second chances
mob boss! lando norris x reader
part thirty-nine: you've been made
word count: 7.0k-ish
warnings: this chapter contains themes of violence and manipulation. reader discretion is advised.
thirty-eight | thirty-nine | forty
“…Who's Lando?”
His heart stopped.
She didn’t yell. She didn’t demand. She didn’t throw the phone at him or scream at him or accuse him of lying. Somehow, that made it so much worse, because she asked it like she already knew the answer, like it physically hurt her to even say it out loud.
Everything about her body language, every fine detail of her expression was paused, stilled like she didn’t want to believe it.
Lando stayed frozen.
Be very careful, Norris.
“Angel, what are you–”
“I picked up your phone,” she started, her voice trembling now. “Just to tell him you were resting. I was just– I wasn’t snooping or anything, okay? I was just– just trying to be nice, I promise.”
She began to ramble, the words tumbling out of her faster than she could keep up. “But then before I could say anything, he just started– I didn’t know he was going to start yelling about disappearing and jobs and going dark—”
“Okay,” he murmured softly, trying to calm her. “Okay. Just breathe—”
“Don’t,” she said sharply, practically hissing the word – though whether that was in pain or anger, he couldn’t tell. But he knew this wasn’t her usual voice – certainly not the one she used when she teased him or comforted him or even argued with him.
This was raw, wounded.
She shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t— don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I’m– I’m not, okay? I know what I heard.”
He stood very still. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if ready to fight whatever tangible or intangible threat had dared to bring tears to her eyes. He’d promised to protect her, after all.
But he wasn’t quite sure he could protect her from this.
She watched carefully as everything about him softened — his shoulders, his eyes, the lines of his face. But it was not the kind of soft that came from tenderness.
It was resignation.
No. You’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
Tell me I’m wrong.
Please.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” he admitted quietly.
“...So it’s true?” Y/N asked, her voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. Each of her words were still slow, wary, like her mind couldn’t wrap itself around this fracture of her reality. Each syllable was another chance from her for him to tell her otherwise, but he didn’t speak.
He didn’t deny it.
“And this?” She gestured vaguely between them. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hand trembled ever so slightly as she did. “You— you sleeping here, holding me like—”
She had to pause to swallow down the feeling that rose in the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. Her voice was much quieter this time when she spoke.
“...Was that fake too?”
“No,” he answered immediately. His tone was firm, unshakeable. Lando needed her to know that there was never even a chance that it could have been true. “That was never fake.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and something in her expression twisted.
“How can I believe you? I don’t even know who you are.”
Lando opened his mouth before he closed it again. Because what the fuck could he say?
He wanted to tell her that Liam was real — that he was Liam, at least in all the ways that mattered. He wanted to tell her that the man who kissed her knuckles and slept on her couch and drank too much sugar in his coffee, that man wasn’t fake. He wanted to tell her that she had made him feel more like himself than anything else in his entire twisted empire of blood and bones.
But right now, all she saw was the lie.
How was he supposed to undo that?
She looked at him like she didn’t recognize him — like maybe she was seeing him for the first time. Her voice, when it came, was thin and high and impossibly quiet.
“I can’t–” Her hands were shaking now, just a little. “I can’t do this.”
Those words had his heart racing, his mind instantly flashing with the image of a life where she couldn’t even look him in the eye.
No. That’s impossible.
I can fix this.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled through his nose. “Hey,” he tried gently, stepping forward. “Listen—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked, but she stood firm. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down or explain or lie again. Just tell me the truth. Who the hell are you?”
He was quiet.
Then, after thinking for a moment, he added, “…I’m still me.”
But the damage was already done. The space between them was cavernous now.
As she looked at him with confusion swirling in those beautiful eyes, all he could do was stare. The name “Lando” now sat between them like a loaded gun on the table — impossible to ignore, impossible to take back.
“Lando’s my real name.”
That was as a good a place to start as any, right?
Y/N didn’t move. In fact, she wasn’t sure she was even breathing. The silence stretched — thick, brittle, about to snap.
He finally stepped forward, cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt or bite. Then, Lando spoke, his voice low.
“I didn’t lie to hurt you.”
