So warm.
So… mine.
Her little fingers curl into my shirt like she knows me.
Like she trusts me.
My throat locks up.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper to her. “I promise.”
Laney’s eyes go shiny.
I don’t look away.
16
Laney
Ididn’t expect him to look like that.
Saint is usually nothing but control.
All steel.
All quiet danger wrapped in calm.
The kind of man who walks into chaos and bends it to his will.
But right now?
He looks… terrified.
And completely in love.
He’s holding our daughter like she’s made of glass and fire at the same time—one hand cradling her tiny head, the other curled protectively around her back like he’s afraid the world might try to steal her if he loosens his grip for even a second.
Like he knows she’s fragile.
And powerful.
And his.
Something shifts deep inside my chest.
I tell myself it’s just exhaustion.
Just adrenaline.
Just relief after everything we’ve survived.
But the truth?
I’ve been lying to myself for months now.
Marco steps closer, his voice cutting quietly through the room.
“My mother’s people favor pressure,” he says. “She’ll hit something public. Loud. She’ll want you to panic. To run.”
