“It’s more than that,” she says, her voice threading with something deeper. “If it were anyone else…I wouldn’t trust it. But you—” She stops, swallowing back whatever rush of emotion threatened to break free. “You’re not going because you have to. You’re going because you care.”
Lars’ expression doesn’t soften in a way most people would recognize. But I see it—the slight shift in his eyes, the unspoken vow in the way he leans forward. “Family doesn’t get left behind,” he says quietly. “Not on my watch.”
Beneath the table, Zara’s hand slides into mine, her fingers curling with a warmth that anchors me. I return the squeeze, a silent exchange that says more than words could manage.
We move into easier talk—Violette critiquing the art over the fireplace, Lars claiming Dante could scare it off the wall if he stared long enough, Zara arguing that the chairs need to go before anything else. Dante says nothing, but his faintest twitch of a brow earns him a rare laugh from Violette.
Plates empty and for a while, the weight of tomorrow lifts. Tonight, everyone who matters is here, under my roof. And if the city’s waiting outside, so be it. It can wait until Lars is wheels-up for Texas.
The dishes are mostly cleared,Enzo and Violette are still talking near the table. Dante stands by the window, a shadow against the city lights. Lars is slipping on his coat when I step into the hall, catching him before he can leave.
“Hey.”
He pauses, turning toward me with that measured stillness of his.
I cross my arms, not because I’m trying to be guarded, but because I need something to hold on to. “I know I already said it at the table, but…thank you. For going. For doing this for me.”
His eyes study me for a long beat. “Enzo would move heaven and earth for you. I’m just clearing the path.”
“That’s not all you’re doing.” My voice catches, softer than I want it to be. “I’ve…been waiting years to find her. And part of me’s scared. That she won’t be the same. That I won’t be.”
“You don’t have to be the same,” he says simply. “Neither does she.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering. “And you will see her again—good or bad. Doesn’t matter what she’s done or where she’s been. That day’s coming, and you’d better be ready to face whoever she is now.”
The words settle deep, heavy with meaning. “And if she’s not?—”
“Don’t think about that possibility now.” His voice sharpens, firm enough to cut through doubt.
I exhale, nodding, my throat tight. “You sound so sure.”
“I’ve hunted people in worse places,” he says. “And trust me, if she’s tied to anyone who’s thinking about using her against you, they’ll regret it before they take their next breath.”
Something in me eases—not completely, but enough to step forward and wrap my arms around him. It’s awkward at first; Lars isn’t a man who lives in hugs. But after a second, his hand comes up, resting briefly at the back of my head, solid and certain.
“Just make sure you come back to us in one piece,” I whisper into his shoulder.
He nods once. “Count on it.”
When we pull apart, Enzo’s already walking toward us. The two men lock eyes, no words needed. Lars reaches out, gripping Enzo’s shoulder, and Enzo pulls him in—no half-hearted pat on the back, but a full, crushing embrace between brothers who’ve bled and brawled together. I see Enzo’s jaw tighten, his hand lingering between Lars’ shoulders like he’s memorizing the feel of him before letting go.
“Watch your six,” Enzo says.
“Always,” Lars answers, and there’s something in his tone—mutual trust, mutual history—that makes my chest ache.
Violette sweeps in before the moment can stretch too heavy, all perfume and energy as she hooks her arm through Lars’. “You call me when you land, you hear me? And if you so much as skip one meal, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
Lars smirks faintly. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats his cheek, her voice warm but fierce. “Good boy. Now go do what you’re best at and bring her home. Family is all that matters.”
With that, she lets him go, and Lars steps into the elevator without looking back. The doors slide shut, leaving the four of us in the soft quiet of the penthouse, the absence of him settling in like a shadow we all feel.
Violette’s heelsclick down the hall, Dante falling in behind her without a word. The elevator doors close, and for the first time all night, it’s just me and Enzo.
The quiet stretches, not awkward—never awkward—but charged. He’s still in his dark slacks and open-collared shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking every inch the man who could run an empire and ruin me in the same breath.
“Finally,” he mutters, striding toward me.
“Finally?” I arch a brow, even as my pulse spikes.