“Oh, well then,” she scoffed dryly. “Guess it’s fine.”
“I never wanted to lie to you,” he quickly corrected, shaking his head as he stepped forward again, hands up in a form of surrender. “But that first night, after the shooting — I thought if anyone came looking, I didn’t want them knowing your name. Or mine. I didn’t want you tied to it.”
For a moment, she seemed to consider his words, mulling them over in her mind.
“So you gave me the wrong name,” she tried cautiously, testing the words for their truth. “To protect yourself?”
“That’s not—” He stopped himself, before he tried again. “It was a precaution. I was scared too.
She narrowed her eyes, dubious. “Were you? You didn’t seem scared. You seemed… calm.”
“I didn’t know what we were caught up in,” he replied, making sure each word is low and even. He needed her to believe him. “I didn’t want t’ make it worse. So yeah, when I saw you again… I said my name was Liam. I thought maybe I’d walk away after that. Just, like, disappear.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” he repeated, his eyes locking with hers. “I couldn’t.”
And he meant it. There was something soft in the way he said it, something that almost made her want to believe him again.
For a while, there was only silence.
It makes sense, Y/N thought to herself.
Some part of her certainly wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe him so badly. Maybe it was because he looked tired, or because he looked remorseful.
Or maybe it was because he looked like the man who held her through the night like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
He looked away, brow furrowing, like the memory genuinely haunted him.
“Y/N,” he started, a rare use of her real name instead of any of the petnames she’d started to become accustomed to. “You have to believe me. I thought using my real name would’a put you in danger.”
Her lip quivered, just barely. “So… you were protecting me?”
He nodded, his eyes searching hers, begging for belief. “From the beginning.”
She scanned his face, looking for cracks, for lies. Something that said run.
But when she met his gaze, she found that he looked like the same man who kissed her forehead goodnight. The same man who ran his fingers through her hair while they watched Hallmark movies and made dumb bets over grocery lists.
With her gaze piercing those hazel green eyes, he held his breath as she seemed to search for any reason not to believe him.
He was still familiar.
So she nodded once, shakily. The gesture caught him off guard. As soon as he noticed it in his periphery, his head snapped up.
She wore a small, tentative smile on her face. Some of the tension seemed to have begun leaving her body, the trembling beginning to lessen.
Finally, the tension in her chest loosened.
Maybe she was wrong.
Maybe he wasn’t some psycho monster.
She nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she breathed finally, the words tasting foreign in her mouth. Lando let his eyes slip closed momentarily in relief, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a hint of a smile.
“...Yeah? We’re… We’re good?”
“Okay,” she nodded, confirming. “Okay. I believe you.”
“Mint.”
On instinct, he moved closer to her, whether it was to reassure her or embrace her or something else, even he didn’t know. All Lando knew was that she believed him, that things could be okay, that he wasn’t going to lose her today.
Sure, he’d lied to her. But he’d done it to protect them, hadn’t he?
Soon enough, his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of him both comfortable and familiar. With her head tucked under his chin, her face was settled comfortably in the crook of his neck, the tip of her nose tickling him as it gently grazed the skin of his pulse point.
There was probably some scientific explanation for it, but she was beginning to think that there was something calming about the mere proximity to him, as if the steady beat of his heart is what guided her own.
It’s okay.
He’s still here.
It’s gonna be okay.
As her heart finally started to settle, she continued to turn over his words in her mind. She thought back to that night, that harrowing sight engraved in her memory when she’d seen the life leave a man’s body in an instant.
She remembered the way her heart had hammered in her ears afterward, the persistent ringing, the unshakeable feeling that in some crazy way, she was going to be next. She also remembered when warm, strong hands gently came to rest on her shoulders, a kind voice asking if she was okay. She remembered how patient he was with her, how he’d made sure she was alright, and had made sure to walk her home so she’d feel safe.
There was a kindness in his eyes that she’d felt uniquely drawn to even then, the way it made her feel as warm as the cup of tea did that night.
“Hey,” she whispered, barely bothering move from her clearly very comfortable spot.
“Hey there,” he greeted in return, cooing softly.
The affection in his voice, even after Y/N had treated him like some kind of crazy person only made her feel worse. The pit of guilt in her stomach only grew heavier.
