“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said. “To Monte. To you.”
“But it did,” I whispered.
I crossed to the window, peeled the blackout curtain back just enough to see the inked-out sky. Somewhere out there was the city, full of delicate things—lace veils and sugar flowers and champagne towers that glittered under chandeliers. A world I’d built with careful hands and sleepless nights.
And somehow, I’d let this in.
This world.
His world.
I felt him come up behind me again, close but not touching.
“You saw what I have in this room,” he said. “You saw the weapons. The names. The pictures.”
“Yes.”
“And you still haven’t run.”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said truthfully.
He let out a low breath. “You asked why it’s all here. Why I keep it in this suite and not the actual war room. Why I don’t let my brothers in.”
I nodded.
“It’s because I’m different from them,” he said. “They were born into this war. I was forged by it.”
I turned to face him.
“You’re the most dangerous one,” I said.
He didn’t deny it.
That terrified me more than anything. Because he wasn’t just dangerous to the people hunting him. He was dangerous to me.
To whatever was left of my heart.
To the life I’d built that didn’t have space for guns and ribbons and ghosts named Caroline Dane.
And still …
Still.
I hadn’t run.
Not yet.
26
SILAS
Portia stood by the window in my suite at Dominion Hall, the blackout curtain peeled back, her silhouette sharp against the inked-out Charleston sky. Her arms were crossed, the folder with my mother’s name—Caroline Dane—clutched tight, her face a mask of betrayal and fear.
Monte’s death hung between us, his blood a fresh wound, and the red ribbon in that glass cabinet was a silent taunt.
I’d brought her here to keep her safe after the ambush at The Palmetto Rose, but now, with her eyes burning into mine, I knew safety was a lie. I’d brought her into my war, and I couldn’t hide anymore.
“I saw her,” I said, my voice rough, the words spilling out like a confession. “My mother. Caroline. She’s alive.”
