New York shimmered beneath us as the plane dipped, the city glowing like a galaxy trapped in steel and glass. I glanced sideways. Adhira was pressed against the window, her lips slightly parted, eyes absorbing every inch of the skyline. But there was something tight in her shoulders. She was silent.

"Hey," I said gently. "You okay?"

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I haven’t traveled in a long time. And it’s been years since I came to New York. The last time was with my parents... for an audition."

Her voice trailed off. Her eyes turned glassy as the memories surfaced. I reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. I knew that ache. The pain of losing the people who built your world. The accident on her 20th birthday had taken everything from her, yet she didn’t remember the worst of it—her mind had buried the horror in shadows. The party, the fire, the gunshots... all gone. A coping mechanism. A survival instinct. But I remembered. Because I was there.

"It’s okay," I said softly. "I’m here now. With you. And we’ll make new memories, just you and me. Ones that don’t hurt."

She looked at me, a flicker of warmth breaking through the clouds in her gaze. "You make it sound so easy."

"With you? It’s worth every effort. Even the impossible feels manageable when I’m beside you."

The plane touched down, and we descended into the hum of New York. As Adhira slid into the car waiting for us, I turned to Alesandro, my head of security.

"Security details?"

"Locked down," he replied. "Your uncle’s hotel has been prepped. You’ll be safe."

I nodded and joined Adhira inside. She was staring out the window again, lost in thought. I didn’t speak. Sometimes, silence was the gentlest thing you could offer someone carrying the weight of ghosts.

We checked into the hotel quietly. The suite was sleek and warm, high above the chaos of the city. She stood at the window, silhouetted against the skyline while I placed our bags down.

"You want to walk a bit? Central Park’s not far," I offered.

She turned to me slowly. Her eyes were still glassy, but something flickered in them.

"I’d like that," she said, then added with a small smile, "Especially with you. It’s like... maybe it won’t feel so heavy. Maybe I can start remembering cities by the moments we create in them. Not the ones I’ve lost."

I walked toward her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then let’s start now. One moment at a time."

She leaned into my touch, and for the first time since we landed, I felt her breathe easier.

°•. ✿ .•°

Those two days were... peaceful. Almost surreal. We strolled along snow-dusted sidewalks. She tried every pretzel cart we passed, claiming none of them lived up to her imagination. I wrapped her in my coat when she forgot hers. One night, I pulled her onto a rooftop I knew well—dim lights, quiet hum of distant traffic, and the kind of sky that made you feel infinite.

That was the night she kissed me again.

And I fell.

We were sitting side by side on the rooftop, her head resting gently on my shoulder as the wind brushed past us. She looked up at me and whispered, “It feels like déjà vu.”

I tilted my head just slightly, enough to catch her eyes.
They were brown—the rich kind. Dark chocolate when it melts slowly, thick and warm. Her eyes never revealed too much. She never liked showing emotions, never liked opening up. But I could see it. The trace of something. The ache she didn’t name.

“Does it now?” I murmured, my voice low, gaze returning to the cityscape below.
There was a reason I’d brought her here—to this rooftop. A reason only I remembered.
She had told me once, long ago. But she doesn’t remember saying it.
She doesn't remember the night.
But I do.

It was her 18th birthday.
They threw her into that cell like she was nothing but collateral.
She stumbled in, wearing a soft little dress—pink, I think—shivering with fear. And there I was. Bloodied. Beaten. Hanging from the ceiling, my wrists tied above me, ankles strapped to opposite ends of the wall, stretching me so wide I could barely touch the ground.
They’d fastened a belt around my waist. Not just any belt. One laced with embedded nails. I still carry those scars.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was seeing her like that. My girl.
They didn’t know what they’d done when they put her in that cell. She fought. Not just cried or screamed—fought. For me.
She made them untie me.
And when they sat me down, it was her hand that clutched mine, her eyes that wept silent tears.
For the next three days, they locked us in that room.
We talked. We breathed. We watched the world through a crack in the wall—just a sliver of sky and wind through a rusted window meant for ventilation.
She doesn’t remember any of it. But I do.
I remember every word. Every heartbeat. Every time she looked at me like I was worth saving.