“M’sorry. That was a lot. I didn’t mean to freak out. I just–”
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, “None of that, angel. You got nothin’ to say sorry for, yeah?”
“But I–”
“Uh uh,” he tutted mischievously, mirth dancing in his eyes as he leaned back to look at her. He liked them like this, soft and sweet. Having her so close to him made his heart preform dangerous tricks, but he didn’t mind it as long as she’d keep looking at him like that.
If Y/N always looked at him like that, Lando wouldn’t mind holding her like this for the rest of their lives.
“M’ serious,” he pretends to scold her. His tone may have been mocking, but he really did mean it. “No ‘sorry’s. None of ‘em.”
“None of ‘em?” she smiled playfully, raising her brow. “But what if–”
“I'll bite you.”
“Liam! I mean– shit, sorry–”
He shot her an amused look.
“Lando,” she finally managed to get out. “Sorry,” she added as well, just for good measure.
He smirked. “You can practice saying that all you want, sweetheart. And what’d I just say about sayin’ sorry, hm? Looks like I’ll just have to—”
Lando cut himself off to playfully bite at the skin of her neck, just a gentle, barely-there graze of his teeth against one of the places he happened to know she was more sensitive.
“Woah there,” she giggled, her heart skipping a beat. “Easy there tiger.”
“You’re no fun,” he pouted, but the smile he wore was devilish. “I thought girls liked that sort of thing.”
He looks way too proud of himself for that comment.
Blood rushed to her cheeks, tinging them pink. Y/N was learning that she had a strong, love-hate relationship with how often Lando was able to do that to her.
“You’re always so dirty,” she laughed, pushing herself out of his hold. What she didn’t see was the joy on Lando’s face, the sheer relief he felt after he’d come so close to losing whatever this was between them.
He’d given up many things in his life, but he was beginning to seriously doubt that there was ever a world where he could give up her.
“I don’t know about you,” she called over her shoulder, walking away towards the kitchen “But I’m gonna put for some tea. You want any?”
And just like that, Lando could finally breathe again.
A comfortable silence fell over the apartment, the only sounds coming from the quiet metal clinking of the kettle being placed on the stove. Even feeling the warmth emanating from the stove did something to settle her nerves, to help dissolve what remained of the earlier adrenaline.
Even still, something didn’t sit right with her. Something whispered at the edges of her mind, refusing to let go.
I’m still me.
Lando’s my real name.
I never wanted to lie to you.
It was a precaution.
Clearly, he was good at lying. Y’N would be lying if she said that didn’t make her uncomfortable, especially if she thought about how long he’d lied to her for. There’d been so many chances since then – so many drives and lunches and movie nights and coffee runs where he had the chance to tell her the truth, to make this whole thing go away.
But he didn’t. He’d lied.
And for months, she’d been none the wiser.
The uncomfortable feeling persisted, stubborn in its objective of making her think about all the non-existent reasons he had of keeping the truth from her. It annoyed her, nagging at the back of her mind like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue or a memory just out of reach.
While the water began to heat, she glanced over at where Li– Lando was busy putting on the next episode of The Good Place for them to watch. Distantly, she could hear the vague sound of the Brit going on about something or the other, maybe even his own recap of last episode’s events.
Once Y/N was sure his back was turned, she slid her phone out from her pocket and clicked it on, her blood thrumming with anxiety as the letters appeared in the search bar.
Search: lando monte carlo
The results punched the very air out of her lungs.
Beyond Forgery and Fraud: Reaper's Circle's Drug Empire Rises
Interpol Report: Norris Suspected in Multiple International Offenses
Lando Norris Suspected in Over a Dozen Murders. No Convictions.
Y/N stared at the screen, frozen. The sentences began to blend together, a whirlwind of the same words over and over again.
Mob boss.
Murderer.
Lando.
Him.
No. No, this couldn’t—
Article after article appeared, an endless collection of headlines tying that name, tying Lando Norris, tying him to all sorts of crimes — racketeering, arms deals, disappearances, executions masked as robberies.
A memory rang in her ear, a snippet of the evening news playing on the radio in the car.
