The Assassins Kiss

Chapter 31

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That's what Lily looks like now
Click on the actual picture to see her
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Luca's POV

It's been three years.

Three years since the Ferraris vanished.

We lost all contact. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

Killian's been trying to reach Iris—nonstop. Roman's tried calling Ezra, even tried tracing their last known locations, but it was like they evaporated. No trail. No noise. Just gone.

And yet, the Ferrari mafia still holds their throne. No one's dared to challenge them, even in absence. It's like their name alone is still enough to keep the rest of the underworld in check.

We even went as far as Milan. Scoured their estate. Looked through every room, every drawer, every goddamn corner for something—anything—that could tell us where they went. But it was spotless. Like they'd never been there.

They disappeared right after the threats came in. After Sofia and Lily were targeted, and then—boom. Our house was blown to hell. We barely made it out. Had to relocate, lay low in the southern countryside of Italy, keep our heads down while still chasing ghosts.

But we haven't stopped looking.

Every mafia gathering, every underground ball across Europe—we've been there. Searching. Listening. Hoping someone might slip, mention a name, a place, a whisper.

Which brings us here. Tonight. France.

Thirty minutes in. We've already combed most of the ballroom. More guests keep arriving. Every new face gives us a flicker of hope.

"I don't think they're here," my mom sighs, sounding tired in that way that only grief can bring.

"No. They have to be. They love France. Lily loves France—they'll be here," Killian says, trying to convince her. Maybe trying to convince himself.

"Please, can we stay a little longer?" he asks.

She nods. "Okay."

We drift toward the bar, eyes scanning every group, every silhouette. Nothing.

"Nothing over in this area," my dad mutters.

"Let's check the dance floor," Roman suggests. "Might have better luck there."

We start weaving through the crowd.

"This isn't working," Killian grumbles, frustrated.

I glance past him, something catching my eye. I squint.

"We should split up," he continues. "Cover more ground."

"Uh... Killian," I say quietly.

"Luca, go to the dance floor," he instructs, pointing.

"Killian," I say again, a little louder.

"Roman, head upstairs."

"Killian," I repeat firmly.

"What, Luca? I'm trying to make a plan!" He spins toward me, clearly irritated.

"Yeah, well your plan sucks," I say, folding my arms.

"I don't see you doing anything better," he snaps.

"Oh yeah?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Yeah," he glares.

"Turn around, jackass."

He frowns and spins.

And just like that—time stops.