WRITER'S POV:
The jet touched down with the smooth efficiency Ivy had once thought glamorous.
Now it just felt like a strange kind of ending—like someone closing the cover of a very intense, extremely illegal fairy tale.
She stared out the window as the engines cooled and the tarmac bustled with quiet, precise movement. Her heart felt lighter. She was going to see Marcie. She could tell her everything. Unload the chaos. Laugh. Cry. Eat greasy takeout and maybe pretend none of this had ever happened.That fantasy lasted exactly ten seconds.
Cassius, still seated beside her with one leg crossed and arms relaxed like he hadn't just demolished her entire emotional identity over the past week, turned and said, "You're not going home."
Ivy blinked. "What?"
"From now on," he said calmly, "you'll be traveling with me. Wherever I go. Until further notice."
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "I'm not—what? No, I have to go home. I have to talk to Marcie. I have to explain—"
"No. You don't."
Monday, from across the cabin, let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Poor girl. She's still clinging to civilian attachments."
Ivy turned to him, eyes wide. "Monday—"
He shrugged. "Forget Marcie. Start thinking about what you're going to wear when you meet people who consider human life a temporary inconvenience."
Cassius rolled his eyes. But he didn't correct him.
Ivy stared at him. "Seriously? I can't even say goodbye?"
Cassius said nothing. Just gave her that look—the one that said this is for your own good, so stop fighting me. The one that had made her lose every argument since the day they met. So she stopped.Because last time she fought him, she ended up wrapped in hotel sheets and wondering who she was.The drive from the airstrip was silent. Ivy sat stiffly in the back of the sleek black car, flanked by Monday on one side and a whole hurricane of thoughts on the other.Cassius and Monday spoke in hushed, fluent Italian.Names. Numbers. Something about shipments. Something about a man named Lorenzo who had apparently lost a hand over poor timing.
Ivy just stared at the seat in front of her. She barely blinked.
What was she doing?
Who was she?When the car finally stopped, she blinked out of her spiral.
A tall, brutalist condo tower loomed before them—isolated, guarded, gleaming like something out of a luxury surveillance catalog. Water fountains flanked the entrance. Ivy counted five different cars, each of them worth more than her student loans.
Cassius stepped out first, wordless.Monday turned to Ivy.
His expression was uncharacteristically grim.
"This is the part where your pretty daydreams get set on fire. You're going to meet people worse than Cassius, and if you think he's scary, you might want to consider developing a relationship with God."
"Is this your way of offering support?"
"Sweetheart, this is support."
Ivy stepped out of the car, her legs stiff, her thoughts worse.
Cassius was waiting a few steps ahead. He gestured for her to come
She walked toward him slowly.
That's when she saw the woman
Middle-aged. Severe. Curly grey hair pinned back like it was trying to escape her face. Expensive jewelry. Sharp eyes.She squinted at Ivy, then turned to Cassius."Who is this?" she asked in crisp Italian.Cassius didn't flinch. Didn't even glance at Ivy.
Her name is Ivy."
The woman narrowed her gaze.
"Ivy who?"Cassius exhaled slowly, clearly resisting the urge to throw something at the nearest water fountainIvy stood there, under the scrutiny of a woman who looked like she'd eaten softer people for breakfast.She didn't speak
Because what was she supposed to say?
'Hi, I'm Ivy. I fell for a mafia don somewhere between turbulence and trauma.'
No. That wouldn't do at all