“Authorities have not yet identified the leader of the Reaper’s Circle, but rumors suggest it's someone with deep ties in Monaco’s elite—someone like Lando Norris, who has been involved in several high-profile events in recent months…”
“–The Reaper’s Circle, an organized criminal syndicate suspected of controlling various illicit activities across Monaco and beyond…”
He’d frozen, for that split second, before the mask had slipped back into place. Even then, sitting right beside her, it’d been so fucking easy for him to lie to her.
Despite the wave of nausea, her thumb automatically scrolled faster, her heartbeat louder than the boiling kettle. Everything felt far away, like the chaos of her mind had separated itself entirely from whatever she was meant to feel in her body.
Everything was numb.
As she scrolled, photos of him appeared, joining the digital mix. It was the same face she recognized, but also different at the same time. These photos were nothing like the ones in her phone, weren’t anything like the hidden snapshots of his occasional smile or the time she’d smudged a dab of toothpaste across his cheek, his hair mussed by sleep.
The photos she saw now caused a sinking feeling in her gut. The girl scrolled through mugshots, with their striped backgrounds and prisoner numbers. She scrolled through the paparazzi pictures, stolen photos taken by those who were trying to capture a glimpse of the force known as Lando Norris.
There was a clip of his face in black and white security footage. Y/N almost didn’t recognize the sharpness of his jaw, the clean-cut suits, the cold, unreadable expression.
Why would she?
That wasn’t her Liam. That wasn’t the man who sipped cappuccinos in her café and fixed the bent sign above her door.
That man, it seemed, didn’t exist at all.
Her grip on the phone faltered, before the weight of it slipped from her loosened grasp. She caught it mid-fall, fingers clumsy, heart sprinting, vision blurred.
Behind her, the kettle began to scream.
Back in the living room, Lando was staring at the TV, flicking between episodes as the screen cast a soft, harmless glow across his face.
She stared at him from the kitchen doorway. His profile was calm, his silhouette familiar.
He was still her Liam, just with a different name.
No.
He was a killer.
Her stomach churned. Her throat burned. She blinked, and when she looked at him again, he looked like a stranger now.
The kettle was still screaming on the stove when she turned it off. The tea sat untouched on the counter, steam curling up into the stale, too-quiet air.
Y/N stared at the screen of her phone one last time — headlines burned into her vision, images of blood and bodies flashing behind her eyes, her own reflection warped in the darkened black of the glass.
Lando Norris.
Her heartbeat thundered. Her limbs shook, but her grip tightened.
She reached for the drawer near the sink — the one with dull steak knives, takeout menus, and forgotten batteries. Her fingers closed around the handle of the sharpest one she had. It wasn’t a real pocket knife, but it would have to do. Y/N didn’t even remember what it looked like. All she remembered was the weight of it: cold, foreign, and damning.
Her hands trembled like leaves in a storm, but she didn't stop.
Not that she felt brave. If anything, she felt sick.
But still, she stepped forward.
The hallway between the kitchen and living room felt impossibly long — like her apartment had grown into a tunnel. Every footstep felt like it echoed louder than the last. The knife clutched in her hand quivered against her thigh.
She stood just out of his sight, one hand braced against the counter’s edge, the other gripping a knife with white-knuckled desperation. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, so loud it almost drowned out his words from the next room.
Lando’s voice carried from the couch, casual and unbothered. “–Or we could just order somethin’ in,” he continued, fingers drumming lazily on his thigh. “I mean, we’d have to see what’s open right now—”
Lando’s voice trailed off when she stepped back into the room. He had turned to look at her, half-expecting to see her usual soft expression, maybe that tired but warm little smile she gave when she was just happy he was here.
Instead, Y/N stood in the doorway, the kitchen light casting a halo behind her. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her face pale and her hands shaking. A knife gleamed in her grasp, and for a second, it didn’t even look real — like something out of a movie she never wanted to be part of.
It shook faintly in her hand – not from lack of conviction, but because her body was trembling under the weight of the fear she’d kept locked behind her ribs for the past ten minutes.
Lando’s brow furrowed. “Y/N?” he asked, slowly standing. “What are you doing?”
His voice was calm — gentle, like he didn’t quite understand.
