It’s a fair question. The penthouse is secure, but the building’s main lobby has always been our weak point—too much public access. An oversight. One I’m correcting. I spent the last hour on the phone. By morning, the lobby will have two of our best men on duty, 24/7. The service elevators will be locked down, accessible only by our key fobs. I’ve already authorized the install of a new biometric panel for the main elevator. It’s a start. It’s not enough.
Because someone targeted her. Went into her gallery, destroyed her work, left that message for her to find.
“She’s safer here than anywhere else,” I say. Not comforting, but true. Facts are what Rett needs now.
He nods, his jaw still tight. “We need to figure out who did this. And why.”
“Working on it.” My men at the security arm of Sterling Solutions are reviewing the footage from nearby buildings. The police are checking for fingerprints. But my gut says this wasn’t random.
Diego emerges from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “She ate,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “Not much, but something.”
“The pasta was good,” Tristan calls from the couch, where he’s sprawled with his laptop open. “You should have seen her face when she tasted it. For a second there, I thought she might actually like us.”
Diego’s mouth quirks in a small smile. “Food has that effect. My abuela always said?—”
“That the way to anyone’s heart is through their stomach,” we all finish in unison. It’s a saying we’ve heard a thousand times.
“Well, it’s true,” Diego shrugs, unembarrassed. “And right now, she needs comfort more than anything.”
I’ve known Diego for over a decade. I can read between his lines. He doesn’t just want to protect Zoe. He wants to care for her. To see her smile. To be the reason for it.
I glance at Tristan, whose eyes keep drifting toward the hallway leading to Zoe’s room. There’s tension there too, but a different kind. Playful on the surface, but underneath... something hungrier.
Then there’s Rett, who hasn’t relaxed since we found that spray-painted message. When he found out someone might be targeting her, something shifted in him. Something dangerous.
And me? What do I want?
That’s the problem. I don’t know. I only know that when she mentioned staying with her friend and those other alphas, my chest went tight. My throat closed. My alpha nearly made me growl with a snarl so primal it shocked even me.
I’ve protected this pack for years. I’ve handled threats, managed security, kept us safe. But this feeling. It’s this possessive, territorial rage, and it isn’t only about protection. It’s about possession. About her.
“We need a plan for tonight,” Rett says, interrupting my thoughts. “A security rotation.”
“Security rotation?” Tristan sits up, frowning. “Seriously? She’s behind a locked door in the most secure building in the city.”
“I’m not taking chances,” Rett says flatly.
Diego sighs. “Rett, we agreed to give her space. Her own room. Her own lock. Posting guard outside her door is...”
“Smart,” I finish for him. The others look at me with varying degrees of surprise. I don’t often contradict my brothers. But in this, I’m with Rett. “Better safe than sorry.”
“So what, we take shifts?” Tristan asks, closing his laptop. “Standing guard outside her door like sentries?”
“Not outside her door,” Rett clarifies. “That would freak her out. But someone should stay in the living room. Keep an eye on the elevator and main entrance.”
“I’ll do it,” I volunteer. The words come out before I can think too much about them.
Tristan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of course you will, Captain America.”
I shrug. “Makes sense. I sleep light anyway.”
“We could draw straws,” Diego suggests. “Take turns. It doesn’t have to be just Dane.”
“Straws? What are we, twelve?” Tristan scoffs.
“Fine, rock-paper-scissors then,” Diego counters.
Rett pinches the bridge of his nose. “For God’s sake.”
