I glance at Noelle. Her eyes are steady, calm, but my gut tells me this isn’t just a coincidence. Something about this feels deliberate. The phone is clean, too clean. Which means it isn’t.
I take Noelle with me to my study, drop the burner on the desk, and pull out a small matte-black device from the drawer—a forensic scanner. Compact, deadly efficient. I’ve used it on dozens of burners before.
Noelle’s eyes flick to it. “What is that?”
“Something that tells me the truth,” I mutter, connecting the phone. The device hums to life, cables snaking into the burner’s port. A few keystrokes later, data starts spilling across my monitor.
To the naked eye, the phone’s wiped. Factory reset. But the scanner digs deeper, pulling up what most people think is gone. My jaw tightens as I scroll.
Ping records. Cell tower metadata. Last known signals.
Anton’s name is practically written across the screen. Two nights ago, this phone pinged near one of his safe spots—him and his crew.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the black glass of the device as if it had just whispered betrayal into the room.
Noelle shifts beside me. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” I say slowly, “this isn’t random. Someone put this in your pocket, and they want me to know Anton’s watching.”
“What?”
“It was him.” My voice is flat, certain. “Anton planted this on you. One way or another.”
Noelle’s breath catches, her hand tightening on the edge of my desk. “What? That’s not possible. I haven’t even seen him since—since I came down to Chicago. Over a year ago.”
Her eyes search mine, desperate for logic, for an explanation that makes sense.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to see you to reach you. He has people. Loyalists. Rats who’ll do his work for scraps. Someone slipped this into your coat, maybe while you were at the clinic, maybe even before. He’s making sure you feel his shadow.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, confusion and fear flickering across her face. “Why would he—why me?”
My hands curl into fists on the desk. I want to put them through something solid, but instead, I steady my tone, low and sharp. “Because you were his once. In his mind, you still are. This is how he plays—control from a distance, poison in small doses. And now….” My gaze cuts to the phone, cold rage tightening my chest. “…now he’s daring me to come after him.”
Silence swells between us, heavy and suffocating. I can feel Noelle’s eyes on me, searching for reassurance I can’t give her. My jaw clenches until it aches.
“This is on me.” The words scrape out of me like gravel. “I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve checked everything before it ever got near you. Your room, your clothes, every inch of this fucking place.” My chest tightens, the fury now laced with guilt. “If Anton’s filth touched your coat, then he’s closer than I thought. Too close.”
Her lips part, but I cut her off with a raised hand, needing to finish.
“We can’t stay here. Not anymore.” My voice drops lower, iron in every syllable. “It’s better if we leave the estate—go somewhere locked down, somewhere only my men know. Until Anton is arrested, until he’s executed, until this is over—you’ll be safe at my side. No risks. No shadows. No one touches you again.”
The words are a vow, sharper than any blade I’ve ever held.
Her brows knit, her voice trembling but stubborn. “Leave? Now? Niko, I’ve only just started to settle here. I finally feel like I belong somewhere again, and you want to uproot everything?” She shakes her head, clutching her arms around herself. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do this.”
I close the distance in two strides, my hand curling tight around the edge of the desk to keep from grabbing her. My voice cuts, cold and absolute. “This isn’t up for debate, Noelle. I said we’re leaving, and that’s final.”
Her breath hitches, and I see the hurt flash across her face like a wound. She stares at me, eyes shining with something raw—disappointment, hurt, maybe both. Then she turns sharply, her shoulders stiff as she walks away from me, each step pulling her further out of reach.
The door closes softly behind her, but it feels like a slam inside my chest.
I stand rooted, fury at Anton coiling with the sting of her silence, my own choices cutting us both open.
I curse under my breath and push away from the desk, chasing after her. She’s already in the hallway, her steps sharp, shoulders rigid as she marches toward our room.
I catch her wrist before she can slip inside, spinning her gently toward me. Her eyes flash, wounded and wet, but I don’t let her pull away. I lower my head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, holding there for a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her skin. My voice cracks in places I don’t let anyone hear. “I know it feels harsh. I know you’re finally breathing here, finally finding your place.” I ease my grip, tracing my thumb along the delicate bones of her wrist. “But Anton—he doesn’t play fair. If he can plant that phone in your coat, he can do worse. And I won’t risk that. Not with you.”