And now, I know who was behind it all.
The men who stalk her. The ones who fired those shots. I know their names. I know their faces.
But I’m letting it unfold—just enough.
Because each step of fear drives her closer to me.
Each shadow pushes her into my arms.
She’s beginning to trust me. To need me.
That’s what I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

My thoughts slipped away when I noticed the first flecks of ice falling from the sky.
I stood up fast, instinct pulling me forward. I grabbed her hand.
“Come inside,” I said.
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she slipped her hand from mine, walked a few steps forward, tilted her face to the sky... and smiled.
A quiet, fragile smile.
She lifted her arms like she was catching snowflakes on her palms.

And in that moment, I swear... I melted.

God, she’s beautiful.
And she’s mine.

We stood there in silence for about ten minutes, the soft snow giving way to drizzle. She looked so lost in that moment—arms stretched out, eyes on the sky, that tiny smile pulling at her lips like she hadn’t smiled in years.

But the rain was getting heavier, and I wasn’t about to let her catch a cold.
I muttered a curse under my breath and finally tugged her hand.
“Alright, starlight, that’s enough sky romance for one night. Inside.”

She pouted, but didn’t protest.

We ran through the dimly lit streets of New York, slipping between narrow alleys, past shuttering cafes, warm-lit stores, and tiny homes with flower boxes still somehow alive in this cold. Her laughter echoed through the air, and I swear it sounded louder than the city itself.
Our hands were locked, fingers interlaced, and for a moment—just a damn moment—I forgot about the blood, the enemies, the past.

Back at the hotel, we stumbled into the penthouse, slightly wet and completely out of breath. The living room was massive—plush sofas, a bar in the corner, a dining area, and a wall-to-wall TV. The place screamed opulence.
She headed to the right bedroom. I went left to change.

When I came out, she was already in the living room, curled up on the couch in a light pink pajama set with tiny clouds on it.
I raised a brow.
“What are you, five?”
She stuck out her tongue and said, “What are you, ninety? Go put on your boring grey t-shirts and leave my clouds alone.”

We ordered pasta and started watching Mr. & Mrs. Smith.
Now let me say this: the couple in that movie? Absolute morons.
“You’re telling me they’ve been married for years and had no idea the other was a spy?” I scoffed, mouth full of penne. “Please. That’s not love, that’s incompetence.”

She threw a pillow at me. “Oh my God, you’re impossible. It’s fiction, Lorenzo. Ever heard of suspension of disbelief?”

I caught the pillow mid-air and smirked. “You’re defending them? Seriously?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. You think you’d know if I was secretly a trained assassin?”

I leaned in, eyes glinting. “I’d smell it on you.”

She giggled and curled closer under the blanket, our bodies molding together on the couch. Her head rested on my shoulder, her fingers lightly tracing circles on my arm.
As the movie played, the couple on screen began fighting—and then, somehow, transitioned into a romantic scene.

I groaned loudly. “Ugh, what is this? Who kisses in the middle of trying to kill each other?”
She laughed into her blanket. “People who are in love, Lorenzo. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

“I know enough to not make out while dodging bullets.”

“You wouldn’t survive in a romance film,” she teased. “They’d kill you off in the first five minutes for being too grumpy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Exactly why I don’t watch this crap.”

But I didn’t move. I stayed there, arm wrapped around her, breathing in the soft scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin.
Then, suddenly, she sat up straight.
I looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Lorenzo… I like you,” she began softly, her voice shaky but honest. “I mean, I do. I really do… but I—I don’t know. These feelings are confusing, and I don’t know what we are.”

She looked at me, her brows furrowed in frustration.

“We’ve kissed, we’re living together, and we clearly care about each other. But I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship—not when everything around us feels so… dangerous. I mean, I want to date you… but with everything going on, it feels like we just can’t.”

I stared at her, the storm she feared already thundering behind my eyes. My jaw tightened as I took her hand in mine and leaned in, voice low and unshakable.

“Listen to me, Adhira,” I said slowly. “I like you. More than I should. And there is no one—no person on this planet—who can keep you away from me.”

She blinked, caught between fear and confusion.

“I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about the danger. The only thing that matters to me is your present and your future. With me. And yes, we are dating. I don’t go around kissing women casually.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to protest or question, but I didn’t let her.

What I didn’t say—what I couldn’t—was that I remembered everything.

I was twenty when I kissed her for the first time. And after that, I never got close to anyone else. No one felt like her. No one was her. Even after all this time—nearly four damn years—she still haunted my nights. Now, she’s back. With me. Breathing the same air, smiling at the same dumb movies. And hell if I’m letting anyone or anything come between us again.

