Three years ago…
Narrator
Elizabeth woke the next morning feeling heavy and spent, as though the night had drained every ounce of her energy. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, her hands instinctively patting the sheets beside her—searching.
The other side of the wide bed was empty.
Where is he?
She reached for her phone, blinking at the screen. Maybe he had slipped out early for something urgent.
"9:15?" she muttered in surprise. She'd expected it to be barely six or seven.
Well, at least she'd slept well. Her teeth grazed her lower lip as the memory of last night surged back, vivid enough to make her cheeks warm.
God… that was ridiculous.
Sliding her feet across the cool floor, she searched for her slippers, slipping them on before stretching with a soft, yawning sigh.
She lifted an arm, caught a whiff of herself, and cringed. "God, I need a quick shower and to brush my teeth."
With a sluggish shuffle, she made her way toward the bathroom.
---
Sebastian wore a fitted red gym tank top that hugged every defined ridge of his abs, the fabric stretching slightly over the flex of his biceps. He paired it with plain black shorts, crisp white sneakers, and a black bandana tied securely around his head.
Inside the shooting range, the air smelled faintly of gunpowder and oil. The sharp echo of each gunshot bounced off the padded walls as he aimed with cold precision, knocking down one target after another.
Bruce stood at the far end, arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement.
"I heard Rico's been talking with one of the Ale clans," he said evenly.
Sebastian didn't look away from his target. "He talks to a lot of people. Doesn't mean anything. He belongs to the Sparrow Clan. And you know Sparrow and Ale are neighbours in the organisation. That proximity means nothing."
Bruce's brow furrowed. "Boss, in our world, it does. When a dog starts barking in the wrong direction, you don't wait to see if he bites."
"Maybe. Or maybe you find out who's holding the leash before you shoot the damn dog." Sebastian stopped firing, adjusted the black wristband on his left arm, and switched from a shotgun to a sleek machine gun.
Bruce's voice hardened. "We've let too many things slide lately." He wanted to add—ever since you and Sir Antoni started dating those women, things changed. But he held it in. "Rules get soft, bodies start piling up. You wanna play diplomat, go join the feds. In this life, you bleed or they do. We belong to the Draco, and Dracos are strong. Our strength is like that of a dragon—not of a bird."
Sebastian's jaw flexed. His grip on the weapon tightened. Without another word, he emptied the magazine in a relentless spray until the last click rang out.
Tossing the gun aside, he lit a cigarette. "And if it's the wrong body?" he asked, exhaling smoke as he turned sharp eyes on Bruce. "You take out Rico and it turns out he wasn't flipping? That's a message we can't take back."
"Better a wrong move than no move, boss," Bruce replied steadily. "Indecision kills quicker than a bullet."
Sebastian smirked faintly. "Bruce, sometimes you sound like my godfather—Mikolaj Jakub."
Bruce chuckled. "Mikolaj had balls. You've got… more than that. You've got ideas."
Sebastian liked that. "My ideas kept us out of war with the T-Rex last year. You remember that? Or do we only count bodies now?"
Bruce shook his head. "You still don't get it. If we're playing chess and Rico's a pawn gone sideways, I'll burn the whole board before I let him put us in check."
"And I'll make sure you're not holding the match stick if he's clean," Sebastian said, his voice low.
Silence hung for a beat before Bruce asked, "So… what's the plan?"
Sebastian's gaze drifted to the faint smoke curling away. "We watch. We don't touch him yet. I've got a tail on his phone, a tail on his girl. If he twitches wrong—we finish it. Quietly. No mess."
Bruce smirked. "I like that idea, boss. I'm buying it."
Just then, the door swung open and a soft, delicate voice called, "Sebastian?"
Both men turned.
"Sugar," Sebastian's grin spread instantly as he stubbed out the cigarette—she hated when he smoked.
Bruce muttered, "Excuse me," and slipped out.
Elizabeth stepped in, her eyes scanning the room before settling on him. He strode toward her, grin widening.
"Slept well?" He kissed her lips—soft, gentle, lingering—his hands resting firmly on her small waist.
She parted her lips, letting him in. "Hmm… yes," she breathed, returning the kiss.
The faint trace of smoke lingered in his mouth, but she didn't pull away.
He caressed her chin after breaking the kiss. "Have you eaten?"
"Just a sandwich and a latte." Her gaze flicked around. "What were you doing?"
"Gun shooting. Wanna play?"
Her eyes widened. "Hell no. And… what are those?" She pointed at the figures on the stands.
"Dummies," he said, taking her hand. "Come on, I'll teach you. It doesn't hurt."
"Sebastian, I can't handle the sight of gunshots, let alone holding a gun," she protested as he opened the weapons cabinet.
"It's not a real gun—it's a training piece. Now, catch." He tossed a silver snub-nose revolver toward her. She missed, and it clattered to the floor.
"Lesson one," he teased, "is catching the damn thing."
Elizabeth bent to pick it up, holding it as if it were a used tissue.
"That's not how you hold it," he said, chuckling. "Here—"
He stepped behind her, his hands covering hers, chin brushing the back of her neck. His warm breath fanned her cheek, mingling with the scent of her lavender perfume.
Her heartbeat quickened as his solid frame pressed into her back. Their faces were so close that a tilt of her head could have turned the moment into a kiss.
"Keep your eyes on the target," he murmured against her ear. "Finger on the trigger… stare like it's your archenemy. Then—fire."
Bang!
She squealed, startled, as the shot went off—just as his hand slid into her palazzo shorts.
He let go, laughing.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded, punching his chest lightly. "You distracted me."
"Baby, I did nothing wrong."
"You touched my panties."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Did I? Let me check. What colour are they?" He reached for her waistband, but she smacked his hand away.
"Pervert," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Don't do that again."
"Do what?" she said, rolling her eyes once more.
He grabbed her waist suddenly, pulling her against him.
She gasped when something hard pressed into her stomach.
"Sometimes your stubbornness drives me mad," he growled before kissing her deeply.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into the pace he set. Her moans filled the room as his lips wandered across her face.
"Oh!" she gasped when he lifted her onto the top of the cabinet.
Her legs locked around his waist as she clung to him, their tongues tangling in another heated kiss.
"Let's go to my room," he murmured against her lips. "I'm horny."
Without breaking the kiss, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out.