Page 22 of The Wrong Brother

“Actually,” she starts, meeting my gaze with that same defiance, “I’d rather handle this myself as well. Just drop me at a main area nearby, where I can catch a cab.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t need to call a cab, Jenny. I can drop you off. I need to at least know where you’re staying.”

She shakes her head, her stance firm. “Thanks, but no.”

I sigh, resigned, and signal the chauffeur to take us to a central location near the commercial terminal where taxis are available. As we pull up, she gives a quick, triumphant nod.

“Thanks for the lift,” she says, stepping out with her suitcase.

I watch her disappear into the city, both exasperated and reluctantly impressed. This trip might be more challenging than I’d planned.

The drive to the hotel is quiet, though I can’t shake the irritation gnawing at me. Once we arrive, the concierge shows me to the suite, a sprawling setup with an adjoining door…planned for Jenny to be next door. It was supposed to be perfect, but now she’s off at some questionable hotel, stubborn as always, and I’m stuck with an empty room beside mine. I grind my teeth as the door clicks shut, feeling the frustration settle deeper. Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe her.

Chapter

Seventeen

JENNY

The evening sky over Rome casts a warm, orange glow as I finally step into the modest hotel I booked for myself on Via Maggio. It’s not much, and definitely not anything like the Hotel de Russie Zack had insisted on, but it’s affordable and it’s mine. I feel a little spark of pride, walking in here on my own terms, ignoring the concierge’s surprised look when I confirm my single night’s stay in what must be one of the cheapest rooms they offer. It’s tiny, but I’d expected that.

As I close the door and set down my bag, I glance around the room. The bed takes up most of the space, with only a small dresser on one side and a narrow bathroom tucked into the corner.

There’s a lingering, stale smell in the air, but I ignore it. It’s just one night, and I wanted this…a chance to prove I could manage things on my own.

I take a quick shower and change into a loose T-shirt and shorts, determined to get a good night’s sleep.

I turn off the lamp and settle into bed, my phone resting nearby, just in case.

At first, it’s almost peaceful, the sounds of the city just a murmur through the thin walls. But then, faintly, I hear raised voices…a couple arguing somewhere down the hall. I tell myself it’s none of my business, focusing on the cracked paint on the ceiling instead, tracing the lines in the dim light from the street. But the voices don’t go away; they get louder, moving closer. A woman’s voice cuts through, muffled but sharp, followed by the thud of something heavy against the wall.

I sit up, suddenly tense, straining to hear. I can’t make out the words, but the sound itself is disturbing. She yells again, something shrill, and there’s a slam that makes the headboard tremble against the wall. I pull the covers tighter around me, glancing nervously at the door. My mind wanders to the pristine, quiet halls Zack had promised at his hotel, with thick walls and a concierge on every floor. Somewhere, he’s probably enjoying every detail of that expensive place without a care in the world.

Another thud pulls me out of my thoughts, and this time, the sounds coming through the thin walls are unmistakable.

It starts low and muffled, a woman’s voice rising, a breathless laugh echoing, and then another, deeper voice, slow and thick. My cheeks warm, and I try to brush it off, but the sounds continue, soft gasps and then a thud against the wall, as ifsomeone’s being pinned or pressed. The laugh returns, this time too wild to be friendly.

They’re not arguing or shouting. They’re… they’re definitely fucking. Oh my god.

My face heats up as I lie there, frozen, listening in spite of myself.

The bed on the other side of the wall creaks with each movement, every thud matching the quickening beat of my own heart. There’s an intimacy to it, something raw and unrestrained, and I know I should look away, or at least try to block it out, but I can’t seem to move.

I clutch the pillow tighter, feeling an odd, uncomfortable heat pooling in my stomach, spreading to my skin. They’re completely lost in each other, their voices intensifying, merging together in a way that makes me feel like an intruder. And yet… I can’t stop listening. There’s a tension in the air that draws me in, and each moan, each breath, somehow heightens the silence in my room, making me hyper-aware of how close I am to it all.

None of this is what I signed up for. I just needed a place to crash and rest in time for work tomorrow but here I am perhaps living through an episode of the Addam’s family.

The noises are relentless, shifting from one thing to another, a loud argument, then a woman’s quiet cries, until I don’t know if I should be worried or just annoyed. I glance at my phone, debating if calling my dad would be ridiculous or completely reasonable. Perhaps both because he is sure to be worried out of his mind and with no way to help me.

It’s past midnight now, and my patience is running thin. The space feels too close, too suffocating, with every sound pressing in on me from all directions. My heart races, and I clutch my phone, fingers hovering over Zack’s number. I hesitate, swallowing the strange mix of shame and pride at the thought of calling him. But the muffled argument and sounds of fucking aren’t stopping. I can’t ignore the pit of fear settling in my stomach.

The walls are bloody paper thin. I’m horrified.

Finally, I press call.

The phone rings once before he answers, his voice low and laced with an edge of alertness. “Jenny?”

“Zack… I know it’s late, and I really wanted to handle this myself,” I whisper, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck, “but… I just don’t feel safe here.” I take a shaky breath. “There’s yelling, and… I think it might be a fight, or I don’t know what… I’m sorry for calling you about this.”

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