Vica felt her stomach muscles tighten. What did he mean by "You are busted"? She was more terrified at this moment. Terrified, not of the young man or whether he recognized her, but of having to kill everyone immediately before Xavier got here to meet his dead.
The young man rushed downstairs with excitement. Dressed in baggy ripped jeans and an oversized shirt with his face cap facing backward, he had a visible tattoo on his left arm, which she hadn't noticed the night she met him.
He looked so much like the younger version of Xavier, except that he had a piercing. He hugged Vica tightly, and she was stunned by the gesture. He looked like a thug but hugged her like a five-year-old girl who had just seen her mum after a long day.
"Finally met the woman giving my grumpy brother sleepless nights," he said excitedly.
Vica was confused by his behavior and didn't respond to his hug, mostly because she barely ever received hugs, and this excitement was strange to her. She hated close contact with other humans and definitely not with her victims.
"So tell me…" The excited boy said, letting go. "How did you meet Mr. Grumpy Control Freak?" he asked, dragging Vica to the next seat.
"Get your hands off her, Nardo," Xavier warned, walking with fast strides toward them, one hand in his pocket. "And stop prying into my business, arsehole…"
"Just trying to know the chick, bro—no need to be so cocky about it," Nardo responded, his accent different, sounding more American than Italian.
"Shut up, Nardo," Xavier snapped, his face void of any smile.
Vica was more concerned about what had happened to Xavier. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, with a few plasters on the bruises on his face and arm.
He grabbed Vica by the arm, not caring if he was acting violently. "Come with me," he ordered, pulling her toward the stairs.
Vica didn't protest or struggle to know where he was taking her.
"Come on, bro, at least introduce her to me..." Nardo yelled. "You don't have to be such a horny dog." He chuckled.
Vica followed him in silence. He pushed the door to his room open and shoved Vica in, shutting the door behind her.
He ran his hand through his well-styled hair, one arm resting on his waist. His countenance was confusing—a mixture of worry, anger, relief, and happiness all at once.
They stood there in silence, Vica sneaking a peek of his room rather than looking at him. She didn't care what he felt or thought at the moment.
She looked at the king-size bed, taking note of his color choice and decor. His duvet was grey, just like the walls. Everything in his room was either grey or white, and this made the room look exotic.
"Where have you been?!" he shouted, bringing Vica out of her thoughts.
"Oh," Vica responded, puffing out air, more relaxed than Xavier wanted her to be. "I've been around…"
"Answer the fucking question," Xavier yelled, feeling frustrated by her response. "Where the hell in Bologna have you been?"
Vica felt a bit intimidated by his words and the tone he used. She had never seen him this angry, but she was raised by the devil, so Xavier didn't scare her one bit.
"Had some things to sort out," she responded.
"And you left? Without informing me?" Xavier paced up and down, feeling furious. "What were you thinking, going off without any sort of announcement? Did you, for once, think about how I would feel?" he continued. "You just dis—"
"Disappeared? Go on…" She retorted. "Would you have let me if I told you?" Vica questioned, moving to the bed.
Xavier pulled her into a hug, unexpectedly—but she fell perfectly into his arms as if she had been desperately waiting for it.
Running his hands through her hair, he blurted out, "Please don't do things like this ever again." He exhaled deeply, breaking the long tight hug. His hands stretched out, holding her in both arms. Vica could see the relief in his eyes.
"I know it's hard. You've never had someone to care about you, but please, you've got me now, and you don't need to be unattached anymore."
Vica was speechless. She had never heard words so touching and true.
"The guy downstairs, who is he?" she asked, detouring from everything Xavier had just said. She didn't want to get used to his affection—the mission had to be completed sooner.
"My kid brother, Leonardo Baccio." Xavier felt sad that she didn't respond to his words but didn't feel like pressing the issue.
"I suppose he doesn't live here?"
Xavier moved to the chair and sat on the arm. "Yes, he flew in from the US last night."
"You've never mentioned him," Vica ended up feeling comfortable sitting on his bed without realizing it.
"There is nothing to mention about him. Plus, he's never come up in any of our conversations."
"Oh, I see," Vica responded thoughtfully.
"Yeah."
Vica stared at him keenly, then realized the bandage wrapped around his head.
"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice laced with both worry and sarcasm. Her sharp gaze locked onto him, searching for an explanation, for something she might have missed.
"You happened to me."
Her breath caught. "Me?!" Vica's voice was high-pitched, disbelief stark in her widened eyes.
"Yes! You, Ludovica Russo," Xavier shot back, his voice trembling with pent-up frustration.
His fists clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. "I've been worried sick! I thought something had happened to you—I couldn't find you anywhere! Damn it, Vica!" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "You don't just disappear like that and come back as if nothing happened."
Vica held his gaze, unbothered by the storm brewing in his. "I had things to attend to," she replied, her tone as indifferent as if they were discussing the weather.
That apathy sent a fresh wave of anger rolling through him. She was so composed, so maddeningly detached, while he had spent days trapped in a cycle of worry, rage, and aching uncertainty.
Xavier exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. His pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to yell, to shake some kind of reaction out of her, but he knew it would do no good.
Vica stood abruptly, the tension suffocating. Without another word, she turned toward the door.
Instinct took over.
Xavier caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. She gasped as she lost her balance, stumbling against his chest. Her palms pressed flat against him, and for a second, neither of them moved.
Then, without thinking—without giving her the chance to escape—he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't measured. It was a collision, an explosion of everything he had been holding back.
Vica stiffened, her mind racing to catch up. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected him to break like this.
Xavier was prepared for resistance. He expected her to push him away, to slap him, to lash out. But she did none of those things.
And that was his undoing.
Something inside her cracked, something she had fought hard to keep buried. Slowly, hesitantly, she let go.
Their lips met again, deeper this time, a desperate clash of longing and defiance. His hands tightened around her waist as if afraid she'd disappear again. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and when she didn't pull away, he took more—demanded more.
The warmth of his mouth consumed her, igniting something dangerous inside her chest. It felt like drowning and breathing all at once, like falling and never hitting the ground.
Vica knew she should stop him. She knew she should push away, set a boundary before this spiraled beyond her control.
But she didn't.
Because this wasn't just a kiss.
It was a war—a merging of souls.
And she wasn't sure which of them would survive it.