I slowly opened my eyes, groggily taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was stunning — sleek and modern, with a black-and-white aesthetic that shimmered under the soft morning light. The glass furniture sparkled like diamonds, and through the open balcony doors came the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore.
The ocean. Its scent and sound wrapped around me like a familiar lullaby, but something about it felt too… controlled. Too private.
My gaze drifted to Slavvy, standing on the balcony, his tall frame outlined by the golden horizon. The wind teased through his hair, and even from here, I could see the tension in his jaw. He looked powerful, untouchable — but his eyes gave him away. He was lost in thought.
I pushed off the sheets, ignoring the weight that clung to my limbs. Every muscle ached, my body heavy and uncooperative, but I needed to move. Needed to see him.
"Slavvy?" My voice came out softer than I intended, barely cutting through the sound of the waves.
He turned, eyes dark and unreadable. "Tess, you shouldn't be up," he said, striding toward me. "You need rest. The doctor said—"
"I'm fine," I cut in, forcing myself to stand. My knees wobbled, but I didn't back down.
Slavvy's eyes narrowed, frustration flashing across his face. "You're not fine. You nearly bled out last night, Tess. Sit down before you collapse."
The words hit me like a slap. "Last night?" I echoed, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
He blinked, as if I'd just spoken another language. "The ambush," he said slowly. "The hit on us. Don't tell me you don't remember."
A chill crawled up my spine. "Ambush?" I whispered, shaking my head. "No… I remember us driving. I remember arguing about my parents. Then… nothing."
His expression shifted — from disbelief to something darker. "You don't remember the gunfire? The safehouse? The blood?"
My hands began to tremble. "No," I whispered, voice cracking.
Slavvy cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his hair before disappearing into the adjoining room. I followed him, each step dragging me deeper into unease.
The next room was massive — a private library lined with dark mahogany shelves, filled with old ledgers and binders. He was already pacing between them, rifling through stacks of files and coded notebooks.
"What are you looking for?" I asked softly.
He didn't answer. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements desperate.
"Slavvy," I pressed, louder this time.
He finally looked up, his gaze full of exhaustion. "Your file. The one Lucas mentioned before the shootout. I've been trying to decode it."
My stomach dropped. "What file?"
He didn't answer immediately — just flipped another binder open and froze. Inside were dozens of pages filled with printed lines of black boxes and encrypted text. But halfway through, the pages went blank.
Completely blank.
"Why are they empty?" I asked, frowning.
Slavvy slammed the book shut, frustration lacing his voice. "They weren't empty before. I saw your name in here last night. Something about your father. Now it's gone."
A knot tightened in my chest. "Gone? What does that even mean?"
He looked at me, eyes wild with helplessness. "It means someone's already ahead of us. Someone wiped your record, Tess. They don't want you to remember who you are — or what family you come from."
My breath caught. "You think Lucas did it?"
"Lucas doesn't have the brains for this," Slavvy growled. "This goes deeper. This smells like your father's side."
The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in. "My father's dead," I said automatically.
Slavvy's eyes softened, but his tone stayed sharp. "Maybe. But his name still makes people disappear."
I stepped closer, heart pounding. "What aren't you telling me?"
He hesitated. "When you got shot last night… something changed. You were out for hours. When you woke up, you looked at me like you'd never seen me before."
I swallowed hard. "I don't remember that."
"That's exactly the problem," he snapped, slamming his fist onto the desk. "Every time you get too close to the truth, something happens — an accident, an attack, a blank spot in your memory."
He looked up at me again, eyes burning with frustration and fear. "I don't know what they did to you, Tess. But I'm not letting them win."
I shook my head slowly, overwhelmed. "I don't understand. Why me? Why would anyone—"
Slavvy stepped forward, his hand wrapping around my wrist — firm, protective, almost desperate. "Because you're not just anyone," he said quietly. "You're the heir to the Maranzano syndicate. The last one left. And every family in this city wants you dead before you remember what that means."
The words hit me like ice water. My heart stopped.
He tightened his grip, his voice low, fierce. "I'm not losing you to them, Tess. I'll burn every file, every name, every man who ever touched this business before I let them take you again."
"Slavvy…" My voice trembled. "What are you going to do?"
His jaw flexed, eyes storm-dark. "Train you," he said simply. "You need to remember how to survive in this world — and how to fight for it."
He stepped closer until I could feel his breath on my skin. "You're mine to protect," he whispered. "And I'll do whatever it takes."
My pulse raced. Fear and something else twisted together inside me — adrenaline, maybe, or the spark of something darker.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know," he murmured, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrapped around me, solid and sure. "I am too. But fear keeps you alive. And from now on, we use it."
As he held me, I felt his heart pounding against mine — fast, hard, human. There was no magic in it. Just raw power, desperation, and a love born in blood and violence.
I pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. "What if I can't do this?"
"You will," he said, brushing his thumb against my cheek. "Because you don't have a choice anymore."
I nodded slowly. "Then teach me."
His eyes softened — proud, pained, and determined all at once. "We start tomorrow."
As he turned back toward the blank file, I couldn't help but glance at it again. The empty pages almost looked like a taunt. Like someone was watching. Waiting.
And in that silence, I knew one thing for certain — this wasn't just a missing memory.
It was a message.