Chapter 177 Whatever Happens Next Savannah I sat still across his lap, straddling him on the black leather chair, his arms locked around my waist as though I might disappear if he let go. We hadn’t even recovered from the mess Cole dropped earlier, and Roman was already losing his patience. “Who is it, Cole?” he barked into the speakerphone, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Fucking spit it out already!” His chest rose hard against mine. I laid a hand over his heart, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. “Breathe,” I whispered. He took a breath, but his jaw remained tense. Cole’s voice crackled through the line. “It’s a woman, sir. A woman we’ve identified as Lydia Skye. Apparently, Rubio has been living with her in Italy since he arrived.” Roman’s brows drew together. “Lydia Skye?” The name tasted unfamiliar. I rolled it over in my mind, searching for a memory, a face—nothing.“Does the name ring a bell, my love?” he asked, tone soft but heavy with expectation. I shook my head. “Never heard it.” Roman’s attention snapped back to the phone. “Cole, why wasn’t this woman in the first report? You said Rubio was living alone.” “My apologies, Mr. Blackwood,” Cole replied. “It appears Mr. Rubio had actually been occupying her residence in her absence.” “In her absence?” Roman pressed. “As in—she’d been away?” “Yes, sir. Miss Skye was only seen for the first time yesterday. Until then, we assumed the property belonged to Rubio.” I frowned, shifting slightly on Roman’s lap. “That’s suspicious as hell. Why would he be living in some random woman’s house? Is he trying to get arrested for trespassing or what?” Cole hesitated. “That’s where this next part comes in.” Roman’s grip tightened slightly at my waist. “Which is?” “Lydia Skye didn’t always go by that name,” Cole said carefully.I leaned closer toward the phone, heartbeat quickening. “Then who the hell is she?” “She used to go by Paula Rubio. That's her birth name.” The world stilled. Roman blinked once. “Rubio?” Cole’s voice carried a grim weight. “Yes, sir. Lydia Skye is actually Paula Rubio. She dyed her hair brown, changed her name, and relocated to Italy under a new identity.” My head spun. I pressed a palm to Roman’s chest to steady myself. “Wait—Paula Rubio? As in Zane’s… what? Sister? Wife? Cousin? Aunt? What the hell are they to each other?” Cole cleared his throat. “From our findings, they’re estranged siblings.” Roman’s jaw flexed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My pulse thundered in my ears. “Zane has a sister?” Cole confirmed it, and the sound of it—sister—sent a sharp chill crawling down my spine. I stared at the dark edge of Roman’s desk, my mind rifling through all the old memories. Chloe never mentioned a sister. Never mentioned family. She told me how Zane used to wear leather jackets even in summer, how he could charm and ruin her entire day in the same breath, but not once did she say a damn thing about his family. I used to believe he’d just fallen out of the sky. I whispered, half to myself, “She never said anything about that. Chloe never said he had a sister. He lived alone in L.A. Maybe she did too—maybe they even used to live together?” Cole’s voice came low and certain. “That’s the thing, ma’am. Paula Rubio has no clean record. I believe that’s why she killed her old name and rebuilt herself.” Roman’s hand moved up my back in slow, steady strokes, grounding me. “Something’s off,” he murmured. I dropped my forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the familiar warmth of him. “Something’s definitely wrong here, Roman.” “Keep going, Cole,” he said, voice rougher now. Cole’s tone darkened. “After the death of Zane Rubio’s father, Paula—now Lydia—disappeared. She left L.A., changed her identity, and started over. Prior to that, she’d been in and out of juvie for several crimes—burglary, arson, extortion, petty theft, substance abuse. The record’s long. This girl is bad news.” Bile rose in my throat. “Jesus,” I muttered. “My goodness,” Roman hissed. “And this is the same woman Rubio was hiding with?” “Yes, sir. But from what we’ve gathered, the siblings recently had a falling out. Mr. Rubio was staying at her residence without permission. When she returned, they argued loudly. It was intense. He was thrown out that same night.” Roman’s attention sharpened like a blade. “What was the fight about?” “We couldn’t hear everything,” Cole admitted. “But it was heated. We picked up fragments—anger, betrayal. Our cameras caught him leaving around midnight.” “Betrayal.” A shiver ran through me. “It has to be about Chloe,” I whispered, more to myself than to them. Roman looked down at me, his gaze searching. I licked my lips and forced the words out. “Zane ran to Italy to escape the law. His sister must’ve sheltered him, maybe not knowing the full story. But if she threw him out, it means she now knows something. She’s not innocent.”Roman brushed his thumb along my cheek. “Don’t overthink it, baby.” I could hear the tight control in his tone—the one he used when he was two seconds from losing it. He turned back to the phone. “Did you catch any mention of Chloe? Any hint she was in that house?” “No, sir,” Cole said. “But I do have Lydia's address in case you need it.” Roman’s eyes darkened with decision. “Text it to me.” “Right away, Mr. Blackwood.” When the line went dead, silence swallowed the office. Roman leaned back, exhaling slowly, eyes fixed on nothing. The muscles in his jaw shifted beneath his skin, tension simmering in quiet waves. I could feel it too—his restraint, his fury. My palms rested on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. “You’re thinking of going after her, aren’t you?” He said. My eyes lifted to his. “We’re not sitting this out, Roman.”“Savannah, you're pregnant—” “She’s the link, Roman.” My tone was calm, but my stare was fire. “Zane’s sister knows where he is. And if there’s even a chance she knows what happened to Chloe—” I paused. His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer as I whispered, “we're not waiting around for answers, Roman.” He kissed the top of my head. “I know.” I could feel the war inside him—the desperate urge to protect, to destroy, to uncover everything all at once. “You’re talking about flying to Italy,” He said quietly. “I’m talking about finding the truth,” I corrected. “You’re right.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the movement tender in a way that made my chest ache. “We’ve been chasing ghosts for months, baby. If this Paula—Lydia—whatever the hell she calls herself, is part of it, then we’re going to find her.” My throat tightened. “And if Chloe’s there too?” Roman’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then she’ll finally answer for what she did.” A shiver rippled through me. Not from fear—at least not entirely—but from the raw conviction in his voice. I pressed my palms against his shoulders. “Promise me you won’t do something reckless.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You mean like me?” “Roman.” He looked at me then—really looked at me. “I promise I’ll make sure you're safe. That’s all I can promise.” I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that the darkness waiting for us across the ocean wouldn’t shake us. But something deep in my gut told me this was only the beginning. He reached for his phone and began typing, thumb flying over the screen. “Cole’s sending the address,” he muttered. “We’ll leave in two days.” I exhaled, leaning into him. “Thank you for doing this.” Roman’s arm slipped around my waist again, fingers tracing small circles on my back. “You don’t have to thank me.” I looked up at him. “I knew you’d say that,” I murmured, lips brushing his jawline.For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Until I did. “I hate this,” I whispered. “Every time I think we’re one step closer to peace, something worse crawls out of the dark.” Roman’s hand stilled against my back. “Then we keep walking through it. Together.” I let out a shaky breath and nodded, resting my forehead against his chest. His cologne, his warmth, his steadiness—it was the only thing keeping me sane. He pulled back just enough to search my face. “Do you trust me?” “With my life,” I said. His thumb swept across my lower lip, his eyes flickering with something deeper—something dangerous and devoted all at once. “Then we'll be fine, my love. Whatever happens next,” he said, voice low and certain, “we finish this. No matter what it takes.” His words lingered in the air. And just like that, we were no longer hunting answers. We were walking straight into the storm.