Silent love

Chapter 68

On the previous chapter...

Azhaire finished the sandwich and wiped his fingers on his shorts.

He looked at me.

Not with need. Not with gratitude.

With understanding.

Like he already knew this was the beginning of something bigger.

Like he'd been waiting for us to catch up.

And that's what haunted me most.

He wasn't confused.

He wasn't afraid.

He was ready.

A soft breeze moved through the hallway behind us. The villa was quiet again. Too quiet.

Cecilia turned her gaze toward the horizon through the tall window, the last of the sun bleeding into a Sicilian dusk.

"Tomorrow's going to be different". She said.

It wasn't a question.

"It always is".

                                                                    ʚ FEDERICO'S POV ɞ

Morning didn't arrive.

It crept.

The villa was quiet, too quiet for Sicily. Usually, dawn came with life birds cutting the sky, the hum of the sea, the distant rattle of mopeds rolling through town. But today, when I opened my eyes, it felt like the world had stalled.

Muted. Suspended.

Like the house itself was holding its breath.

Yaqueline was curled beside me, tangled in the sheets, hair spilling over her shoulder in dark waves. She looked softer in sleep, unguarded in a way I rarely got to see. My arm had gone numb under her, but I didn't move. Not yet.

For a second, just a second, I let myself take it in. The warmth of her against me. The steady rhythm of her breathing. A reminder that not everything in this life was blade and shadow.

But the silence in the villa pressed against the windows. It wasn't empty.

It was occupied.

Azhaire was somewhere in this house. That was enough.

Careful not to wake her, I shifted. She stirred faintly but didn't open her eyes. Before I stood, I bent down, pressed a kiss against her temple brief, almost stolen. Then I slipped free of the sheets.

By the time I dressed, the weight of the night before had settled back into my bones. Button snap, belt buckle, the scrape of leather. I wasn't paranoid. I was trained.

And training meant listening when the air went strange.

I stepped out into the hallway.

The house still smelled faintly of sea salt and sun lotion from the bags we never unpacked. Shadows stretched long across the marble.

No laughter.
No voices.
Just that pressing quiet.

I descended the stairs.

And there he was.

Azhaire.

Sitting at the bottom step, cross-legged again, as if the night had never passed. Same posture. Same silence. His eyes met mine, steady. He didn't look tired. He didn't look restless.