Maybe he didn’t, because he took a step forward, and she flinched.
That’s when it happened.
That’s when Lando saw it — the flicker of something in her eyes. It wasn’t the soft worry she used to carry when he came in late, or the teasing suspicion when he dodged questions.
No.
This was pure, unadulterated fear.
He stopped in his tracks, something raw and unspoken painting his expression. “Wait—wait, sweetheart, what’s going on?” His voice cracked, barely holding itself together. “Put that down. You’re shaking.”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“What?”
“Get out. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
Lando’s face froze.
His spine straightened. His entire world narrowed to the silver blade in her hand and the way her eyes wouldn’t meet his.
“Y/N?” he asked quietly, standing slowly from the couch. “What are you doing?”
She flinched.
Lando stood slowly from the couch like he was trying not to startle her. It was never good form to startle someone pointing a knife at your chest.
“You’re shaking,” he noted, almost more to himself than to her. “Let’s put that down, sweetheart. Please. Let’s talk. We can— can we just talk? What’s goin’ on?”
“Don’t call me that.” Her voice cracked on the end of it, shattering the illusion like glass. “Stop it.”
He stopped moving, and her eyes finally met his.
“I looked you up,” she whispered. “Your real name. Lando Norris.”
She took a step back, and that’s when it happened.
His worst fear.
For the first time since they’d met on that rainy, bloodstained night in the alley, she looked at him like she didn't know him.
For the first time, Y/N looked at him like she was afraid of him.
There were no words that felt like they could describe the apprehension that emanated from her in waved.
In an instant, everything had changed. Where they had been laughing and flirting before, now there was an endless chasm separating them. Where moments ago there had been fondness and affection, now there was something else entirely.
His throat bobbed. “Listen, whatever you think you know—”
“I know enough,” she snapped, voice high with panic.
Images flashed through her mind like a broken film reel.
The blood on the pavement that night — dark, fresh, sticky. The faint smear of red on his shoe as he stood beside her, before he moved it out of her line of sight.His long fingers, wrapped around the handle of that gun — the same ones she’d recognize anywhere after hours of watching him tracing lazy, tender shapes on her arms as they watched TV together, skin against skin.
Her breath hitched.
He wasn’t a witness.
Lando Norris was the shooter.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice cracking down the middle. “It was you. It was you, that night.”
She took another staggering step back, the distance between them growing even greater.
“You killed him. It was you, standing in that alley. And you lied! You looked me in the face and told me you just heard the gunshots.”
There was silence, heavy and suffocating. She shook her head, as if trying to erase the image of him sitting in her kitchen, making tea for a woman he nearly silenced forever.
“You walked me home, got inside my apartment, made me think you were trying to help me. But you weren’t. You were– You were just cleaning up your mess! You were tying up a loose end.”
Still he said nothing. Instead, the man just stared at her like she’d peeled the skin off him and was staring at whatever ugly thing lay beneath.
“Say something,” Y/N snapped. “Fucking say something!”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he started to explain, and it sounded so hollow it made her stomach twist. “I didn’t— I didn’t know you. You were just—someone who saw something. I didn’t plan to get involved, Y/N. But then I did. I did. And I tried to keep you out of it.”
“No,” she gritted, her voice crumbling now, falling apart one word at a time. “You lied to me. You let me fall for you. You made me think you were just— You made me think you were my friend. You made me care about you. You… You made me trust you.”
Lando looked like she’d just stabbed him in the chest instead.
“I am that person,” he said quietly. “I didn’t fake that. I never faked any of it.”
The blade in her hand glinted in the twilight that leaked through the slivers of space between her curtains, the moon light pouring through. The metal of it glistened menacingly as its sharp point hovered just above where his heart was supposed to be.
He wasn’t sure he had one anymore.
There was nothing she’d said tonight that wasn’t true. His hand reached for hers, unexpectedly tender as it reached for where her fingers were wrapped around the hilt, urging it closer.
I deserve this.
If I died at her hands tonight, I would be okay with that, he thought. If it meant she wouldn’t look at him like this, he’d happily take whatever punishment she’d give him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered reassuringly, smiling sadly. “S’alright.”
