Her hand covers mine, fingers lacing tight.
“I didn’t think I’d ever want to marry, especially withsomeone like you,” she says softly. “But with you…it’s growing on me.”
I lean in, kiss her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “Good. Because I want everything with you, Zara.”
And I’ll make sure she has it. Every last bit.
Zara’s body is warm and loose as I lift her from the tub, her arms wrapped around my neck. I dry her off, wrapping her in one of the thick towels Violette insists on ordering by the hundred. She tries to protest when I carry her to bed, mumbling something about being capable of walking, but I shoot her a look and she goes quiet, lips twitching into a sleepy smile.
"Bossy," she pokes as I settle her onto the mattress.
"Caring," I correct, tugging the blanket over her. "Big difference."
She snorts. “Still bossy.”
I slide in beside her, shirtless, pressing my chest to her back as I wrap an arm around her waist. Her damp hair smells like bath oils. Her skin is warm against mine, soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
She sighs as I pull her closer. “Are you always this clingy after gunfire?”
I press a kiss behind her ear. “Only with you.”
Her body softens further at that. I don’t say anything else. There’s something sacred in this quiet—the way she melts into me, the way her fingers find mine under the covers and links them together like it’s instinct.
For the first time in what feels like years, my heart can rest. Not because the world is safe—but becauseshe’shere. All of the years of searching, wondering, all of the energy we put into rescuing her from Falco is starting to fall away.
She’s asleep within minutes.
I stay with her, watching her chest rise and fall, tracing the curve of her hip under the blanket. The moonlight from the tall windows spills across her face, catching on her lashes, painting herin silver and peace. But peace is temporary in my world. And I have work to do, judging by the text that came through from Lars.
Carefully, I slip out of bed and tuck the blankets around her. I brush a kiss over her shoulder, then grab a black hoodie and head out.
The estate’swar room sits deep in the west wing, walled in steel and concrete. Reinforced walls. Biometric locks. Bulletproof glass. My grandfather had it built in the eighties after a botched hit in Little Italy, and I gutted it when I took over the leadership—upgrades layered over paranoia until it’s more fortress than room. Now, it’s mine.
Lars is already inside when I push through the door. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, not looking up. “I texted you half an hour ago.”
“Had a naked wife to put to bed.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure you understand.”
He grunts, unimpressed. “Are you ready for this?”
I fold my arms, stepping closer. “Tell me.”
His fingers skim over the keyboard. The screens flare to life—folders, transaction logs, coded spreadsheets bleeding green and red. “This flash drive is a fucking goldmine,” he says. “Zara was right. Your instincts were right. Lachlan’s been moving money—large sums—through offshore channels. But it’s not just laundering.”
My voice drops, sharp as glass. “What then?”
“Trafficking. And not just weapons. Drugs.”
My jaw knots until I can taste iron. “We knew about the cocaine.”
“He’s ventured into other flavors. Opium, fentanyl.”
“Fuck.” I rub my jaw.
He scrolls again, clicking open another window. “And that’s not all. We tracked Falco after the shooting tonight. Our menfollowed him to a private airstrip outside the city. He boarded a plane—no tail number, no registry. Gone before we could close the net.”
Heat spikes through my blood, violent and immediate. “He fucking ran again.”
“Yeah,” Lars says, his eyes still on the screens. “And if he’s in a bird, it means he’s not just hiding. He’s moving pieces. My guess? He’s making himself useful to Lachlan, maybe even the Russians. That’s why they haven’t cut him loose. They need him.”
