The words settle into me, deep and warm. I nestle closer, my body fitting itself against him as if no time has passed. Outside, Vegas glows and pulses, loud and merciless. In here, everything is quiet.
I trace one of his scars with my fingertips, slow and reverent, like I'm reading a language my body understands even if my mind doesn't. The skin there is different, tight, unyielding, earned.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.
"No." His breath leaves him in a long sigh, the kind that carries weight. "But you should know."
I still.
"My uncle hired someone," his voice doesn't give away the betrayal he must have felt. "Ran me over with a car. Made it look like an accident."
"Your uncle?" I frown, the word snagging. "Why?"
A muscle in his jaw tightens. "I guess he finally gave in to my cousins' whining about me trying to take over."
"Were you?" I ask carefully. "Trying to take over?"
He lets out a humorless breath. "They were fools. They always were. My uncle knew it. So did I."
Something inside me pauses, listening. He feels it. I know he does, because his chest stills beneath my cheek. "What?"
"I don't know," I lift my head to look at him. The words feel fragile in my mouth. "I don't know if it means anything. Or if it's just… timing."
"Just say it," he nudges. "No more secrets between us ever again, Jenna. Nothing kept back. No matter how small." Hishand comes up, steady, anchoring. "Nobody will ever come between us again."
The promise lands heavy. Comforting. Terrifying. My mind flickers, news headlines from years ago, read with shaking hands. The deaths. His uncle. His cousins. The quiet certainty that followed when Massimo took over. The world had called it inevitable. Clean. A succession. I swallow. The question rises anyway, sharp and undeniable.Did you do that?
I don't ask it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the way truths change you the moment they're spoken aloud. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet that version of him yet. Or the version of myself who might not flinch from it.
I rest my cheek back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady, unrepentant, alive.
"I read about what happened," I say instead. It's not a question. It's an acknowledgment.
"Yeah, you probably did," he replies.
We lie there, the silence not empty but full—of what we've survived, of what we've done, of what we might still do to protect what's ours. I realize something then, quietly, without judgment: the dark doesn't scare me the way it used to. Not when I recognize its shape in myself, too.
He shifts slightly beneath me, like he feels the hesitation building before I even speak.
"What is it you want to tell me?" he asks quietly.
I draw a breath and lift myself just enough to look at him. His face is calm now, unreadable in that way that has always meant he's bracing for impact.
"I found something," I begin, keeping my voice low, aware there will be no taking back the words I'm about to say, and afraid they might rearrange the entire board. "I'm not sure if it means anything or if I am forcing connections that aren't there." He doesn't interrupt. "There was a ledger entry," I continue."From years ago. Before Amauri. Before everything fell apart." My throat tightens.
His body goes still.
"A payment," I continue. "From my father. To Sean's company. Northstar Advisory Group." His eyes don't leave mine now. "The date," I whisper, because this is the part that still makes my stomach turn, "was the day before you were hit."
Silence spreads between us, vast and cold.
"It's labeled as something harmless. Administrative. I told myself it was nothing." He exhales slowly through his nose. Controlled. Measured. "Today," I go on, "Amauri said something. About Sean and Marianne arguing. About beingcompensated. And suddenly—I saw it. All of it." I swallow. "My father paid Sean," I conclude. "And Sean… Sean was connected to Northstar. And Northstar—" My voice wobbles. "Northstar isn't clean, Massimo. I looked. They fix problems. They make things disappear."
I don't say the rest. I don't have to. He closes his eyes for a brief second.
"And there was something else. I never told my father who got me pregnant. But he knew. When we argued after the kidnapping, he called Amauri your son." I leave the bastard part out. I can't say the word. "When you were hit," I finish softly, "I don't think it was just your family trying to stop you."
His gaze sharpens when he looks back at me. Dangerous now. Focused.
