“I don’t think he killed your dad, but he’s still dangerous. What if he comes after you—or…” I know what he means. What if he comes after Teddy? Jack goes on, “Plus I’m telling you now, I see him anywhere in a ten mile radius from Miller, he’s dust.”
I take Jack aside and speak to him quietly. “I made it clear to Julian that his life is forfeit if he touches Teddy, and I will make sure he understands Miller has the same protections. But you have my permission to use deadly force against Julian if necessary—for you and for Miller and for anyone else you care about.”
Jack lets a few breaths pass before he nods. “Alright, Boss.”
“And—thank you for your help today.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it. “Now go home. Enjoy your night. And remember the dinner tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing—”
Once Jack has left us alone, I cross to Teddy and take the mug from his hand.
“We’re not staying here,” I tell him. “If Julian is innocent, it means the killer is still out there—and they have access to the house.” He lets me take his hand. “I want to take you home,” I say softly. “Will you let me?”
His answering smile is more beautiful, more real, more precious to me than the whole of Redwood Manor.
CHAPTER50
TEDDY
I take a long,long time in the bathroom at Alessandro’s penthouse apartment, scrubbing my hair with shampoo three times before I feel like the death-smell from the dungeon has faded.
When I’m finally done and open the bathroom door, I startle myself as well as Alessandro, who is standing right there, staring at the door—and now me. His eyes travel over me as I stand there still damp, only a towel tied around my waist, shivering a little. But not from cold.
“Are you ready, little mouse?” he asks gently, holding out a hand.
Ready for what? I know what I want from him: I want to go back to how things were, before the party, before I ever left Redwood Manor.
But I take his hand without a word, and let him lead me out into the bedroom. Unlike his room at the Manor, it’s much more modern, matching the minimalist, industrial feel of the rest of the penthouse. One wall features a large black and white abstract photograph, sunlight filtering through blinds. It’s signed by the artist, though I can’t decipher the name.
Against another wall stands a sleek dresser topped by several square, ceramic vases glazed in muted gray-blues and jade greens. The floor-to-ceiling windows are present again, and in the middle of the room, like an island, is his bed, angled to face those windows. The bed is almost the complete opposite to the baroque monsters of Redwood Manor; king-sized, it sits low to the floor with a smooth cherrywood headboard that curves up like an ocean wave. The dark bedding set is a little rumpled, the pillow still indented from where his head has lain.
I turn around at the soft snick of the door closing. Alessandro is leaning against it, hands behind his back as though keeping them there on purpose, his eyes devouring me. But when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “Do you feel safe,topolino?”
I give a nod.
“And protected?”
With a smile, I keep nodding. “So much.”
“And do you feel…loved?”
I swallow as the breath catches in my throat. “Loved?”
Alessandro pushes himself off the door and walks toward me. His eyes don’t leave mine. But my knees aren’t quite holding me up, so I sit down on the low bed—collapse, really, the impact forcing out a little huff of air from my lungs. With a slight frown, Alessandro reaches out to my chin and tips my face up to inspect me.
“The day’s catching up to me,” I tell him. “That’s all.”
He caresses my face, cupping my cheeks and bending down to kiss my forehead. “Then rest,tesoro. We can untangle everything else later.”
“I don’t want to rest.” I put my hands over his. “I wantyou.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, but he’s already stripping off his jacket.
“Yes.Please. We can—we can worry about everything else afterward.”
There’s a lot to worry about. But all I want right now is to feelgood. To feel the way I know Alessandro can make me feel.
And I want to make him feel good, too. To show him, without words—because words are slippery things that never seem to come out of my mouth right—to prove to him that I’ve made my choice. He’s my ride or die.
He’sit.
