Remy goes completely still, his eyes narrowing. “Eve…”
“Ano Montoni is my father!” The words explode from me like bullets. “That monster, that human trafficker you protect, that’s my father! So yes, Remy, it’s personal. It’s very fucking personal.”
The truth hangs between us like a loaded gun. Remy’s hands turn into fists.
“I’ve dedicated the last three years of my life to this investigation,” I continue, my voice steadier now that the truth is out. “Roberto and I followed every lead, every whisper. We interviewed survivors, traced shell companies, and tracked shipping routes. Most led nowhere, but lately…” My fingers curl into the sheets. “We finally had what we needed. Real evidence. Concrete proof. All we had to do was work the leads together.”
Remy’s expression shifts, something dark and heavy settling over his features. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and my chest tightens at the careful way he positions himself. I recognize that look.
“Eve.” His voice is unnaturally gentle. “Roberto Mutini is dead. He was killed during the attack at the restaurant.”
The words hit like a physical blow. My free hand flies to my mouth, but it can’t stop the strangled sound that escapes. “No.” The denial is automatic, instinctive. “No, he got away. He had to—”
“I found his body in the kitchen.” Remy’s words are soft but merciless. “Single shot to the head. Professional.”
The room spins as memories assault me—Roberto’s last frightened expression, his hands shoving me toward the freezer, the sound of gunfire. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the tears from breaking free.
“He locked me in that freezer,” I whisper. “He knew they were coming. He saved my life.”
I can’t breathe. The news hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of my lungs. My chest constricts painfully, and I can’t suppress the wave of grief that crashes over me.
“He saved me,” I whisper, but the words feel hollow, echoing in the oppressive silence of the room. Remy’s presence looms larger as reality closes in around me—my body shaking with a mixture of rage and despair. “He sacrificed himself for me.”
Remy’s eyes darken, reflecting my pain with an intensity that sends chills down my spine. I pull my free hand away when he reaches out, instinctively recoiling from the warmth he offers. “You’re just like him,” I spit, every syllable laced with venom. “Like Ano—destroying lives for profit and power.”
He flinches as if struck, but instead of retreating, he moves closer, his body radiating tension and something else—something deeper that I refuse to acknowledge. The air thickens between us as he looms over me, hands gripping the headboard on either side of my head.
“I won’t take his contract,” he growls, voice low and fierce. There’s an urgency in his tone that cuts through my fog of grief and anger. “Since you reappeared in my life, I had this feeling you were in deep. I want to help.”
The confession hangs between us like a fragile thread waiting to snap under pressure. My heart races as I search his face for any hint of deception; there’s so much at stake here, and trust is a dangerous game. “Why?” I whisper finally, vulnerability clawing at me.
Remy stalks me to the bed, grabbing the headboard over me, and I gasp. “Because you trusted me enough to call when you needed help,” he replies, each word heavy with raw emotion.“Even knowing what I am.” His voice cracks slightly on that last note, revealing layers beneath his cool exterior.
My pulse quickens at his admission—a crack in the armor of indifference he wears so well. “And what are you?” My challenge hangs in the air between us; the accusation is sharp yet layered with uncertainty.
“Because even if I help monsters for a living,” he continues, voice roughening with conviction, “I have my own limits.” He pauses as if weighing each word before carefully letting them fall into place. “And I can’t help but admire you—in your shining journalist armor.”
His admission costs him more than just words; I can see it etched into the tension of his jaw—the way it clenches tightly as if holding back.
How much I would like to trust you, Remy.The thought burns through me as I stare up at him, remembering every touch, every stolen moment between us. His hands still grip the headboard on either side of me, caging me in with his presence. The scent of his cologne mingles with leather and something distinctlyhim, making it hard to focus.
“I want to believe you,” I whisper, hating how my voice betrays the conflict raging inside me. “But Roberto trusted people, too. Look where that got him.”
Remy’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek. “I’m not asking you to trust blindly, Eve. I’m asking you to let me help.”
My free hand presses against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the expensive fabric of his suit. Steady. Strong. Just like I remember. “The last time I trusted someone with power like yours, they tried to bury everything I’d uncovered. Three months of evidence, gone in a single night.”
“I’m not them.” His words carry weight and conviction.
“No,” I agree, meeting his intense gaze. “You’re far more dangerous.”
The admission costs me, exposing a vulnerability I’ve fought to keep hidden.
“And now?” His question hangs between us, charged with unspoken implications.
“Now I know better than to trust feelings over facts.” I force steel into my voice, even as my body betrays me by leaning into his warmth. “The fact is you work for men like my father. You clean up their messes, make their problems disappear.”
I watch the emotions play across Remy’s face, cataloging each micro-expression like the investigative journalist I am. His jaw tightens at my accusation, but he doesn’t deny it. That’s one thing I’ve always appreciated about him—he owns what he is.
