Zadie’s POV
I used to hate silence. Now, I crave it. No earpiece, no encrypted calls, no ticking clocks counting down to chaos. Just the soft hum of my fridge, the clink of utensils on ceramic, and the occasional rustle of the city through my open window. I was learning how to be normal. Or at least pretending to. But pretending doesn’t stop your heart from aching.
It had been ten days since I walked away from Lazaro. Ten days of unread messages. Ten days of gifts arriving at my door, flowers I never unwrapped, boxes I never opened, notes I never read. Ten days of pretending I didn’t care when my entire body screamed that I did. But I had to.
Because no matter how much I loved him, he was still part of the world I’d spent my entire life fighting. I may have left the agency, but I hadn’t forgotten who I was. Or what I believed in. I hated criminals.
And Lazaro Saventino, whether he was wearing a custom suit or whispering my name in the dark, was one of them. I stabbed at the roasted chicken on my plate with more force than necessary. The apartment was dim, the news playing in the background more out of habit than interest.
“Saventino Group under fire again after an anonymous tip linked one of their shell companies to offshore smuggling-” I muted it with the remote. I didn’t want to hear his name. Not tonight. But fate wasn’t listening. My phone buzzed. Again.
Lazaro: Still not talking to me, huh?
Lazaro: I miss you. I’m trying, Zadie.
Lazaro: I closed three of the biggest arms deals last week. I’m doing it, slowly for you.
I turned the phone face down on the table and forced a bite into my mouth. I chewed, swallowed, and told myself I was fine. Then the world stopped. A sudden alert blared from the TV, even though I had muted it. A red ticker ran across the bottom of the screen. The words were slow. Like someone was prying open my chest with cold fingers and typing them directly into my bones.
BREAKING NEWS: Underground Tycoon Lazaro Saventino Found Dead in Alleged Car Explosion.
I blinked. No. No, no, no. I dropped my fork. It clattered against the plate and hit the floor, but I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears.
“No...” I fumbled with the remote, turned the volume up, and stared at the screen like it could lie to me.
The news anchor looked solemn. “...confirmed by local authorities. The vehicle, registered under a shell corporation tied to Saventino, exploded near the coastal highway late this afternoon. Initial findings suggest foul play. The body is unrecognizable, but key identifiers and DNA samples are pending verification...”
My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. I gripped the table edge like it could anchor me, like it could stop the floor from shifting beneath my feet.
“He’s not dead,” I whispered. “He can’t be.”
I stood too fast. My chair screeched against the floor. My legs barely held. The room spun, the lights too dim, the shadows too heavy. My phone buzzed again.
It was muscle memory that made me reach for it. I prayed it was him, like throwing some sick joke. A message saying “I’m okay.” But it wasn’t. It was Luca.
Luca: Call me. Now.
My fingers shook as I dialed. It rang once before he picked up. “Zadie.”
“Tell me it’s not true,” I said, voice cracking. “Please, tell me he’s okay.” There was silence on the other end. Heavy. Final.
“I… I don’t know,” Luca said. “I got the same report. The car was his. The watch they found on the scene was the one I gave him last year.” I choked back a sob. No….this can’t be real.