Page 80 of Blood Heir

Outside, I hear Emilia’s voice again, strained but steady. “Thank you, boys. I’ve got it from here.”

A pause.

“You sure? The Don told Cassian—” one of them says, hesitant.

“I said I’ve got it,” Emilia snaps. There’s panic hiding behind her faux confidence. “Besides, you want me to trip down the driveway with you hovering over me? I can handle my own bags.”

Silence. Footsteps retreat. The engine starts.

The car jolts forward, and my box shifts slightly, making the little air I have feel even thinner. Sweat slides down the back of my neck, soaking my shirt. My head pounds. My arms are numb from how tightly I’ve been holding them against my body.

Breathe, Fioretta. Just breathe.

The minutes crawl. My vision swims, bright dots flickering behind my eyelids. My throat is dry as dust, and my lungs tighten like I’ve wrapped a rope around my ribs. The box rocks with every turn Emilia takes. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

And then—blessedly—the car lurches to a stop.

The door opens, then slams shut. Footsteps sound again—fast. She’s coming.

The trunk clicks. Light slices through the darkness as the zipper rips open.

Air—real, clean air—pours in. I gasp like I’ve been drowning. My lungs expand sharply as I jerk upright, coughing, my vision spinning.

Emilia stares at me, wide-eyed, her face pale and slick with sweat.

“You’re alive,” she breathes. “Thank God.”

I swing my legs out, shaky, and rest my hands on the car’s frame to keep from collapsing. My heartbeat slams against my ribs like a drum.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice small.

I lift my head, my breathing still ragged, and give her a crooked smile. “Where else?” I rasp. “Your house.”

^^^^

The warm water laps against my skin like silk, but it does nothing to soothe the ache twisting through my limbs. My body’s sore from hours folded like origami inside that cursed box, twice now. The second trip had been even worse—more guards, more eyes to avoid. Emilia had panicked the whole ride, her hands slick on the wheel. By the time we made it up to her apartment, I could barely stand. She’d bribed two of the house staff to carry the box inside, their grunts echoing as they struggled with my dead weight. They never questioned what was inside. Money tends to silence curiosity.

Now I’m finally here, floating, letting the bathwater carry what’s left of my tension. My muscles burn in places I didn’t even know existed. The scent of lavender oil rises up from the water, but all I smell is exhaustion.

The door creaks open. Emilia steps inside, closing it softly behind her like she’s afraid to wake a ghost. She perches on the toilet seat, her arms hugging her knees, her face blotchy from crying earlier. She’s thrown on an oversized sweater that swallows her whole, her hair piled into a messy bun.

“I set out clean clothes for you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

I nod, resting my head back against the porcelain edge, closing my eyes for a moment. The tension between us sits heavy, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

For a while, neither of us speaks. Just the sound of water shifting with my slow breathing. Then she breaks the silence, her voice cracking. “Cassian asked if I knew where you were—I said I didn’t.”

My eyes stay shut as I mumble, “Thanks.”

More silence. Her breathing wavers. Then softly, “When did you get your memory back?”

I finally open my eyes and turn my head, meeting her gaze across the room. “Why do you care?”

Her lips quiver. She blinks fast like she’s trying to keep tears from falling. “I don’t know.”

I exhale through my nose and close my eyes again. “I’ll divorce Serevin when I’m done,” I say flatly. “You can have him. So don’t look so blue.”

There’s a sharp, bitter laugh from her corner. “Of course you will.”

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