Chapter 388 - 388: Quiet Night?

The night settled over The Lanesborough like a velvet glove. London hummed quietly outside the double-glazed windows—distant sirens, the occasional rumble of a black cab, footsteps on wet pavement.

Inside the Royal Suite, the group had scattered to their rooms.

There were more beds than Kyle had expected. The suite was massive—multiple bedrooms, each with its own en-suite bathroom, soft lighting, and blackout curtains that made it impossible to tell night from day.

Everyone had their own space which was proof of how massive it was.

Jane had claimed the smallest room, curling up almost immediately after dinner. Her belly was still swollen from the feast, and Kyle had watched her waddle to bed with a quiet "goodnight" that barely escaped her lips.

Jasmine took the room next to Jane. She had stood in the doorway for a full minute, just staring at the king-sized bed like she couldn't believe it was real.

"All for me?" she had asked.

"All for you," Kyle said, reassuring her with head pat.

She had climbed in still wearing her oversized hoodie.

Ella had disappeared into the room at the end of the hall with nothing more than a wave.

"Don't wake me unless the hotel's on fire," she said. Then, a pause. "Actually, wake me even if it is. I want to see the chaos."

Ella had adjusted a lot better than he thought, and it was all thanks to Jane welcoming her with open arms. After all, if she wasn't part of this harem, she wouldn't be here right now.

Cassandra had been the last to choose. She walked into the largest of the secondary bedrooms and stopped.

There, in the corner, was a crib.

Not a travel crib. Not a pack-and-play. A real wooden crib, polished and gleaming, with a fresh mattress and a stack of folded blankets.

Cassandra turned to Kyle, eyes wide. "You did this?"

He shrugged. "Made a reservation. Overpaid a little. Added a special request."

"A little?"

Kyle didn't answer. He just nodded toward the crib. "Figured Junior should sleep somewhere safe right beside his beautiful mother."

Cassandra had kissed his cheek then—soft, quick, warm. "Thank you."

Now, hours later, the suite was silent.

Kyle lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His room was at the far end of the suite, separated from the others by a short hallway and a heavy door he had left slightly ajar. Far enough that his restlessness wouldn't disturb anyone because Kyle knew he would need this personal space.

But he wasn't sleeping, his mind churned.

"Angelica. Nakamura's photo. Marcello's daughter. Where is she? How do I find her without dragging the others into it?"

Kyle knew it was risky because even if he found her, what would he do after that? he couldn't exactly drag her back forcefully but establishing she was alive was the main priority.

He replayed the conversation with Anthony. The escape routes he had mapped. The cameras he had noted. The faces he had committed to memory.

"'m in London. She's in London. But London is massive. And I have no idea where to start." Kyle said this because school might be out of session.

Kyle turned onto his side. The pillow was too soft. The sheets were too smooth. Everything about this place screamed luxury, and all Kyle could think about was how quickly it could all go wrong.

He closed his eyes. Opened them.

A faint sound, soft and barely there.

These were no doubt footsteps.

Kyle's body tensed instinctively. His hand moved under the pillow—not for a weapon, but out of habit. Then he relaxed.

The footsteps were light. Careful. Deliberate.

His door creaked open.

Cassandra stepped inside, silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway. She was wearing something lace—dark, almost black, hugging her curves in ways that made Kyle's breath catch.

She raised a finger to her lips.

"Shh."

Kyle nodded and didn't utter a word.

She crossed the room slowly, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. Kyle's eyes adjusted. The lace was sheer in places. Her nipples were visible—peeking through the fabric, hardened against the cool air.

"She's not wearing a bra."

He couldn't blame her. Those things were heavy. He knew from experience.

Cassandra stopped at the edge of his bed. Looked down at him. Her hair was loose, falling over one shoulder. Her face was soft in the dim light—tired, but not exhausted.

Kyle mouthed the words: "Are you good?"

She nodded. Then pointed at the bed. Raised her eyebrows.

"Can I?"

Kyle nodded back. Shifted over. Pulled back the covers.

Cassandra slid in beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. She lay on her back, staring at the same ceiling Kyle had been staring at for the past hour.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was full. Heavy with things unsaid.

Kyle knew why she was here.

It had been a while. Not weeks. Not months. But long enough that the distance felt real. They had been busy—packing, planning, traveling. And before that, there had been the mafia. The meeting. The constant weight of survival pressing down on both of them on different scales.

Intimacy had become a luxury but luxury didn't mean unnecessary.

Cassandra's hand found his under the covers. Her fingers laced through his. Squeezed once.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

Kyle turned his head to look at her. Her profile was soft in the darkness—the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the lace.

"She's beautiful." Kyle thought to himself, she was no longer in survival mode so it was only natural her face would be the first to show these changes.

She wasn't just beautiful. She was here but there was a reason she came to his room so late at night.

Junior was asleep in his crib. Jane was full and dreaming. Jasmine was safe. Ella was close by, passed out like a drunkard who downed a bottle of vodka. But Cassandra was in his bed.

And Kyle's hand began to wander...