Three years ago…
Elizabeth
I was glad Bianca was discharged that afternoon. It wasn't a serious injury—just a slight bone adjustment and a minor scratch.
She was prescribed some medication and painkillers to ease the pain, and instructed to come for checkups three times a week until the wound fully healed.
On our way home, I got a call from an online customer needing a dress by tomorrow evening. Since we were already close, I made a quick stop at the textile store to pick up some fabrics, while Natasha took Bianca home.
I arrived just a few minutes later and went straight to work on the fabric.
While I was still at it, two more calls came in—one requesting a designer handbag to match a peep-toe heel, and the other asking for a summer dress.
There were too many tasks waiting for me. Just me. And I had to finish them all before the end of the week.
I was thankful Bianca was already taking her afternoon nap after lunch and medication. The doctor said rest was crucial, and I was grateful she was following his advice.
Natasha, on the other hand, was buried in a project she'd taken home earlier in the week.
We were both focused on our tasks when the doorbell rang.
"Who's it?" I volunteered to check. Natasha was too deep in her work anyway.
I opened the door—and came face-to-face with Bianca's ex-boss.
"Good evening," I greeted first.
"I heard Bianca has been discharged. Is she in?" He was holding two large, fancy paper bags. I wondered who had given him our floor number.
My eyes flicked from the bags to his striking face. "Yes, but she's asleep right now."
I glanced sideways at Natasha, silently hoping she wouldn't get up and make a scene—but she was still glued to her laptop.
I turned back to him. "Would you like to leave a message?"
"Give these to her when she wakes up." He handed me the two bags. "And this." He added a brown envelope.
I took them and nodded. "No problem. I'll give them to her when she wakes."
He thanked me and turned to leave, but just as I was about to close the door, he paused and looked back. "Excuse me, what's your name?"
"…Elizabeth…?" I answered, a little unsure.
He didn't say anything—just nodded and walked off.
When I came back in, I half-expected Natasha to glance at me, even if just a flicker. But she didn't. Whatever she was doing clearly demanded her full attention.
I dropped the bags and the envelope in the bedroom and went back to my work.
---
Narrator
It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the small holy cross hanging above the bed.
Elizabeth glanced around at the empty spaces beside her. Her friends—Natasha and Bianca—had already left for work.
It was surprising that Bianca had gone to work at all, especially with a broken leg.
Elizabeth remembered warning her not to step outside, but she had disobeyed anyway. Now, she silently blamed Natasha for not stopping her. Bianca had always been the earliest to leave for work among the three of them.
Elizabeth yawned deeply as she stretched her arms. She sat up on the bed, thinking about her first task for the day.
She had to take her boss to work by exactly 7:30, and it was already 7:00 a.m. sharp.
Sitting at her vanity, fully dressed in her chauffeur disguise, her black tote bag was packed and ready—with sheet music tucked inside.
Later that evening, when she returned, the house was still empty. Neither Natasha nor Bianca was home, and it was already nearing 5:30.
Elizabeth rubbed her stomach, hungry. She made her way to the kitchen and began preparing some Brazilian pastel.
She ate some and saved the rest for Natasha and Bianca.
Afterward, she went to take a quick shower. She had to get ready for her evening session, where a chauffeur was supposed to come pick her up.
She got dressed and sat on the bed, waiting.
But the driver was late.
She checked her phone. No calls. No messages. Nothing.
Her brows furrowed. Was there a change in schedule?
She picked up her phone and sent a polite message:
"Good evening. Just checking—should I still come in today?"
She tossed the phone onto the bed and lay flat, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
A few minutes passed.
Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he didn't need her anymore.
A tight pinch pressed against her chest. It stung in a way she couldn't explain.
Just as she stood up to make tea, her phone buzzed.
But it wasn't him.
---
5:45 p.m., Milan, Italy
The business meeting had ended hours ago. Silence lingered in the suite.
Sebastian sat on the edge of the king-size bed, wearing a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers—forgotten.
His phone buzzed.
Her name. Her text.
He picked it up and read the message slowly. The words were simple, yet something about them weighed on his chest.
She wasn't just checking in. She was uncertain. And she hated being uncertain.
"But… why the hell does that even bother me?" Sebastian muttered.
He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, stood up, grabbed his coat—and halfway to the door, he paused.
Then turned back.
---
6:40 p.m., Wroclaw, Poland
There was a knock at the door. Elizabeth assumed it was Natasha or Bianca.
She opened it—and blinked.
A man in a black suit and dark sunglasses stood there. One of Sebastian's bodyguards.
He handed her a small envelope and a key. No words. Just a nod—and he was gone.
Inside the envelope was a short, typed note. Definitely him.
"Practice at my place. The piano misses you."
Elizabeth stared at the key in her hand. Silver. Cold. Heavy.
This wasn't just any key.
This was trust.
---
7:20 p.m., Milan, Italy
He sat at the terrace of an exclusive restaurant, Milan's skyline flickering in the background.
Across from him, a stunning blonde in a short red gown and crimson lipstick leaned in, whispering something sultry in Italian.
But he wasn't listening.
His mind had drifted elsewhere.
He saw flour on the floor. A wooden spoon falling. A Brazilian woman dancing clumsily around his kitchen, humming while stirring a pot.
He stood up suddenly.
"Scusa. Emergency."
The woman looked stunned. She tried to stop him, but he was already tossing Euros onto the table and walking away, jaw clenched.
In the alley, he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
His hand reached for his phone again.
No new texts from her.
---
7:35 p.m., Wroclaw, Poland
Elizabeth entered Sebastian's mansion—for the first time without him.
It was... quiet. Too quiet.
Her black tote bag hung from her shoulder as she slowly walked toward the stairs.
