I’ll let the household know.
I slide the phone back into my pocket, the familiar buzz of business humming in the background of my thoughts. Still, something about that girl lingers. The look in her eyes—fear, yes, but something sharper underneath. Something that looked a lot like understanding.
When I step back into the doorway of her room, Sienna’s perched on the edge of the bed, talking fast and low. Elizabeth shakes her head, murmuring something I can’t catch, her face pale but stubborn. Whatever she says, my daughter doesn’t like it.
I clear my throat as I step inside. The sound cuts clean through their argument. Both of them look up.
Sienna straightens immediately. Elizabeth’s gaze meets mine, cautious but unflinching even though her cheeks are stained with a blush.
“Everything alright in here?” I ask, though my tone makes it clear I already know the answer.
Sienna gives Elizabeth a quick, nervous look before replying, “Everything’s fine, Dad. Birdie was just asking if we can grab some clothes from the apartment before we go to Chicago.”
Elizabeth’s blue gaze finds mine. It’s cautious, but with a spark of defiance that doesn’t belong in someone who nearly died tonight.
“Actually, Mr. Conti,” she says evenly, “I was telling Sienna that I’ll be fine at the apartment. There’s really no need to worry about me.”
For a moment, the room goes still. I study her, weighing her words and the calm way she says them despite the bandage onher arm and the bruises on her skin. She’s brave—stupidly brave—but she doesn’t understand what she’s stepped into.
I take a slow step closer, my voice dropping low. “Miss Miller, the men who came after you and my daughter aren’t just petty thieves. They’re connected. Which means this isn’t over.”
Her throat works as she swallows, but she doesn’t look away. “Connected,” she repeats, like she’s testing the weight of the word.
“Exactly.” I glance at Sienna, then back at her. “So, you’ll stay where I can keep you safe. Both of you. That’s not up for debate.”
The muscle in her jaw flexes, but she only nods. I can tell she hates it but she’s smart enough to know arguing with me won’t change a damn thing. She’s coming with me one way or another.
“Good,” I say, straightening. “Then it’s settled.”
Sienna exhales like she’s been holding her breath the whole time. Elizabeth doesn’t move, though. She just watches me with those sharp blue eyes, and for the first time in a long while, I can’t quite tell whether someone’s afraid of me or curious.
An older man steps into the room carrying a tablet, his white coat wrinkled, and his smile too practiced to be genuine.
“Good evening. Or morning, I should say.” He lets out a polite laugh as he scrolls through the screen. “Well, Ms. Miller, the wound is superficial. You’re fine to be discharged. We’ll send you home with a round of antibiotics and something for the pain.”
Before I can respond, the nurse from earlier comes in, a clipboard and stack of papers in her arms.
She offers Elizabeth a gentle smile. “Be sure to keep your arm elevated, okay? No lifting anything heavy for at least two weeks. If it gets red, swollen, or hot to the touch, call us right away. And if you lose feeling?—”
“I’ll call,” Elizabeth says quickly, nodding.
I step forward, my voice cutting through the room. “We’re heading back to Chicago as soon as we leave here. I’ll have a surgeon I trust take another look at Miss Miller’s wound.”
The doctor blinks, taken aback by the tone more than the words. “Of course. That’s perfectly fine, sir.”
The nurse glances between us, then clears her throat. “I’ll get the discharge paperwork ready.”
When they leave, the room settles into a tense quiet. Elizabeth looks like she wants to argue again, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, clutching the blanket with her good hand, her jaw set tight.
I meet her gaze, steady and unflinching.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “You’ll be well taken care of.”
The words are meant to reassure, but from the way her eyes narrow just slightly, I can tell she’s not sure whether it’s a promise or a warning.
Sienna sighs, folding her arms. “God, Dad. You’re scaring her.” She turns to Elizabeth with a megawatt smile. “I swear this is a good thing. You’ll get to see where I grew up, eat some amazing food—oh! And the holiday market! You’ll love it.”
Elizabeth doesn’t respond right away. Her fingers worry at the blanket while she keeps her eyes downcast. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft but steady.
