Within minutes, they’re both there, faces serious, eyes sharp. I outline everything I learned about Caruso’s history, his family’s brutality, the size of his operation, and how far his reach is rumored to extend.
Neither of them flinches.
“Here’s the deal,” I say, spreading the intel across the table. “We’ve got someone actively looking for her. I don’t have confirmation yet, but everything we know indicates Vincent Caruso doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants. Whether that’s now or five years from now, hewillcome. When he does, Roxie has to be untouchable. So does this place.”
Chance leans forward, fingers steepled. “We’ll need serious security upgrades. Cameras. Motion sensors. Full perimeter lockdown.”
“Firewalls even I can’t crack,” Dillon adds with a grim smirk. “I’ll wipe her digital footprint clean. New accounts. No traceable purchases. We might even need to pay her in cash.”
“Whatever she needs,” I say immediately. “But it still might not be enough.”
“What else?” Dillon asks.
“We train,” I say. “Drills. Escape routes. Contingencies. Roxie needs toknowshe’s safe with us.”
Chance nods. “I’ll map everything by dawn. But we need to be careful how we tell her. I’d lose my mind if someone dropped that on me out of nowhere.”
“So would I,” Dillon says. “I don’t want her afraid in her own home.”
Pride swells in my chest. This is what makes us work. We aren’t three guys playing house, we’re a unit. A wall.
Caruso has no idea what’s waiting for him.
I expect one hell of a fight. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who backs off once he realizes resistance exists. He’ll come in hard, and we’ll have to meet him head-on.
Buying weapons in town is too risky. We can’t break routine. Instead, I already know who to call.
Chance leaves to start mapping routes. Dillon lingers, then looks at me.
“Before I go… do you think she’s okay?”
“No,” I say honestly. “How could she be?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he snaps. “She seemsdifferent.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But one thing at a time. She trusted us with the truth. Let’s earn that trust.”
He groans. “More waiting.”
“It’s called patience.”
After he leaves, I sit back, heavier than before.
I noticed it too. The coffee she doesn’t drink. The alcohol she avoids. The way food turns her stomach. Last night’s chicken sent her running for the bathroom. The steak the night before made her go green just looking at it.
I rub the bridge of my nose.
I suspect she’s pregnant.
But I don’t say anything. Not yet.
She needs to come to us on her own terms. And if I’m right, this is no small thing to process.
I stare out at the mist-covered mountains and let myself imagine it. Three men. One woman. A baby. Not traditional, but who the hell cares?
I always want a family. Before my marriage ended, before everything fell apart, I pictured mornings filled with laughter and chaos. Someone small tugging on my hand.
If Roxieispregnant, I’m not afraid at all.