Her fingers grazed the antiques and artwork placed meticulously throughout the hallway.
Everything felt eerily empty, like not a soul existed in the universe.
Hands in the pockets of her black palazzo pants, she wandered slowly.
She realized she hadn't ever explored this part of the house before.
At the far end of the hallway stood a steel door.
She ran her fingers across it—solid, cold, rigid. Her hand paused at the doorknob, uncertain whether to open it.
She did.
Inside, her eyes widened at the bold embroidered sign at the top of the room:
WEAPONS RACK
Elizabeth's jaw dropped. She stepped inside and gently shut the door behind her.
Her wide eyes scanned the space—guns of every kind, enclosed in thick transparent cases, like gourmet dishes in a display fridge.
Each weapon neatly categorized:
Handguns (Pistols & Revolvers):
Glock 17 / Glock 19
Colt M1911
Beretta 92FS
SIG Sauer P226 / P320
Smith & Wesson Model 686
Desert Eagle
.357 Magnum Revolver
Walther PPK, etc.
Rifles:
AK-47 (Kalashnikov)
AR-15 / M16 / M4
FN SCAR
Dragunov Sniper Rifle
Remington 700
Winchester Model 70, etc.
Submachine Guns (SMGs):
Heckler & Koch MP5
Uzi
Thompson (Tommy Gun)
CZ Scorpion Evo 3
P90, etc.
Shotguns:
Remington 870
Mossberg 500
Benelli M4
Double-barrel
Saiga-12, etc.
Machine Guns:
M249 SAW
M240
PKM
MG42, etc.
"My God… Are they selling guns in here?" she whispered.
"I can't believe Sebastian owns all of these. But what for?"
Her heart fluttered with unease the longer she stared.
She quickly left, shutting the door behind her, pulse racing.
Back in the music room, she gently placed her tote bag on the sofa and quietly walked toward the grand piano—her favorite instrument—running her fingers across its glossy surface.
She sat and began to play. Softly at first. Then, with more boldness. The music slowly filled the emptiness around her.
A housekeeper walked in silently and placed a tray near the edge of the table.
"From Boss," he said before leaving.
On the tray was a meal. Her meal. The exact one she had cooked for him days ago. The same dish they had shared in the dining room. Recreated down to the basil garnish.
Her hands froze mid-song. Her chest tightened.
He remembered?
---
8:38 p.m., Milan, Italy
He sat at the edge of the hotel's balcony, phone in hand again. No one around him knew that the most feared captain in the mafia couldn't stop thinking about a girl—who prayed before meals and believed eating out was wasteful.
He opened her message one more time. Then, for the first time, he replied:
"I'll be back in two days. Keep the key."
---
9:01 p.m., Wroclaw, Poland
Exactly two days later, he returned. The soft hum of a red Maserati Ghibli—or maybe a Quattroporte—echoed down the driveway.
Elizabeth was behind the piano again, as usual. The last notes of a gentle hymn faded into silence.
It was past 9 p.m., and she hadn't expected anyone. She wasn't even sure why she had stayed up so late.
Maybe it was the quiet.
Maybe it was the feeling of safety.
Or maybe… she just didn't want to go home yet.
Suddenly, the front door creaked open, and she froze. Heavy, deliberate footsteps followed. She rose from the bench, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. Her heart knocked hard in her chest.
He appeared at the doorway to the lounge—and to the music room. Dressed in black, unshaven, travel-worn, and quiet.
His eyes found hers, and for a heartbeat, the world slowed.
"You stayed late," he said, his voice lower than usual.
Elizabeth hesitated. "I wasn't sure if I should… lock up."
He nodded and stepped inside, but didn't move closer. He simply leaned against the doorframe, watching her—the way one might study something unfamiliar but strangely captivating.
"I caught the scent of something when I walked in," he said, sniffing faintly. "You cooked again?"
Elizabeth offered a sheepish smile. "Oh, yeah. There were some vegetables in the fridge that were… dangerously close to a funeral," she joked.
That made him chuckle—low and warm.
He removed his coat, tossed it onto the sofa, and walked toward the piano with both hands tucked into his pockets.
"You were playing something new," he said, his eyes locked on hers.
She nodded, trying to shift her focus elsewhere. "Just experimenting."
"You should record it. A beat," he said, not looking at her. "I want to hear it when you're not here."
That silenced her—not with discomfort, but something deeper. She tilted her head. "Why?"
He finally looked up. "Because it reminds me of something I can't name."
She swallowed hard, a little overwhelmed. She didn't know what to say—or how to respond. So, she changed the subject.
"Your trip. Did it go well?"
He shrugged. "It was business."
Which meant it had been bloody. Complicated. Dangerous.
She didn't ask more. Instead, she faked a smile and walked past him, heading to the kitchen to grab her things.
"Wait," he said, and she stopped.
He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small blue velvet box. He opened it—not toward her, but casually, like it meant nothing.
Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet with a single musical note charm.
"I got it in Milan," he said. "A little token for your wonderful music."
She blinked. "Huh?" Her eyes sparkled as she stared at the bracelet. She wasn't sure if she should accept it.
To her, it looked expensive—too expensive. Something that cost a fortune. How could she just… take it?
He looked at her as if she'd just asked the dumbest question in the world.
"Um… but I can't take this. It's too expensive. It's beyond me," she managed to say.
"You have to accept it. Besides… it's the first gift I've ever given to a woman, aside my mother and sister." he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "You're the only one who's ever played in this mansion—who made it feel like a body with a soul in it."
Elizabeth let out a deep breath, her eyes still on the bracelet, her mind turning over the meaning behind the gift. She didn't know if she deserved it.
But she also didn't know how to say no.