He exhales sharply, his composure cracking. For a moment, I glimpse something raw beneath his controlled exterior. “You can think the worst of me, but I have lines I would never cross. Human trafficking is definitely one of those. The moment Montoni admitted he was deep in that shit, I would have been out…” His voice drops, heavy with meaning. “If you wouldn’t have been part of the equation.”
“Don’t.” I grip my mug harder, ignoring how my hands shake. “Don’t act like I’m the reason you stayed involved with a monster.”
“A monster who happens to be your father.” Remy’s eyes darken. “The same father who would’ve had you killed without hesitation if I hadn’t been there to intercept the contract.”
“That doesn’t justify—”
“No?” He cuts me off, voice sharp. “Then tell me, Eve. What would you have done? Walk away and leave you exposed? Let him send someone else to handle the hit?”
The truth in his words burns, but I refuse to look away.
Remy’s words echo in my head, impossible to dismiss. The weight of truth settles heavily in my chest.
“You’re right.” The admission comes out barely above a whisper. “If you hadn’t taken the contract…” I swallow hard, forcing myself to face reality. “I’d be dead.”
Remy stays silent, letting the gravity of those words sink in.
“I hate that you’re right.” My voice strengthens with frustration. “I hate that you had to deceive me, that this whole elaborate game was necessary.” Looking up at him, I see the tension in his jaw, the careful way he’s holding himself back. “But I understand why you did it.”
The admission costs me something—pride, maybe, or the last shred of denial I’d been clinging to. Ano would have found another way, hired someone else. Someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to put a real bullet in my head.
“I still don’t like being manipulated,” I say, needing him to understand. “Even if it was to save my life.”
“I know.” His voice carries a gentleness that makes my chest ache. “But I’d do it again.”
The scary part is that I believe him. Everything he’s done—staging my death, risking his position with Ano, protecting Heath—it all points to one undeniable truth: Remy chose me over everything else. My survival meant more to him than his reputation, his connections, and maybe even his own life.
I watch him, this man who saved my life through deception, and try to reconcile the conflicting versions of him in my mind.
“You did all this to protect me.” The words taste strange on my tongue. “Maybe you’re not—”
“Don’t,” Remy’s voice cuts like steel. He pins me with that penetrating stare, the one that sees through every defense. “Don’t you dare see me like a changed man or, even worse, a knight in shining armor. I don’t regret the choices I made to build my business and make my name.”
My breath catches at his brutal honesty. The morning light streaming through the windows casts harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the dangerous edge I’d almost forgotten.
“So what am I supposed to see?” I challenge, refusing to back down. “The man who saved my life, or the fixer who serves monsters?”
His laugh is sharp, devoid of humor. “Both. Neither.” Remy meets my gaze, his voice steady but low. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, Eve. I’m not even sure I deserve it or even want it. I’ll always be in the shadows, where I belong.”
“And where do I belong in all this?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He moves closer, and I fight the urge to step back. “You’ve never been just another anything, Eve.” His fingers brush my cheek, the touch at odds with his harsh words. “That’s what makes you so fucking dangerous.”
“To whom?” I whisper. “You or my father?”
“Both.” The admission hangs between us. “You have a way of destroying carefully built walls. Of making men like me question things we shouldn’t.”
“Things like helping human traffickers?” The accusation hits its mark—I see it in the tightening of his jaw.
“Things like believing we can be better than what we are.” His voice carries an edge of bitterness. “I’m not your redemption story, Eve. Don’t make that mistake.”
Before I can process Remy’s bitter words, he asks, “The real question is how could a father put a price on his daughter’s head?”
The question hits like a physical blow, stirring memories I’ve tried desperately to bury. I turn away from him, gripping the counter’s edge until my knuckles turn white.
“You want to know about Ano? The real one?” My laugh sounds hollow. “Picture the perfect father. Weekend sailing trips, private ballet lessons, and designer dresses for every occasion. He’d carry me on his shoulders through our garden, pointing out the names of every flower. Called me his ‘piccola rosa’—his little rose.”
Remy stays silent, but I feel the weight of his attention.