Her voice cracked completely. “Stop. Please, just stop.”
Tears slid freely down her cheeks now, hot and bitter. Then, a truth finally spilled out of her too, unbidden.
“I can’t believe you let me fall in love with you.”
Lando couldn’t breathe.
Hearing those words was a punch to the gut, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs, wounding the softest, rawest part of him. His head spun, his stomach twisting with a gutteral ache.
“No,” his face twisted, some mix of horrified and devastated. “Please. Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” she whispered. “Because you know you don’t deserve it?”
He looked away, his face hot with shame.
“I let you into my home. I let you into my life. And the whole time… ” Her hand trembled harder around the knife. “You were Lando fucking Norris. Mob boss of Monaco. You’ve killed people. You– You probably had Margot killed. You probably—”
“I didn’t.” The words escaped like a snarl. “Don’t put that on me.”
“But you could have,” she breathed. “And that’s the problem.”
He flinched like she’d hit him.
She exhaled shakily, holding the knife tighter, like it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “You need to leave.”
“Y/N—”
He hesitated.
For just a second, Lando stood there — face wrecked, hands useless, eyes pleading for something he couldn’t ask for anymore. He opened his mouth again to explain, to lie, to beg, but she cut him off before he could even try.
“Don’t! Don’t say another word. I don’t wanna hear your voice.”
She might as well have slapped him right across the fucking face.
It took whatever dwindling willpower she had left not to look at the wounded expression on Lando’s face.
It was already hard to see him through her rapidly blurring vision, until it suddenly cleared. She swiped at a tear she only realized had fallen once it was streaming down her cheek, the knife still trembling in her grip. Her voice was tighter now, choked and disbelieving.
“You made me feel safe! You made me tea! You held me like I was— like I was yours,” she hissed, whispering the last word like it was dirty, a dream turned rotten.
“And the whole time, you were just making sure I couldn’t talk? Making sure I’d forget?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
What could he say?
She shook her head slowly, the betrayal sinking deeper into her chest like the slow spread of a toxin.
“Was any of it real?” she asked, the tears falling freely now. “Any of it? The coffee, the late-night walks, the books you pretended to like? The way you looked at me?”
There was a pause as she forced herself to take a shuddering breath.
“Was that all fake too?”
“No,” Lando blurted out, his eyes wide. He’d stood here without complaint as every word from her mouth and every tear from her eyes fractured something in his chest into a thousand tiny, splintering shards of glass, but he couldn’t let her think that. “God, no.”
Even though he hadn’t dared to hope otherwise, it was clear to Lando now that the time for apologies had long since expired. Any question she asked now was empty, because even he knew that there was no answer that he could give her now that would forgive a years worth of lies. The truth had started to settle in: there was no logical way for him to explain this away.
There was no way to hope for the precious gift of Y/N’s forgiveness just one more time.
But for better or for worse, Lando’s heart had never been particularly good at listening to reason. All Lando could think about was the way her eyes were rimmed with red, glistening with the aftermath of his betrayal.
Y/N laughed then – a bitter, hollow thing. “You know what? Forget it. Please. Just go. Just fucking go.”
Against all sense of reason, Lando took a small step forward, the tip of her blade now barely centimeters from his chest. The movement was slow and easy, laced with a sense of acceptance. Still, he looked at her with a sense of sad curiosity.
She raised the knife higher, crying outright now, her heart thudding like it was trying to escape her chest.
“Are you even listening to me? I said, get out!” she spat. “If you come any closer to me, I swear to God, I will scream. I’ll— I’ll call the cops. I’ll tell them everything.”
Lando’s face crumpled not with rage or frustration, but with grief.
“You’re scared of me,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “You really are.”
The shine of his eyes mirrored hers now, the weight on his chest pressing down until his voice broke. He took a half-step forward, desperate. “I didn’t want this. I swear to God, I never wanted this—”
“Get. Out!”
She was crying now — tears streaming freely, silently, like she didn’t even notice. Her whole body shook.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please get out before I call the cops.”
Lando stared at her, his mouth parted, eyes unreadable — but behind the storm in them was something small, something shattered.
She wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t just scared. She was done.
That hurt worse than any bullet ever could.
