Without realizing it, I started pacing, each step deliberate, slow at first, then faster, circling from the entry way to the living room. My fists flexed and unclenched at my sides, the restless energy in my legs making it impossible to stand still. I stopped briefly by the couch, leaning against it, hands pressing into the leather as if I could force the tension out through my fingertips.
I let my gaze wander, scanning the room almost absentmindedly, taking in the shadows, the furniture, the clutter that had accumulated despite my insistence on order. And then my eyes landed on the fireplace mantle.
A photo caught my attention—me and Rocco, younger, grinning like idiots, sitting with our grandparents. It was almost absurd how different we looked then, how carefree. A pang of nostalgia hit me, sharp and unwelcome, and for a brief second, the tension in my shoulders eased.
I walked over to the mantle, my steps slower now, deliberate. My fingers brushed the frame, tracing its edges before I lifted it carefully into my hands. The weight of it was comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. I studied our faces, Rocco’s easy smile, my own younger self so unaware of the world, and a subtle exhale escaped me.
For the first time in hours, the coil in my muscles loosened just slightly. I leaned against the mantle, letting the photo rest against my chest, and for a moment, the apartment felt less like a cage and more like a place I could breathe.
I sank down onto the edge of the couch, still holding the frame, and let a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh escape me. My mind drifted for a moment, memories of simpler days threading through the weight of the night’s business. I didn’t even notice the soft creak of the floorboards.
“Felix?”
The voice cut through the room, tentative but clear. My head snapped up. Tessa stood in the doorway, her head tilted sideways.
I froze, the photo still in my hands. Part of me wanted to hide it, to put the armor back in place instantly. But another part… another part wanted her to see it, to know that even someone like me had some good in them.
Tessa hesitated, as if unsure whether to step inside or turn away. Her eyes flicked to the photo cradled in my hands, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, curious and unjudging.
I cleared my throat, forcing my shoulders to square and the tension back into my posture. “Didn’t hear you come in,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady.
She took a careful step closer, and I resisted the instinct to shove the vulnerability away, to act like the untouchable man I usually was. Instead, I stayed still, letting her see this small, human fragment of me—the part of me that remembered being that carefree kid with Rocco, long before the business, the rules, and the endless danger.
She peeked over at the photo, curiosity softening the usual sharpness in her gaze. Her lips parted slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile brushing her features. “Ah, I saw that one when I was cleaning. You and your clone, when you were younger.”
I felt the faintest twitch in my jaw at her words, a ghost of a smile threatening to break through. “Clone,” I muttered, with a trace of amusement. Rocco’s grin in the photo matched her teasing tone perfectly.
I shifted slightly, letting the photo rest on the couch beside me rather than holding it too close. My muscles still hummed with tension, but the corner of my mind unclenched just a fraction. She’d noticed something personal, something untouched by the business, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
I cleared my throat, forcing my posture back to its usual rigidity. “That was a long time ago.” I let the words linger, then, almost without thinking, added, “We were idiots back then.”
“I’d go as far as saying you’re both still idiots. But scarier,” she teased.
“Scarier, huh?” I said, a trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I let the photo rest beside me, my handsunclenching, my shoulders loosening just enough to feel less like a weapon and more like a man.
For a moment, I simply watched her, noting the way her eyes softened with curiosity and a hint of mischief. Normally, I would’ve deflected, kept my distance, kept the armor fully in place. But now, I didn’t. I let her see this small, unguarded piece of me, and it was strangely… not uncomfortable.
It wasn’t softness in the usual sense. It was a glimpse behind the steel, a warning wrapped in human frailty. And even as I allowed it, I could feel the edge of it—the underlying dark, the tension that never truly left me—reminding anyone watching that I was still a force to be reckoned with.
“You know,” she continued. “I like this version of you. Less lethal, more human.”
Her words hit me in a way I didn’t expect—amusement curled along the edge of my control. A low, dangerous chuckle escaped my throat. “Is that so?” I murmured, my voice carrying a weight she could feel.
Before I even fully thought it through, my hands slid to her hips, pulling her off of her feet and on to my lap. I leaned back into the sofa, letting her settle in my lap. The heat between us was immediate, charged, and the quiet intensity in my eyes told her exactly how aware I was of the effect she had on me.
Normally, I’d mess with her. I’d push her, test her, grind myself against her center just to watch her squirm and blush. But right now, I didn’t. There was something about the weight of her on my lap, the warmth of her pressed close, that felt right. Dangerous in its own way, because wanting her like this wasn’t part of the plan.
Her scent curled into me, sweet and distracting, and the steady beat of her pulse against my chest made my control strain at the edges. I should have played the predator. Instead, I found myselfjust holding her, letting her linger in a space I never let anyone touch.
“Felix?”
Her breath mingled with mine, soft and shaky, and I let myself linger there, suspended on the knife’s edge between hunger and restraint. I hovered close enough to taste the heat of her lips without touching, close enough that the line between wanting and taking blurred into nothing. My gaze locked on her mouth and something dark coiled in my chest, a temptation as sharp as it was sweet.
The air thickened, charged like the moment before a storm breaks, and the walls around us seemed to fold in, trapping us in this fragile, volatile silence. I should have pulled back, reminded myself who I was: the man who ruined everything he touched. But I didn’t. I leaned closer, reckless, a breath from claiming her, from burning every rule I’d set in place.
A sharp clatter shattered the silence. Both our heads snapped toward the sound. One of the frames on the mantle had tipped, crashing onto the floor, glass splintering across the wood.
The moment unraveled. I straightened, jaw tight, forcing the space back between us, every muscle winding taut again. Tessa blinked, lips still parted, but neither of us spoke.
