She breaks then, just a little, and I pull her closer without thinking, forehead resting against hers. "You're not alone anymore. Not ever again." I pull back just enough to look at her, to make sure she hears every word. "I'll send people to your house. We'll get your things. Amauri's things. I'll have it cleaned properly. Your phone will be back in your hands today." I don't pause. I don't give her time to spiral again. "I'll call the school. I'll tell them Amauri is sick. I'll find a therapist for him, one who understands trauma, not someone who'll look at him like a case file."
Her lips part, and she draws a stuttered breath.
"I will right the wrongs," I say firmly. "The ones done to you. To me. To us." Then I add, just as firmly, "But I'm telling you right now, you're not going back to that house."
Her eyes sharpen. She opens her mouth to argue. I lift a finger and rest it gently against her lips. "You and Amauri will stay here. Where you belong. With me."
She stares at me, torn between instinct, fear, and a lifetime of surviving on her own.
"I love you," I breathe softly. "I always have. And I always will." Her breath trembles. "Let me take care of you."
The words are not a command, they're a promise.
Leaving them in my penthouse is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than pulling a trigger. Harder than burying men who once stood at my side. Harder than waking up broken and learning the world kept spinning without me.
Amauri's laugh still echoes in my head as I step into the elevator. Jenna's eyes—soft, terrified, hopeful—burn behind my ribs. Every instinct I have screams to stay. To plant myself between them and the world and never move again. But there are things that need to be done. The doors close, and the descent begins. I pull my phone out before the box starts moving.
First call: the school. Polite. Vague. Amauri is sick. Family emergency. Everything handled. They say they saw it on the news, and they ask if Amauri and Jenna are okay. That one touches me the most. They care about her, too. Enough to ask about her.
Second: a therapist. Not just anyone. Someone vetted. Trauma-informed. Discreet. Someone who understands thatsome children grow up too fast because the world doesn't give them a choice.
Third: clean up Jenna's house. Everything removed that shouldn't be there. Everything restored that can be. Packing her things and Amauri's. No traces. No reminders. Her phone recovered, charged, and delivered.
Promises kept.
By the time I reach the lobby, my voice is steel again. The SUV door opens. I slide inside, the familiar cocoon seals shut, and just like that, emotion gets locked away. What's left is precision. I still have an empire to run. It matters now more than ever; it has to stand. Because it is the wall that keeps safe what matters most to me in this world.
No.
Not most.
Theonlythings that matter.
Jenna and Amauri.
I make the next call. Alessio. "What do we know about Joaquín?" I greet him.
"I'll know more in five minutes, something's going down. I'll let you know, Boss."
"Stay sharp. I want eyes on him at all times." I end the call and dial Enzo.
"I need you to smooth things over with the New York family," I tell him without preamble. "They're about to lose one of their biggest assets."
Enzo doesn't ask which one. He already knows.
"Kingsley," he guesses quietly.
"Yes."
"Find out what it costs," I continue. "Pay it."
A pause. Then, "Yes, boss."
The phone buzzes again before I can pocket it.
Alessio. "We got the bastard."
I lean back, eyes on the tinted window as the city slides past.