“But Lorenzo…” she said quietly, pulling me back to the present, “would you still like me if I had secrets you might never understand? You know I don’t have most of my memories… and sometimes it’s frustrating that I can’t remember anything from my teenage years. And it scares me.”

I reached out and gently tilted her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Adhira,” I said softly, “I’ve seen blood dry on your eyelashes and still thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’ve heard you scream in your sleep, and I still wanted nothing more than to hold you tighter. You think secrets scare me?” I gave a crooked smirk. “Baby, I’m Italian. We’re practically raised on them.”

She blinked once, and then let out a soft, surprised laugh. Her eyes were glossy, but the tears didn’t fall.

“That was both horrifying… and kind of sweet,” she whispered.

I grinned. “That’s my charm.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re insane.”

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead—soft, firm, and final.

“Only for you.”

°•. ✿ .•°

Later that night, the movie ended, but neither of us moved. The room had gone still, lit only by the soft glow of the TV screen and the distant hum of the New York skyline beyond the tall glass windows.

Adhira lay curled against me on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her head resting against my chest, and her fingers absently tracing shapes on my arm. Her breathing was calm, and there was a peace in her presence that made me want to freeze time.

“You ever think about who you were… before all the chaos?” she asked suddenly, her voice low, thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” I murmured, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. “But I like who I am when I’m with you. Maybe that’s who I was meant to be all along.”

She tilted her head up just enough to meet my gaze. “You say the cheesiest things sometimes, Lorenzo.”

“Guilty.” I smiled. “But true.”

A moment passed, and then both our phones buzzed nearly at the same time.

I glanced at mine and felt my lips curve into a small smile. “It’s from Isobella. She wants to have lunch tomorrow.”

Adhira turned slightly, curiosity in her eyes. “Isobella… she’s your cousin, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, still smiling faintly. “More like an older sister, really. She practically raised me during the worst years of my life.”

“What does she want to talk about?”

“She said she’s in the city for a day and wants to meet both of us.”

Adhira blinked. “Wait—me too?”

I nodded. “She’s been asking about you ever since she saw that blurry picture we took at the museum. Said, and I quote, ‘She better be as brilliant as she looks.’”

Adhira’s cheeks flushed faintly. “That’s… intimidating.”

“She’s amazing,” I said softly, “but she’s also not the kind of person who judges people at first glance. She’ll love you.”

Just then, Adhira’s phone buzzed again. She looked at it and sighed.

“My brothers,” she said. “Their flight got delayed again. They’ll be arriving the day after tomorrow now.”

I saw the slight shift in her smile—disappointment mixed with something else. Relief, maybe?

“Well,” I said gently, “looks like we’ve got another day to ourselves.”

She leaned into me again, a soft yawn escaping her. “And a lunch date with your scary, brilliant cousin.”

“She’s only scary when she’s driving,” I teased. “Or arguing about classic literature.”

Adhira grinned. “She sounds like my kind of person.”

“She is,” I said, resting my chin lightly on her head. “But don’t let her charm you too much. I need you on my side in case she starts bullying me over my bad texting habits.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t worry. I’m loyal. Mostly.”

I tilted her chin up and kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll take it.”

We didn’t talk much after that. Just stayed curled together on the couch, the night stretching around us like a soft blanket. No dangers lurking at the door. No shadows from the past. Just warmth, laughter, and the steady rhythm of something that felt a lot like love.

°•. ✿ .•°
That night, after she fell asleep curled beside me, I stood by the window and made a call.

Alesandro picked up on the second ring. “Boss?”

“Did you get the list?”

“Yes, sir. Confirmed. All five of them were in Manhattan as of yesterday.”

“Good,” I said coldly, eyes narrowing on the street below. “Keep them on a leash. No moves until I say so.”

“And the girl?”

I looked back at Adhira, tangled in a blanket, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a dream.

“She doesn’t know yet,” I said quietly. “But she will.”

“Sir—”

“If any of them comes close,” I cut him off, voice sharpened like a blade, “I want their faces in the pavement before they even think of blinking. No one touches her.”

A beat of silence.

Then Alesandro responded, “Understood.”

I ended the call.

Outside, New York pulsed with a thousand lives. But inside this penthouse, there was only one that mattered. Hers.

And they thought they could break her again?

They didn’t realize…

She wasn’t alone this time.

She had me.

And I don’t forgive. I don’t forget.
I hunt.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊

A very Long long chapter for you guys. 

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Word Limit: 2670 words.