Page 184 of Seeking Shadows

I exhale, the sound barely audible. "Don't die."

"I'm not dying," Seth says, voice shifting—darker, reckless, alive in a way that sends a shiver through me. "I'm gonna have fun."

Then, he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear.

"Tell her I’ll find her, no matter where. She’s mine."

I don’t have the strength to ask who he means. I barely have the strength to process the words before the door slams shut, and we’re moving.

Pietro drives. The world outside blurs.

And finally, finally, I let my eyes close. Let the exhaustion take over. Let my body rest.

CHAPTER 30

MIA

The cool nightair surrounds me as I step into Laura's garden, but I barely feel it.

My mind won’t turn off.

Two days awake after a week spent teetering between lucidity and delirium. I wanted to rest—everyone said I needed to—but how? My heart is still racing, my chest still tightens.

I stared at Zane sleeping for hours, Figaro curled up against him, just like old times. The thought makes me smile.

I’m trying to convince myself that he’s real. That I’m safe. That all of this is real.

I'm staying at Laura's house, a fortress of safety.

Pietro Barone insisted on it. She and Seth thought it would be the best choice since Zane and I needed to recover. I love my sister’s company, but I miss my home.

And yet, here I am, wandering among the flowers, holding my teddy bear tightly to my chest.

Then I see Laura.

She sits on a stone bench, her hair loose, her sharp expression softened by the moonlight. I hesitate, unsure whether to approach, but she notices me before I can decide.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice is softer than usual.

I shake my head and sit next to her, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“I understand. It’s hard for me too when Pietro isn’t home.”

"It must be tough, living as a mobster’s wife, never knowing if he’ll come back."

Laura exhales, looking at the dahlias in front of her. Her fingers skim the worn pages of the book in her lap, tracing their texture as if grounding herself. Then, with a quiet finality, she closes it and turns to me.

"I don’t know if ‘tough’ is the right word," she says finally. "Toughness implies struggle, like there’s something to push against. But… being with Pietro isn’t like that. He doesn’t let me feel afraid. He just makes things work, and I let him—because trusting him isn’t a choice. It’s just what love feels like with him. Natural."

She pauses, as if deciding whether to continue. Then she lets out a small, humorless laugh.

"What’s tough, truly, is war. Having something to lose. And no matter how much Pietro tries to protect me from that, the truth is, there’s always a fine line between being safe and watching everything fall apart."

I watch her in silence, feeling the weight of her words. There’s something in her voice—a mix of pragmatism and unshakable devotion to Pietro.

It’s not blind faith. It’s choice.

"You really love him." My voice comes out as a statement, not a question.

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