So he did the one thing he didn’t know how to do.
He stepped back.
The silence that followed felt like the final breath before a storm, the quiet before the tidal wave of a tsunami.
Lando didn’t try to explain anything else after that. He nodded once, just once.
It nearly killed him.
Lando turned toward the door. He moved slowly then, like he was walking through water. Each step sounded like a funeral drum, final and echoing.
He didn’t say goodbye.
He reached for the door, his fingers shaking — not because of the threat of the knife he could tell was still pointed at him, but because of her.
Lando Norris had outsmarted enemies, evaded authorities, and cheated death itself. Yet in this moment, he didn’t fight back. He didn’t try to convince her of his innocence, or prove himself worthy of her forgiveness.
For all his brilliance, even Lando Norris knew that he couldn’t shoot, couldn’t outsmart, couldn’t trick his way out of this. Even he knew that now, there were no more illusions.
Now, it was just him, losing the one thing he never wanted to lose.
When he reached the door, confronted with its familiar sight far too soon, Lando glanced back, one last time.
He looked for her, for any bit of the girl he once knew. There, instead of seeing the heartbreak spilling down her cheeks or the trembling of her hands, he saw only the same determination and ferocity he’d fallen in love with.
In that moment, he wished he could spend an eternity standing there, if not to admire her then to memorize her face, suddenly confronted with the fear of forgetting even the smallest thing about her.
In those last moments before he granted her final wish by leaving, Lando stood frozen, eyes darting over her face like he was trying to memorize it — like this was the last time he’d be allowed to look at her. He wanted to see her, really see her.
Just one more minute.
But Y/N didn’t meet his eyes.
She couldn’t.
God, it killed her enough to watch the man she loved standing there, looking wrecked and helpless, like he was the one being torn apart.
But she couldn’t afford to care, couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes as he left.
He didn’t beg.
He didn’t try to stay.
He opened the door with slow, deliberate movements — like even that, even leaving, was hard.
Before he stepped out, Lando turned.
“…I’m sorry you found out like this.”
The door shut behind him, and then all that was left was silence.
The door shut like the slam of a coffin.
Y/N stood in the center of her kitchen, the silence roaring in her ears. Her hands were still suspended in front of her, useless and twitching as her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. The silence in the apartment pressed in around her — thick, oppressive, empty.
And then the knife hit the floor.
She crumpled a second later.
Right there, in the middle of her kitchen tile, knees hitting hard and breath stolen like a rug yanked out from under her. Her hand found the counter to brace herself, but it wasn’t enough.
Nothing was enough.
She hit the ground with a soft thud, curling inward like her ribs were caving around her heart — like her body was trying to protect her from something it was too late to stop.
The first sob came out sharp, crooked. It wasn’t graceful or cinematic — just raw.
She dragged herself backwards until her spine hit the cabinet and she stayed there, slumped on the cold tile like it might somehow anchor her. Like it might remind her what was real.
The headlines were still on her phone screen. She reached for it with trembling fingers, locked it, then shoved it across the floor like it burned her.
Because it did.
Her head hit the cabinet behind her with a quiet thunk.
She squeezed her eyes. Her hands pressed against her chest like she could hold her heart in.
She couldn’t.
She’d been holding it all in like a dam — fear, anger, disbelief — but now the cracks had given way, and it all came rushing out.
Finally, she sobbed freely.
They were guttural, shuddering, animalistic cries. The kind that clawed their way out of her chest and echoed in the hollow of her apartment like ghosts. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, like if she held herself tightly enough, she could disappear back into the life she thought she had.
But there was no going back.
She pressed her forehead to the cold cabinet door, hot tears dripping down her nose. She could still smell him in the air — cologne and city rain and something warm that had always reminded her of home.
Except it never was.
None of it had been real.
Her chest tightened so violently she thought she might throw up. Her stomach churned, her head a kaleidoscope of memory and betrayal.
The way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear.
The night he stayed just to hear her read.
Her breath came out in short, gasping bursts — not quite crying, not quite breathing either. Just this horrible, shaking in-between where she couldn’t make sense of anything. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel anything except the acid curling in her chest.
She wasn’t just heartbroken.
