Chapter 220
KATYA POV
"Is there a problem here?" The words landed like a blade slipping between my ribs.
I turned.
Black suit. Earpiece. Neutral stance, feet planted just far enough apart to look casual while being anything but.
His eyes scanned—, Nonna, Michael—too sharp, too practiced.
My body froze. Not again.
My mind scread before my mouth could form a sound. The mall vanished. The lights dulled.
All I could see was the suit, the shape of authority, the quiet certainty of soone who didn’t ask questions unless he already knew the answers.
My breath stalled in my chest. Nonna inhaled sharply beside . "I knew it," she said, scoffing, her voice dry, edged with sothing like vindication.
"That boy would never let soone step out of the house without security." Her gaze stayed locked on the man, assessing, unimpressed, as if he were an inconvenience rather than a threat.
The guard inclined his head slightly, respectful but firm. "Signora," he said calmly. "We were notified of a disturbance."
Disturbance. The word made my stomach twist. Michael wasn’t a disturbance. He’s just, he’s just....what.
Nonna waved a hand dismissively. "There is no disturbance. Only poor manners."
As her attention remained fixed on the man in black, sothing warm and sudden closed around my wrist.
I flinched.
Michael.
I turned my head slowly, heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. His fingers were tight not painful, but possessive in a way that made my skin crawl.
He leaned in, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "Katya. Who is she?"
She.
His eyes flicked past briefly, to Nonna, to the guard and then back to my face. Confusion. Suspicion. Hurt. All tangled together.
"Since when do you have people like that around you?" he continued, voice barely above a whisper. "You disappeared. with...with that man And now this?"
My mouth opened. Nothing ca out.
"Don’t lie," he added softly. Not accusing. Pleading. "Please, Katya. Don’t lie to ."
The pressure of his hand tightened just a fraction, grounding and trapping at the sa ti.
"You." Nonna’s voice cut sharp through the air.
The mont her attention snapped back to , her gaze followed the line of my arm, down to Michael’s hand wrapped around my wrist. Her eyes hardened instantly.
"Did I not tell you to stop touching her?" she said, each word clipped, controlled, dangerous in its calm.
My pulse roared in my ears. I started to pull my hand back, instinct finally catching up with panic.
But Michael didn’t let go. Can’t he see I was trying to help him? These people were dangerous, Roo could be anywhere, watching. Waiting.
"I’m not leaving her," Michael said, voice firm now, no longer unsure. "Not again."
The word echoed.
Again.
Nonna stilled. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. "Again?" she repeated, her tone deceptively mild. "What do you an, again?"
"Nonna," My voice ca out strained, thin, but urgent. I stepped half a pace forward, putting myself between them as much as my trembling legs would allow.
"Please," I said. "Can we—can we just sit sowhere and talk?"
All three of them looked at .The guard. Alert. Watching. Nonna. Sharp. Protective. Michael. Stubborn. Wounded.
My chest ached. "All of us," I added, swallowing hard. "Please, Nonna."
Her eyes softened just a fraction when they t mine, concern flickering beneath the steel.
Then I turned to Michael. "Please," I said again, quieter this ti. "Michael."
For a mont, he didn’t answer. His jaw worked like he was grinding sothing down—anger, fear, relief, I didn’t know
His eyes searched my face like he was afraid I’d vanish if he looked away. Finally, slowly, he loosened his grip.
He didn’t drop my hand imdiately but he let pull it free.
"...Okay," he said, voice low. "We talk."
Nonna studied him for a long second, then looked to the guard. "You," she said coolly. "You may accompany us if you insist. But you will keep your distance."
The guard inclined his head once. "Of course, Signora."
I exhaled shakily, my fingers curling briefly into my palm like they needed sothing solid to hold on to.
Where?
The question spun uselessly in my head. Anywhere quiet felt impossible in a place built on noise. Every corner of the mall suddenly felt too exposed, too open, too full of people who didn’t know how close I was to breaking apart.
Michael answered before I could. "There," he said, nodding past .
I followed his gaze.
The food court. Bright, loud, crowded—tables packed with people and trays and half-finished drinks. The opposite of private. And yet... public enough that no one would make a scene.
Public enough that nothing bad could happen. At least, that was probably what he was thinking. Nonna’s mouth tightened, clearly unimpressed, but she didn’t object.
"Fine," she said shortly. "Let us not block the walkway."
I moved back into position behind her, hands settling on the wheelchair handles like muscle mory taking over. The simple, familiar motion grounded more than anything else had.
We started walking.
The guard fell a few steps behind us, just as Nonna had instructed—present but distant, eyes constantly moving.
I could feel him there even without looking, like a shadow stitched to our backs. Michael stayed at my side.
Not touching this ti. Just close enough that I could sense the warmth of him, the solid reality of his presence. It made my chest ache in a way I didn’t have words for.
Nonna navigated the space like she always did, sharp-eyed and unbothered, scanning for a table that would fit her chair easily.
Michael pointed again, toward a larger table near the edge, slightly removed from the busiest cluster.
"There," he said. "That one." I guided Nonna toward it, carefully maneuvering around chairs and people who barely noticed us.
My shoulders stayed tense, every nerve lit up, half-expecting soone to call my na again—or worse.
We reached the table.
I positioned the wheelchair, locking the brakes with a soft click. Nonna settled back, folding her hands neatly in her lap, posture straight and regal as ever.
Michael pulled out a chair for before I could even turn, I smiled at him before settling. He took the chair opposite , his attention flicking imdiately back to .
For a split second, the food court blurred into another restaurant, another table, another night that hadn’t ended well.
Nonna coughed "Well, first of all who are you?" She went straight to the point.
††
I know I know, not the best Chapter.
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