𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭 𝐃𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚
25 years old, a billionaire and Mafia Don. Everyone fears, admires and respects him.
𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐬
20 years old and works in a bakery. Despite having a bad past, she is a really sweet and down-to-earth per...
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The sun in Rome rose as soon as the jet kissed the rain-soaked runway.
It peeked timidly from beneath dark, furious clouds that had poured relentless rain only hours ago, staining the night with thunder and blood. The sky was painted in soft pastel hues of blush and pale gold that bled into stubborn shades of grey.
The glass-walled elevator slowed down to a halt with a sharp ping, as the steel doors slid open neatly, revealing a long hallway stretching down beneath rows of warm-white fluorescent lights.
I stepped out quietly, the heel of my shoes clicking against pristine marble floors softly, each echo rivaling the thunderous heartbeat pounding inside my ears.
The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with tall glass windows framed in brushed gold, their surfaces still damp from last night's rain. Tiny droplets clung stubbornly to the glass, catching the early morning light and scattering it into fractured reflections that danced faintly along the walls.
Between the windows hung minimalist artwork of abstract strokes in muted greys and whites. Soft recessed lighting glowed overhead, casting a warm sheen over polished marble that made the space feel more like a private gallery than a hospital floor.
My eyes unknowingly drifted up to the clock against the ivory painted wall.
9:58 AM
Right around sunrise, we had landed safely in Italy. I had fallen asleep mid-flight, practically passed out during the entire journey from the sheer exhaustion and stress from the night before. I didn't even remember the last time I slept properly.
Sebastian had cleaned up the cuts on my forehead and arms just after we took off, going as far as putting on a compression wrap around my ankle after hearing from me that it was sprained from running. He was so comically serious when treating the minor injuries that it nearly made me laugh.
Honestly, I was surprised he didn't get me admitted to the hospital yet, considering how much he was exaggerating over a mere, almost fading, bruise on my cheek.
That being said, it had been more than an hour since Elliott's operation had resumed after he was carried out of the air ambulance. An hour since I had sat in that private waiting room, surrounded by silence so thick it pressed against my chest.
I had overheard the nurses talking about how critical his condition was, about how much blood he had lost and how they were losing hope of reviving him.
