplace casting long shadows on the walls. The warmth doesn't reach my face or torso. But it's fine. The way we're sitting too close to each other, with one side of me pressing onto his warm and firm body, I'll be covered in sweat in a few minutes. I don't want to make him any more uncomfortable. It's kind of obvious he's having a hard time ignoring the fact that I'm wearing nothing under his shirt. The hem barely covers up my thighs, but the shirt is big and thick enough to hide my private parts. This isn't me teasing him into changing his mind. I'm not trying to seduce him. I'm just too tired and lazy to go back to my room and get clean and dry clothes. I didn't even towel-dry my hair or put my wet underwear in the washing machine. I guess we'll just hang out

[ S E R A P H I N E ] Despite the strong urge to argue with him, I walk away from Dominico and run up the stairs. My chest aches at the thought of me leaving him alone downstairs. I don't wanna hide in his room. But I don't think I have much choice. I groan and compose a quick prayer in my head. I pray that whoever's outside isn't armed and ready to murder. With ragged breaths, I shut the door closed, then lock it and scan his bedroom. I don't want to leave the door locked in case Dom needs to rush back in here, but he might get furious if I don't do everything as he instructed. My heart is just pounding. I kneel on his tan sheets. My elbow digs into his soft pillow as I fumble for his gun. The moment my bare skin touches the cold metal, more adrenaline courses through my body, multiplying the anxious thoughts swirling in my head. The magazine is in place. I toggle the safety. Just like he taught me. When I hear nothing but the rain, I end up pacing around his neat bed

[ S E R A P H I N E ] A mobster's son? Shit. Just like Alina said... It doesn't sound like he's exaggerating. Or just being petty, hurling accusations out of sheer jealousy. Pierre won't be saying all these things if he doesn't think he can prove any of it. So the authorities believe Ignazio is a cruel, money-hungry mafia boss. Since when? A few years ago? A decade ago? If he's been a remorseless criminal mastermind before my family even met the Tomassinis, why isn't he in prison yet? Who's protecting him and his family? Despite Pierre's taunting, I tilt my chin and manage a tight smile, my heart still pounding. “Doesn't mean I married a criminal,” I say calmly, leaning closer to him so the other customers won't hear us. I sure hope none of them understands English. Pierre raises his brows and smirks. “You want proof?” “What proof?” Evidence to convince me that Dominico isn't as innocent as I think? If Pierre does have enough proof, will he willingly hand it over wit

[ S E R A P H I N E ] I'm running late. Crap. I have about half an hour left to get ready. The drive to campus will take 20 minutes at least, and in this weather, rush hour traffic will add ten more. I strip off my bathrobe and groan. I quickly put on my strapless bra while my hip leans against the cold sink. The morning air feels like a slap on my bare skin, biting through the thin fabric of my underwear as I start my skincare routine. My mind's a whirlwind. Just like yesterday. I'm running on four hours of sleep and barely a cup of coffee, trying my best to prioritize my tasks for today, focusing on my routine. My two-hour class starts at eight sharp, and I'm trying to ignore the gnawing worry about our flight to Montreal. Dominico's probably upstairs, still packing his stuff, busy with a work call or something else. I can almost hear the noises he's making in his room. As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, towel-drying my hair, my phone buzzes on the granite coun

[ S E R A P H I N E ]Wait for him? Why? The way he said it curdles my gut with apprehension. More anxious, bothersome feelings I don't need. “Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning,” I say casually before leaving the bathroom. I don't wait for him to finish his shower. Gripping my phone to my chest, I practically run down the stairs. For the next ten minutes, all I do is distract myself from thinking of him naked in bed with me. I scrub his mom's kitchen sink clean. Then her countertops. The cupboards. The dusty top of her fridge. Soaping, rinsing, and drying the oil-stained stove and walls take a little longer. But it's fine. It's a good enough distraction. I have to stop imagining him being intimate with me. It's useless. Darn. My brain needs a full reset in that area. Right freaking now. I should be reading my new textbooks. Concentrating. Studying hard for another exam. Doing everything I can to keep my grades up. Not pondering the possibility of getting laid an