They’re circling and playing games.
I think of Dallen at the charity event, sitting stiff beside her parents, trying to pretend her life isn’t suddenly intersecting with mine in ways she can’t fully understand. Think of the way she bristles when I question her work, how fiercely she guards her independence, how she’ll hate that I need her to listen to me, to reason, and drop the Romeros as clients.
Stay with me no matter the risk.
“How do I make her see sense?” I say to both Lucien and Anthony, the words rougher than I intend. “Without scaring her off?” If I haven’t scared her off already. I was forceful the last time we were together, trying to control her, make her do what I want through sex.
I grind my teeth, hating that I reverted to such underhanded coercion while knowing full well that I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Lucien’s gaze softens just a fraction. “You stop lying and tell her everything. Every dirty, dark secret our family has, and why she must know to keep her safe.”
That lands hard.
“You tell her enough truth that she can then protect herself and choose what she wants to do,” he continues. “And you accept the risk that she might walk.”
The idea makes my chest constrict, because I already know how that will go. Dallen will choose her world, the law over lawlessness. If she walks away from me, it won’t be because she doesn’t want me, but because she’s afraid of what loving me could cost.
Not an outcome I’ll allow. I can’t let her go. I won’t.
“She’s a keeper, and if after seeing you at the charity event is any indication, you want to keep her too,” Anthony says quietly. “Which means she needs to know who she’s standing near.”
Lucien nods. “She should know who we are and what our family is capable of…while she may not need to know recent events, the past certainly should be discussed.”
Enough to keep her alive.
Enough to keep her away from the Romeros.
Enough that she can choose me with open eyes — or not at all.
No. Not an option.
Alex laughs across the bar, loud and easy. Some random guy sits his hand possessively against Isabella’s back. Anthony stills at my side, and I note his attention is on the small group as well—one of them in particular.
My jaw locks. There is definitely history there, and it's not something we need. The further we can get from that family, the better.
I hear Alex mention Dallen to the man who’s joined them, his words clear to hear across the space. Deliberate provocation. Do these Romeros never learn when to fuck the hell off?
If he wants my attention, I’ll give it to him.
I push back from the table slowly, the scrape of my chair sharp against the floor. The sound of the bar dims around me, the smell of beer and food thick in the air. My focus narrows to a single point of order.
Alex Romero.
“Stephen, sit down,” my brother says. I ignore him.
Alex is standing now, drink in hand, eyes bright with challenge as he watches me move toward him. His sister lingers just behind, watching with too much interest, like she knows exactly how this ends and wants a front-row seat.
“Careful, Moretti,” Alex says smoothly as I approach. “You look tense. Wouldn’t want you doing something you regret.”
I stop close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath. “You already crossed that line when you mentioned Dallen in your conversation. You don’t get to speak her name. Ever.”
His smile sharpens. “Did I? Or are you just upset I have a front-row seat to your pretty girl? And boy, is she a pretty one. Very soft-looking skin. I’d hate for anything to happen to such a perfect complexion.”
My fists curl at my sides. I think of Dallen. Her laugh. The way she stiffens when she thinks she’s losing control of a situation. The way she trusts systems that put men like Alex, like me, away forever. She can’t be involved, and yet I’m too much of a selfish prick to let her go.
Only I can keep her safe. No one will touch her if I’m around.
“You go anywhere near her again,” I say quietly, “and I’ll bury you so deep not even cadaver dogs will be able to sniff out your rotting body.” The thought of Dallen maimed, broken, anda shell of who she used to be at the hands of the Romeros spurs a fury in me that I see nothing but red.
