She took it gently, firm enough to anchor him, soft enough that he didn’t pull away. He hissed when the antiseptic touched his skin, a sharp reminder of the night’s violence. She didn’t fill the silence with questions; she cleaned each knuckle with meticulous care.
As she worked, she felt the rigid set of his shoulders ease a fraction. She applied ointment, pressed gauze over the worst of it, smoothing the edges with her thumb.
When she looked up, the hard, distant stare was gone. In its place was rawness—a vulnerability he let no one else see.
“This still leads back to Young,” she said, connecting the dots. “But his strategy’s changed. Scorched earth. A man doesn’t torch his only escape unless he’s already lost everything. What pushed him to do it?”
Tonio exhaled, the sound a low release of pressure. “There were two roads. The soft one: let him walk away quietly. A strategic leak to force an early retirement. His career ruined, his life diminished, but ultimately intact.”
His jaw tightened. “Then there was the hard road. Burn it all down. Feed every document, every recording, to the FBI, the IRS, the Times. All at once. No spin, no recovery. It wouldn’t just cost him his seat—it would cost him his freedom.”
Sofia absorbed it, letting the weight settle.
“He’s got a son,” Tonio continued, his voice flat and controlled. “The kind who thought his name made him untouchable. He assaulted a girl at a party, and Young buried it with money and favors. But the feds dug it up. Now they’re using the kid to corner him.”
He rolled his shoulders, a small, tense motion that betrayed the night’s exhaustion. “That was the end of our deal. Youngknows he’s finished—his career, his freedom, all of it. So now his only move is spite. To take down as much of my world as he can before he falls.”
Finally, he met her eyes, sharp and clear. “And you... You were the easiest place for him to start.”
Her stomach tightened. She inhaled slowly.
He studied her, the enforcer fading, the man beneath emerging. “I brought you here to keep you safe,” he said. “I thought I was putting you behind a wall. Didn’t expect... didn’t expect you to show me the cracks.”
Sofia stepped closer. Her fingers brushed his jaw, then rested lightly on his cheek. The tension there eased under her touch.
“I’m not walking your world for you, Tonio,” she said, voice steady, eyes locked on his. “I’m walking it with you.”
He closed his eyes briefly, relief flickering. When they opened, they held no walls—only trust.
“I don’t know where you stand,” he said, low and quiet, stripped to the bone. “But I want you. Long term. Us.”
Her pulse hammered. She cupped his face, thumb grazing his jaw. “Me too,” she whispered. “You drive me insane. You scare me. But I’m all in. All the way.”
He exhaled, soft and spent, and the tiniest curve of a smile tugged at his lips.
Sofia leaned in, closing the final inch between them, and kissed him. It was not a kiss of fire, but of foundation. Slow, deep, and sealing.
When they parted, she stood, still holding his hand. “Lie down,” she said softly.
He complied, shifting back on the bed. She lay down beside him, her head finding its place on his chest, his arm curling around her back, holding her close. No more words were needed. The storm had passed. In the quiet dark, the only soundwas the slow, steady sync of their breathing as sleep, finally, claimed them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She woke to his arm around her, heartbeat steady against her back. No fear, no adrenaline—only warmth and a silence that felt like home.
The tracker, the hunt, his confession—none of it felt like a storm. It felt like a foundation. She had faced his dark world, drawn a line, and pulled him back. The man holding her was proof.
She shifted, and his arm tightened, a sleeping reflex that made her smile.
He stirred, a slow smile gracing his lips as if emerging from a perfect dream. His eyes, heavy-lidded with sleep, blinked open to find her watching him.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough with the night.
A soft smile touched her lips. “Hey, yourself.”
He didn’t answer with words. His hand found the warm curve of her waist, his fingers splaying possessively. He drew her to him, closing the last inch between them. When his mouth found hers, the kiss was slow and deep—less a beginning and more a confirmation.
The trust from the night before—her choice, his honesty—fueled the heat that bloomed between them. It was a quiet understanding that turned her soft sigh into a gasp as he settled his weight between her thighs, the hard heat of his erection a promising press against her inner thigh.
