Not Afraid of the Mafia Heir’s Threat Chapter 08
The lights went out all at once.
A clear, bright voice rose through the dark signaling that the competition had begun.
I sat back down as if nothing had happened.
Lorenzo didn’t press me anymore.
He leaned close as he murmured, “Why did you just give up your spot?”
I looked at him, confused.
He seemed to read it on my face and explained, “You didn’t have to drop out. You only had to hold back a little.”
“You worked so hard for vocal training. It’s a shame not to go onstage at all.”
He was tall.
Whenever he bent close, I could hear his heartbeat by my ear, steady and strong.
I stared at the side of his face, my mind slipping backward through time.
My mother had looked heartbroken in our kitchen all those years ago when I announced I wanted to study singing.
“Sera, sweetheart, you can barely get the words out half the time. How is this supposed to work?”
I had opened my mouth to argue.
But the burning salt of my tears hit the ceramic rim of my bowl before I could form a single syllable.
Lorenzo reached over, took away the rice I’d cried into, and said flatly, “So what if she stutters? I’ll practice with her.”
And he did.
He bought a whole bag of little stones.
He put a pink one in my mouth and kept a white one in his own.
With his speech just as slurred, he looked at me and said, “Come on, Sera. Prove them wrong.”
A sudden burst of applause snapped the thread of memory.
Gianna stood under the spotlight, clutching the trophy with tears glistening on her flushed cheeks.
I smiled faintly. “I’m tired of suffering for things.”
“From now on, I only want what’s sweet.”
The smile froze on Lorenzo’s face.
Something like panic flickered across it, though he didn’t seem to know why.
He reached for my hand. “Then I’ll take you out for dessert, okay?”
But the lights came back on.
Gianna’s voice drifted through the microphone, soft and trembling and dripping with performance. “Lorenzo, I know you have a girlfriend.”
“But I’m really grateful to you.”
“Can we pretend to be a couple for one week?”
The whole room erupted.
Every hungry, thrilled, malicious stare turned straight toward Gianna.
The whispers started immediately.
“Doesn’t Lorenzo already have a girlfriend?”
“So she really is going after someone else’s man?”
“Well, the unloved one is always the true interloper.”
Lorenzo let go of my hand.
He stood up and swept the room with one cold glance.
the auditorium silent at once.
He never looked at me.
He said yes.
“Okay.”
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe in there.
I turned and walked out.
Lorenzo followed me.
He stepped in front of me, trying to soothe me as if none of this was a big deal.
“Sera, it’s just one week.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You know you’re still the one I love most…”
The fall wind cut across my skin.
I shivered.
And just like that, the fog in my head cleared.
I looked at him and asked quietly, “Can you delete the photos now?”
Lorenzo froze for a second.
Under the pale wash of moonlight, he looked blurred somehow, like he’d been swallowed by mist.
“Okay,” he said after a pause. “I’ll delete them now.”
I stood beside him.
I watched.
And watched.
I made sure every last trace of that past was gone.
Only then did I finally let out a long breath.
Lorenzo looked like he wanted to say something else.
But Gianna came over.
Her eyes were red, and so was the tip of her nose. “Lorenzo.”
So he let go of me.
In a soft voice, he said, “Be good and wait for me at home.”
“In one week, I’ll come back.”
“I’ll bring you a gift to make it up to you.”
Right before boarding, I blocked Lorenzo.
As the plane rose past the skyline, I stared at the warm orange light outside the window.
For the first time in a long while, my heart felt quiet.
Sera, I told myself.
From now on, it’s all going to be new.
Finance was brutal.
The workload was heavy, and the professors expected everything.
When I opened my eyes, there were classes waiting.
When I closed them, there were deadlines.
And somehow, I barely had insomnia anymore.
At eight one morning, Vanessa called me.
She hesitated so long before speaking that I knew what it was about. “Sera… Lorenzo figured out you left.”
I looked down at the calendar.
Counted the days.
So seven days had passed already.
A little nervous, I asked, “He didn’t bother you, did he?”
Vanessa lowered her voice. “He asked where you were. I told him I didn’t know.”
“He didn’t say anything after that. He just left.”
I let out a breath. “That’s good.”
After I hung up, unease still lingered in my chest.
But I forced myself to compartmentalize the dread.
Nothing was going to happen.
So I kept living.
Class, meals, sleep.
Sometimes parties, sometimes dancing.
Three months later, London saw its first snow.
A thin dusting had settled in front of the building.
I wrapped myself in a scarf and hat until I looked like a bundled up in heavy wool layers to brave the bitter air, and only then did I feel warm enough to go outside.
The chain on the wooden front door had started to rust.
Whenever I opened it, it let out a creak like an old organ giving up its last note.
The sound faded.
Snowflakes landed on my lashes.
I lowered my gaze.
A bouquet of red roses lay on the ground.
The card attached to it read:
Lorenzo.