"I. Fucking. Love. You. Myko!" Alessio gasps, his voice cracking in relief.
I shoot him a death glare. "You better—"
Before I can finish, Myko’s roar shreds through the water. Deep, bone-rattling.
Onyx clamps her hands over her ears, trembling closer, her face pale with terror.
Then—
silence.
The dragonfish vanish as if yanked into the depths by invisible hooks. I take one long, shaky breath, my gills opening wide to force in the calm.
Thank the oceans. They’re gone.
Roran
“So, Roran Morozova,” the man from before calls out.
My name on his tongue sounds foreign—not just stripped of its Russian accent, but spoken in a tone that feels almost mocking, as if he’s testing how it fits in his mouth.
I don’t know the version of me he thinks he’s addressing. Because the me I do know… never deserved any of this.
“What exactly do you need from Pedro?” His expression sharpens, eyes narrowing enough to burn a hole straight through my forehead if they were truly weapons.
“Dad,” Kayla sighs, stepping forward to stand in front of me. Her back shields me.
My pulse jumps at the unfamiliar sensation—someone standing up for me. Protecting me. The only one who ever did that before was Diana.
Please let her be okay. Please.
“Kayla,” he growls. “Step back.”
It isn’t a suggestion. She knows it too. She clenches her fists, spits out something sharp in Italian under her breath, then steps back beside Chris, who now stands at her father’s side.
If that’s Kayla and Maleciandro’s father, then he—the one questioning me—must be Luca Spallo.
Iknewit.
Every cell in my body lit up like a warning flare the second he came closer the first time.
That’s why everyone in the room follows every flicker of his fingers, every breath, every subtle shift in posture.
It’s tense. But strangely… I’m not as afraid as I should be.
He doesn’t wear the face of a man about to deliver a kill. He’s calculating. Reading. Testing.
Violence—that, I can predict. I’ve always known the split second before a hand would come down, before a belt would crack, before a knife would cut. But now? For once, I’m not on anyone’s black list. At least not in this space.
It’s almost funny that in this room—among the very monsters I grew up warned about—I’m not worried for my life. For the first time.
But Kayla stood up for me. In front of one of the most feared men in New York, in front of her flesh and blood. Why? Is this all a game? A test?
“Well?” Luca’s voice cuts through, almost amused, as he keeps his gaze pinned on me.
Only now do I realize I haven’t spoken a single word since entering this locked office—the same one Maleciandro vanished into earlier. Apparently, it’s Luca’s office.
“There’s a medicine only my father has,” I finally say. My voice comes out steady, clear, stronger than I expected. “He gives it to me every two weeks because I’m sick. If I don’t get the next dose by next week… I might lose my mind here.”
