"It's safer for both of them," Lorenzo says, his hand finding Moira's back.
"Then that's what we'll do." Fee's voice carries steel. "I'm staying here as long as you need me. Someone has to be here to give you a break from Mom."
Moira's eyes widen with understanding. "Oh God, she's gone from never being here to being here constantly. It's..."
"Too much," Fee finishes. "See?"
"I love her, but yes. Too much." Moira stops halfway down the marble hallway, catching her breath against the wall.
Lorenzo immediately sweeps her into his arms.
Connor opens the door to the medical quarters, a room equipped like a scaled-down emergency room. I set Fee onto the examination table.
"Thank you," she says, squeezing my wrist.
"Always."
Lorenzo's doctor examines Fee's foot, confirms my stitches are clean, and recommends staying off it for a few days. Fee accepts crutches despite my offer to carry her, that stubborn independence I'm learning to expect from her.
We settle both sisters in the upstairs living area, a spacious room with oversized sofas overlooking manicured gardens. Fee immediately places her hand on Moira's rounded belly, both of them laughing over their shared craving for strawberries.
This is what Fee needed: her sister, familiar comfort, safety.
But peace and security aren't the same thing.
"I'll be right downstairs," I tell Fee. "I'll be back."
Her lips curve into that small smile that's become my weakness. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," I reply, holding her gaze.
Moira gives me a knowing look, clearly amused by the tension between us. "Go handle business, Anton. I'll take good care of Fee."
Fee's cheeks flush slightly at the obvious implication, but her smile deepens.
She's opening up to me again. Not completely, I can still see the careful distance she's maintaining. I dug this hole with my fear, my retreat when she needed me to be brave. Now I have to climb out of it.
Whatever it takes. Attention, gifts, patience, honesty—I'll shower her with everything until she trusts me again. Until she looks at me the way she did before I walked away.
Fee's eyes follow me until I disappear from view, and that knowledge burns through me like whiskey.
I follow Lorenzo to his study where Connor waits, his weathered face etched with tension.
The study door closes behind us with a click that sounds like a trap snapping shut.
Lorenzo settles behind his massive oak desk. Connor doesn't sit; he stays by the windows, silhouetted against the night. The darkness carves deep shadows across his weathered face, turning every line into something harder.
Lorenzo leans forward, his dark eyes sharpening. "What exactly did Shane see in that tailor shop?"
"Shane only said one thing before the sedatives took over again," I begin, watching both men's faces carefully. "He saw someone. Just a glimpse, but enough to recognize the type."
Connor straightens against the window frame. "What type?"
"A contractor. Professional killer." The words hang in the air like smoke from a gun barrel. "Yuri's calling with more details once Shane's conscious enough to talk coherently."
Lorenzo's knuckles whiten against his desk surface. "How professional are we talking?"
"The kind who charges seven figures and should not have missed." I move closer to the desk, noting how both men unconsciously shift their weight, preparing for bad news. "Shane's lucky to be breathing."
