“That goes against everything I believe in,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“I grew up with law and order,” she continues, voice shaking. “With the belief that men like your father destroy everything they touch. That they deserve to pay for their crimes, not make money off it.”
“And men like me spend their lives trying to clean up the wreckage,” I say. “We have tried as a family to move on from our shady past, but it continually tries to pull us back. With the death of Matteo Romero last year, that family believes we had a hand in it because Lucien married Matteo’s ex-wife.”
“And did you?” She studies me, pain and confusion etched across her face. “Your brother—Lucien. Was he involved?”
I don’t answer fast enough, and how could I? He did kill Matteo, and he would do it again in a heartbeat.
Her breath catches. “So he is guilty.”
“We protect our own,” I say carefully. “That hasn’t changed, and nor will it ever. Any family would do whatever they could to keep those they love alive.”
“And that protection includes murder?” she asks, horrified. “You cannot be serious?”
“If someone threatens my family?” My jaw tightens. “Yes, it includes elimination of the problem.”
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. I can see she’s trying to reconcile the man she thinks I am against the one I’m stating I can be. Of what I’m capable of.
“You expect me to accept that?” she asks. “Even knowing that Lucien Moretti killed Matteo Romero should be something I report. I took an oath.”
“No,” I say quietly. “I expect you to decide if you can live with it, but what I tell you here and now goes no further.”
She laughs softly, broken. “That’s not fair.” She starts to pace. “And if I don’t do as you ask? Are you going to shoot me in the back of the head, too? Shut me up?”
I stare at her, unable to believe she’d say such a stupid thing. “Of course not, and while I know nothing I say about my past is easy,” I reply. “I won’t lie to keep you. You deserve to know who you’re seeing.”
She wipes her cheeks, and I clock that she’s silently crying. “I can’t see you anymore, Stephen. This is too much.”
“You're not going anywhere,” I say, even though part of me hates that I'm being so controlling and not allowing her to have her independence. But I don't want to lose her either. We interlock perfectly in all ways, and I’ll be damned if I allow anything to come between us.
I have to keep her safe, keep her close, keep her out of reach of men who would hurt her to get to my family. Wanting and owning are different things—but I was raised in a world that never taught the difference.
That life lesson is hard to break.
“I’m scared,” she admits. “You have to let me go so I remain out of harm's way, surely you see that.”
The confession punches straight through my chest. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late. They know I care about you, and whether we’re together or not, they’ll seek you out.”
Her brows knit together. “But you said your family is clean now. They have no proof that Lucien killed Matteo, so why the obsession with justice for revenge? It doesn’t make sense how they can blindly go after your family without any evidence.”
“They don’t need evidence. They have hatred, and they’re not stupid. My brother was careful, exact with what he did. They didn’t have the evidence to pin it on him, but anyone with half a brain cell knows what the Morettis did,” I say.
She exhales shakily. “So either way, I’m a dead person?”
I step closer, stopping just short of touching her. Every instinct in me screams to grab her, hold her, show her she’ll never be dead, not on my watch, but I don’t. Because if I do, there will be no turning back. “I’ll never allow that to happen. Ever.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment neither of us speaks. The city hums outside, indifferent to the war being fought inside my apartment, my chest. I stay where I am long after she stops speaking, after the air between us grows heavy with everything disclosed and yet to be said.
I don’t touch her. I don’t move. Because if I do, I don’t trust myself to stop at restraint. Every instinct I was raised with tells me to pull her close, to decide for her, to remove the threat and the doubt and the people who think they get a say in what’s mine. That instinct has kept me alive more times than I can count. It’s also the very thing that could cost me her.
She stands there, shaking but unbroken, and it hits me with brutal clarity that Dallen Byrne is not like the women who’ve passed through my life. She won’t bend just because I want her to. She won’t stay out of fear, lust, or convenience. If she stays, it will be because she chooses me—knowing precisely what thatchoice costs. And the terrifying part is that I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive it if she doesn’t.
I tell myself I could walk away. That this would be easier if I did. That men like me aren’t meant to have nice things, good things, things that can be ruined simply by standing too close to. But the lie doesn’t hold. It never has. I’ve built empires from rubble. I’ve buried monsters and become one when I had to. I don’t quit. Not on deals. Not on enemies. And not on the woman who makes me want something more than survival.
The Romeros won’t stop. I know that as surely as I know my own name. They tasted leverage tonight, and men like them don’t forget that flavor. If they think Dallen is a weakness, they will circle. Prod. Push. And I will end them before I let that happen, whether she understands it or not. That truth settles into my bones, cold and absolute.
