Page 48 of Torn By Fate

“But that’s not what matters right now.”

She tilted her head. The gesture was almost feline, calculated and assessing. “What could possibly matter more than the fact that your wife tried to kill you, the mighty Adrian Salvatore… the Reaper?”

“Because someone is trying to kill you.”

The words landed between us like a dropped glass. Her hands stilled on the shopping cart. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. Serafina studied me quietly for a second, her brows slightly furrowed.

Around us, the supermarket carried on as if I didn’t just drop the confession that a killer was on the loose. It was just a typical morning shopping trip in Lisbon.

Except nothing about this was casual for me and Serafina.

“You,” she deadpanned.

A muscle ticked in my jaw at her response. Of course my wife would think that. She had developed a habit of assuming the worst of me. Maybe I was partially to blame since I had, after all, given her enough reasons to think the worst of me.

“Not me,” I said, holding back a sigh.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is it Matteo?”

“Not Matteo either.”

In fact, my brother has been strangely quiet since that fateful night. I still didn’t understand why.

He should have finished the job for Serafina after she left. He could have put another bullet through me. This time, he would have made certain it was fatal. Because Matteo never missed, unlike my wife’s aim.

Instead, he called for the doctor.

He helped our father bury the gossip before it reached the wrong ears.

He… saved my life.

And I knew Matteo well enough to understand that it was very unlikely he did it out of brotherly love.

No, he wanted something else. From me. Or maybe from Serafina.

I didn’t know yet. I still hadn’t figured that out.

But I knew one thing with absolute certainty. He would collect the debt, one way or another. Sooner rather than later.

For now, that problem could wait. We’d deal with it when we went back home.

“Then who?” Serafina asked

“I don’t know yet.”

She laughed again, and the sound was hollow, stripped of any warmth. “You don’t know.” She repeated my words, making them sound like an accusation. “You materialize in this grocery store, invade every corner of my life like a festered wound, and now you tell me there’s an assassin coming for me, but you don’t know who sent them.”

Her voice grew louder with each word as she dropped the pretense, her careful composure.

“I intercepted two assassins already,” I said slowly. “And I killed them both for you. One in Brussels and another in Andorra. There is a third one now, here in Lisbon. I know because I’ve seen him following you.”

To my surprise, this one was different from the others. He was a lot smarter. More patient. He hadn’t made a single careless move. He kept his distance and knew how to disappear into a crowd, making it hard for even me to track him down.

It would have been a delightful challenge if it wasn’t my wife’s life in danger.

“I’m working through it,” I finally finished.

Serafina scoffed. “Do you know who wants me dead? Specifically.”