The next morning, Hazel awoke to the warm, inviting scent of breakfast wafting through the air. For a brief moment, the world felt normal. She stretched lazily, letting the comfort of the morning lull her into a fragile sense of peace. But as she entered the kitchen, that illusion shattered.
On the table sat a full plate of breakfast, meticulously arranged, with steam curling up from a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Behind the counter stood Enzo, his sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water as he washed the dishes. It was almost domestic—almost.
Without turning around, Enzo spoke, his voice steady but tinged with something unreadable. "I have to talk to you, but now is not the time."
Hazel barely had time to process his words before he added, "It's time to go, Bianca."
Hazel's heart stopped. Bianca?
From Enzo's room, she emerged, her movements lazy and unapologetic. She wore nothing but one of Enzo's shirts, the buttons carelessly fastened, and a smirk that made Hazel's stomach churn. Bianca's voice dripped with condescension as she responded, "Okay."
Hazel felt as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath her. She sank into the nearest chair, her eyes fixed on the untouched plate of food. The aroma that had once made her feel at home now made her nauseous. Enzo didn't even look at her—no explanation, no remorse, just… nothing.
The hours blurred together as Hazel sat in that chair, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief and heartbreak. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound ever could. By the time the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the room, Hazel had made her decision.
She was leaving.
She would rather face danger head-on, unprotected, than stay another minute in the presence of someone who had shattered her trust so carelessly.
As evening settled in, Hazel quietly gathered her things, her hands trembling. She moved toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest, when it suddenly flew open. Enzo burst through, his face pale, eyes wild with urgency. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with a quick twist of his wrist.
"They're coming," he whispered, his voice low but sharp with fear.
Hazel froze. "Who?" she managed to croak, her earlier anger now tangled with fear.
"The Russian mafia," Enzo hissed, glancing over his shoulder. "They're on their way. We have to go. Now."
Before Hazel could respond, the distant roar of engines echoed through the walls. Cars screeched to a halt outside the hotel. Panic surged through her, but before she could react, Enzo scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.
"Enzo—!" she tried to protest, but his grip only tightened.
"Hold on," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
He raced up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time, his breath ragged but determined. The sound of footsteps and shouting grew louder behind them, each second closing the gap between life and death. When they burst onto the roof, the cool night air hit Hazel like a slap. A helicopter waited, its blades spinning wildly, the deafening roar drowning out everything else.
Without hesitation, Enzo leapt into the aircraft, pulling Hazel with him. As soon as they were inside, the helicopter lifted off, the city lights shrinking beneath them. Hazel stared out the window, her heart pounding, watching as the hotel—and the danger—faded into the distance.
But the ache in her chest remained.
Minutes later, the helicopter descended at a small, dimly lit airport. A sleek, black plane sat on the runway, its engines already humming, waiting just for them.
Enzo finally met Hazel's gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. "We're not safe yet," he murmured, but Hazel barely heard him.
Because no matter how far they flew, she knew the real danger was sitting right beside her.
Hazel was exhausted. The weight of the day's events pressed heavily upon her, draining every ounce of energy she had left. As she curled up on the seat, the gentle hum of the moving vehicle lulled her into an uneasy sleep. Yet, her mind was restless, plagued by thoughts she couldn't quite escape.
Enzo, however, remained wide awake. His sharp eyes had caught sight of the packed bags in the apartment before they left, and the realization sat uncomfortably with him. Something was happening—something she wasn't telling him. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping idly against his knee as he stared out the window into the darkness.
When Hazel finally stirred, the first thing she saw were his intense hazel eyes locked onto her. Her heart skipped a beat. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something that made her both nervous and safe at the same time.
"Go back to sleep," Enzo murmured, his voice softer than she expected. "We'll be there soon."
She hesitated, her tired mind struggling to form words. Then, in a quiet, almost pleading voice, she whispered, "Promise me something."
His brows furrowed slightly. "What is it?"
"Promise me you'll always take care of me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter what we are to each other, no matter what happens… Just promise me that, for as long as there's even the slightest chance I might be in danger."
For a moment, there was only silence between them. Then, Enzo leaned slightly closer, his expression unreadable yet certain. "I promise," he said, his voice steady and unwavering.
And somehow, despite all the uncertainty that surrounded them, Hazel allowed herself to believe him.