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Ash and Bone

Author: Holland Ross
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-14 15:33:51

Serena

The first thing I felt was the cold.

Not the kind that comes from air or touch, but the kind that blooms deep in your chest and spreads like rot. The kind that tells you you’re still alive—but barely.

The world filtered in slow. Voices. Boots on old wood. The low murmur of men trying not to be heard. Then, quieter still, a breath—steady, rough-edged, familiar.

Nico.

I forced my eyes open. Light stung like knives. The ceiling above me was yellowed with age, a bulb swinging lazy arcs across cracked plaster. My throat was dry, the taste of metal thick on my tongue. I tried to move, but my body felt borrowed—stitched together wrong.

Then I saw him.

He was slouched in the chair beside me, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His hair hung in dark, uneven strands, damp with sweat. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, veins cutting sharp lines down his forearms. He looked like a man who’d crawled out of hell and hadn’t realized he’d made it back.

My breath hitch
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  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   Ash and Bone

    SerenaThe first thing I felt was the cold.Not the kind that comes from air or touch, but the kind that blooms deep in your chest and spreads like rot. The kind that tells you you’re still alive—but barely.The world filtered in slow. Voices. Boots on old wood. The low murmur of men trying not to be heard. Then, quieter still, a breath—steady, rough-edged, familiar.Nico.I forced my eyes open. Light stung like knives. The ceiling above me was yellowed with age, a bulb swinging lazy arcs across cracked plaster. My throat was dry, the taste of metal thick on my tongue. I tried to move, but my body felt borrowed—stitched together wrong.Then I saw him.He was slouched in the chair beside me, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His hair hung in dark, uneven strands, damp with sweat. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, veins cutting sharp lines down his forearms. He looked like a man who’d crawled out of hell and hadn’t realized he’d made it back.My breath hitch

  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   Little white lie

    Nico:The room was dim except for the single swinging bulb. It gave the medic’s movements a jerky, surreal rhythm, like a film reel stuttering. He cleaned his instruments with quiet precision, packed them back into the worn leather case, and left without a word. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the silence in with me.I sat there, my body a knot of frayed nerves, my hand still wrapped around hers. She was warm, but not warm enough. Her breathing had steadied, but every rise and fall of her chest felt borrowed, as if she was still deciding whether to come back to me.The walls of the safehouse pressed in close. Outside, the others were moving—boots scuffing, muted voices giving orders, Matteo checking the perimeter, Luca making calls. They were all still in motion. But I was stone.I couldn’t look away from her. Her hair stuck to her forehead, dark with sweat. Her lips were pale, the corners cracked. Even now, with the weight of everything that had happened, she looked like sh

  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   God, you can't have her

    Nico:The deck was slick under my knees. Not from seawater. From her. From Serena. My hands had been red before, but this—this was different. This was hers, and it felt like it was eating me alive with every heartbeat that slipped out between my fingers.The boat pitched, slamming over a wave, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My palms stayed locked over the wound at her side, trying to be enough, trying to be more than a man with trembling hands.“Stay,” I murmured again, low and rough, forehead pressed to hers. I didn’t even know if she could hear me anymore. Her eyes flickered like burned-out stars. Her breath rattled. The pulse under my thumb faltered, and I nearly lost it.I’d been in firefights before. I’d dragged bodies out of alleys before. But I had never been afraid like this. This wasn’t combat. This was watching the only thing tethering me to anything like a future slip away, inch by inch.“She’s still breathing,” Matteo said from somewhere near my shoulder. His voice was sharp

  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   Star freckled skies

    Serena:The world fractured into flashes. Boots hammering down the pier. Someone was shouting for a medic, but we didn’t have one. The sea was hissing against the pilings like it knew how this ended.Hands kept me anchored—Nico’s on my chest, Matteo’s at my side, Luca’s clamping over the wound at my hip. Their faces were carved from panic and rage and something that might’ve been prayer.I drifted. The alley ceiling dissolved into the night sky, a thousand pinprick stars bleeding through black. The smell of cordite, salt, and iron tangled in my lungs until every breath was a knife.“Stay with us,” Luca barked, voice low but shaking. “Don’t float. Don’t you dare float.”I wanted to say I’m trying. All that came out was a wet gasp.Nico’s thumb found the pulse at my throat, pressing, counting. His mouth moved close to my ear, voice breaking against the edge of command. “Look at me. Don’t look at the sky. Look at me.”I forced my eyes open. His face swam into focus—hair matted, jaw tight

  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   Betrayal

    The pier had swallowed too much blood to leave quiet, and its boards still carried the weight of what Umbra left behind. Smoke curled from spent rounds. Saltwater slapped at the pilings, dragging red trails out to sea. The air itself felt bruised.I couldn’t stop replaying Marco’s face in my head. How steady he had been while everything cracked around us. Not desperate. Not fearful. Just… watching. As though he had already measured out how far we would break.By the time we cleared bodies and pulled our wounded back, night had begun to split open. Thin blue light touched the horizon, bleeding into the black water.“We shouldn’t linger,” Matteo muttered, his voice raw. “If they regroup—”“They won’t,” Nico cut in, though his eyes stayed hard on the darkness where Marco had vanished. “Not tonight.”Luca wiped his knives on a strip of cloth, methodical, his expression unreadable. But I could see the twitch in his jaw, the one he never showed unless he was trying not to speak his rage alo

  • My Mafia Stepbrothers Want Me?   Sharpened thoughts

    The house breathed different when we returned. Walls that had once been background felt watchful, their plaster carrying the tension we brought in with us. Matteo paced the narrow hall, a wolf in shoes too tight, while Luca stripped weapons out on the kitchen table, metal clinking like punctuation in a language made only of war.The smell of oil and steel was thick enough to choke. It was home in the way scars are: ugly, permanent, familiar.Nico peeled off his jacket, his eyes never leaving me even when he was moving. “We don’t have much time. If Marco’s right, Umbra will start early. They like the dark because they think it makes them gods.”Matteo barked a laugh, harsh and bitter. “Or maybe they like the dark because rats don’t survive in daylight.”No one corrected him.I lowered myself into a chair and pressed my palms flat against the wood, grounding myself. “We need to decide. Do we take Marco’s word and pull everyone back from the pier? Or do we hold both places and split our

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