The moment she settles against his chest, she relaxes.
Like she recognizes him.
Like she belongs there.
“She knows you,” I whisper.
Saint looks down at her.
Something soft moves across his face.
“She’s mine,” he says quietly.
Then his eyes lift back to mine.
“You both are.”
That’s when I break.
The tears come hard.
Painful.
The kind I’ve been holding back for months.
Saint shifts beside me on the bed and pulls me against him, Emmy cradled between us.
His arm wraps around my shoulders.
Solid.
Warm.
Safe.
“You’re not alone anymore, Laney,” he murmurs into my hair.
His voice is a promise.
“Not ever again.”
I cling to him like he’s the last solid thing in the world.
And for the first time since Italy…
I almost believe we might survive this.
Marco
The safehouse in San Antonio is empty when I arrive.
Too empty.
Beds stripped.
Computers gone.
Trash burned.
