"You look like shit," she informed me cheerfully. "But in a badass way. Very 'you should see the other guy.'"
I managed a smile that pulled at my split lip. "Thanks. I think."
A movement from the kitchen caught my eye, and my heart lurched painfully as Edward and Lucia emerged. Edward's face was a mess of butterfly bandages, his right eye swollen nearly shut. Lucia's arm was in a pristine white cast that seemed to dwarf her small frame. Both moved with the cautious steps of people in pain, but they were alive. Standing. Looking at me with relief rather than blame.
"Edward," I whispered, already moving toward them. "Lucia. I'm so sorry. This happened because of me—because I didn't take the threat seriously enough, because I insisted on going out alone—"
"Basta!" Lucia interrupted, raising her uninjured hand. "This not your fault, bella. It is the fault of that evil man, no one else."
"Lucia is correct, Mrs. de Luca," Edward added. "We are simply grateful you are safe."
I reached them and carefully wrapped my arms around Lucia first, mindful of her cast, then Edward, who stood stiffly for a moment before returning the embrace with surprising tenderness. They weren't just staff. They never had been. They were family—people who had been hurt protecting me, who still looked at me with affection rather than resentment.
"Thank you," I said, my voice breaking. "For everything. For being there."
Lucia patted my cheek with her good hand. "Where else would we be, hmm? Now, you sit. I make tea."
"You will do no such thing," Rafe said, joining us with a gentle but firm tone. "You're injured. Both of you should be resting, not taking care of us."
Before either could protest, a sharp knock at the door silenced the room. Every head turned as tension instantly radiated through the space. I felt my pulse jump, a flash of irrational fear tightening my chest despite knowing that the man who'd attacked me was in custody.
Rafe moved instinctively in front of me, but Tristan was already striding to the door, shoulders squared. He checked the peephole, then visibly relaxed.
"It's Mac," he announced, opening the door to reveal the detective.
Mackenyu Tanaka stepped into the penthouse with the casual confidence of a predator entering unfamiliar territory. His darkeyes swept the room, taking in the assembled group, before settling on me. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Mrs. de Luca," he said, his deep voice carrying easily across the room. "Good to see you vertical." His gaze shifted to Rafe, something passing between them that I couldn't quite interpret. "Thought you'd want an update."
Rafe's hand found my shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles against my collarbone.
"His name is Daniel Mercer," Mac said without preamble. "Works in cybersecurity for a firm that contracts with several major financial institutions. No previous criminal record, though we've found evidence of stalking behavior dating back nearly seven years."
Seven years. The room tilted slightly around me, and I found myself leaning more heavily against Rafe's solid frame. Seven years of being watched, photographed, followed. Seven years of this stranger collecting fragments of my life without my knowledge.
"No one recognizes the name?" Mac asked, glancing around at our assembled friends.
Heads shook, faces twisted in confusion or disgust. I tried to place the name, to recall any memory of this man from my past, but came up empty. He'd been a ghost, a shadow on the periphery of my life, invisible until he'd decided to step into the light.
"He claims he saw you perform in college," Mac continued, his eyes on me now. "Said it was 'love at first sight.'" His mouth twisted with distaste around the words.
Rafe's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Is he locked up?"
Mac nodded as something shifted in his expression—a flash of satisfaction that was quickly masked. "Maximum security holding cell pending arraignment. Interestingly, there was a mix-up with his processing. He ended up in a cell with a guywho doesn't much like men who hurt women." One corner of Mac's mouth lifted in what might have been a smile. "Beat him pretty badly before the guards intervened. Real shame about that paperwork error."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken understanding. I glanced up at Rafe, caught the dark approval in his eyes and the slight nod he gave Mac. No one in the room seemed particularly bothered by thisaccident.
"You'll stay for dinner." It wasn't a question. Rafe extended the invitation with the casual authority that was so fundamentally part of him. "We all need to eat, and Cecelia needs her family around her tonight."
For a moment, Mac's professional mask slipped as he seemed to consider the offer.
"Another time," he finally said, and something in his tone suggested he was genuinely regretful. "Still have paperwork to file on this one. I want everything locked down tight."
After Mac left, promising to check in tomorrow with any updates, Lucia insisted on overseeing dinner preparations despite Rafe's protests. "My arm is broken, not my head," she informed him with the kind of authority only a lifelong cook could muster. "I tell others what to do. Is simple."
And somehow, despite the trauma of the day, despite the lingering fear and the pain that medication couldn't quite erase, we found ourselves gathered around the dining table with plates of Lucia's famous pasta steaming in front of us.
I looked around at the protective circle that had formed around me—Evie sitting close enough that our shoulders touched, Rafe's hand resting on my thigh beneath the table. Tristan and Kate sat across from us, their bodies angled toward each other in that unconscious way of couples who've found their center of gravity in another person. Izzy had taken it upon herself to keep the conversation light, her inappropriate jokesdrawing reluctant laughter even from Edward, who'd insisted on serving the meal despite his own injuries.