She felt violated. Deceived. Used. She had slept beside a murderer. Laughed with him. Kissed him. Loved him.
The pain hit her in waves — disbelief, nausea, betrayal, grief. She wanted to scream. To sob. To undo it all.
But she just sat there, shaking, arms wrapped tight around her knees, forehead pressed to the floor. She curled tighter, hands tangled in her own shirt, as if she could squeeze the memory of him out of her skin. But it was still there — the phantom of his touch, the echo of his voice.
She had loved him.
Or at least… she had loved who she thought he was, a version of him that apparently didn’t even exist.
The thought only made her feel even more sick.
She buried her face in her knees and cried — for herself, for her stupid, naive heart, for the man she never really knew.
And the man who’d fooled her so well, she’d wanted to build a life around him.
The second the door shut behind him, Lando staggered down the stairs like a man far drunker than he was. He reached the bottom of her building and stopped beside his car, hands braced on the roof like he couldn’t stand up straight anymore.
He didn’t get in.
He didn’t light a cigarette.
He just stood there, letting it hit him.
An image flashed before his eyes, a memory of the look on her face — like he was something to be afraid of. Something that didn’t belong in her world anymore.
Each moment was permanently engraved in his memory now. His mind played a loop of it on repeat, the way she told him to get the fuck out, that he wasn’t safe, that he wasn’t welcome here anymore.
And the worst part?
She was right.
He stared up at the window of her apartment, but he couldn’t see inside. Right now, Lando had no way of knowing if she was crying or curled up on the floor or already dialing 911.
He wouldn’t blame her. She should. He certainly deserved it.
As stupid, as it may have seemed, he just wanted to know if she was okay. With no way of reaching her, he had no way of reassuring her, comforting her, telling her it’d be okay. There was nothing he wouldn’t have given up just for the chance to say he was sorry, and to tell her that none of this was her fault.
But the silence made it worse, made it real.
He whispered her name like a spell — like perhaps if he said it softly enough, it’d somehow turn back the hands of time until she was back in his arms.
But of course, no such thing happened.
She had looked at him like he was a monster.
He’d seen fear before — real fear. Hell, he caused it. But never in her. Never like that. Not from the one person who made him believe, even for a second, that he was something more than a broken man with blood on his hands.
And now?
That look was all he’d see when he closed his eyes.
Everything she said, every word, looped in his head like punishment. Like penance. And for once, there was no lie clever enough to silence them.
He slammed a fist against the roof of his car with a grunt, as if would somehow release the knot in his chest. But with the anger at himself gone, there was only heartbreak that remained.
He had killed people. Broken bones. Set fires. Crushed men under his heel like ants.
But this? This was the worst pain he’d ever felt.
It’s your own damn fault.
He should’ve told her. Should’ve left her alone the moment he saw her face that night. Should’ve walked away the first time she smiled at him like he was safe.
He wondered if it felt like this for everyone, wondered if heartbreak was supposed to make you feel like your insides had been scooped out until there was no you actually left anymore. Until you were so empty you could barely stand.
Before he could do something stupid like cry, Lando slowly got into the car and closed the door. He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, but he made no move to start the engine.
The air in the car felt so thick it was suffocating, yet still he didn’t move. He couldn’t.
The cabin was silent except for the faint static of the air vents and the occasional sound of a passing car outside.
Lando was still. He had never felt stillness like this, not even after a kill.
He just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, heart beating too loudly in the hollow space her absence had left behind. In the black car window, his reflection stared back at him with cold eyes, pale skin, jaw clenched, hands shaking.
Not a man.
Not even a liar.
He didn’t even know what he was anymore.
Instead of trying to figure it out, Lando just sat there, his forehead against the wheel, trying to remember what it had felt like to be Liam. To be the version of himself she had loved.
But there was no going back to that now.
Only Lando was left.
And for the first time in a long time, he hated the name more than anyone else ever could.
a/n: i'm so sorry for letting you guys and not posting when i said i would. please believe me when i say i tried, it's just that my personal life decides to bin it at the most inopportune times. i may or may not have channelled that into this chapter lol
but also thank you all so much for all your lovely reactions to the last chapter!! i would love to hear what you thought of this one...
