"You think your father ordered the hit," he summarizes.
I nod miserably. "If he knew about us… he wouldn't have been happy about it. He always wanted Carter to be his son-in-law. Even more after the accident. Even after I told him what Carter did." His arm tightens around me, his fingers brush over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Reassuring, there. But my mind goes to the connections I made and hadn't fullybeen able to admit to myself yet. Saying it out loud… it feels like a verdict. I know what I'm saying. I know to whom I am saying it. And I am fully aware of the consequences.
"I never thought he would be capable of this… but I found other things… he's not the man I thought him to be and yet," I shudder, admitting the truth to myself, "he's exactly the man I always knew he was. Deep down."
The words hang there, poisonous and undeniable. For a moment, I'm afraid he'll pull away. That the darkness of it—myblood tied to his near-death—will finally be too much. Instead, his hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck, grounding, certain.
"You didn't do this," he says firmly.
Tears burn behind my eyes anyway. "But he did."
"If he did, I'll find out." He promises.
I swallow, "And then?"
"Then your father will answer to me."
I rest my forehead against his chest again, shaking now, grief and fury tangling together.
"I don't know what that makes me," I whisper.
His arm tightens around me, protective in a way that feels absolute.
"It makes you honest. And brave enough to tell me."
I listen to his heartbeat, steady, but faster now. Calculating. And somewhere deep inside me, I know with terrifying certainty: This wasn't the end of the past catching up to us, but it was the moment it finally stepped fully into the light.
I don't know how, but eventually I relax to the sound of Massimo's heart and his breathing. I know he's awake, thinking, plotting, calculating, but sleep claims me. In his bed. In his arms. And it feels right.
Time feels suspended, but Amauri's shrill scream rips me from deep sleep. With a mother's instinct, I'm already out of bed,only to hit a brick wall by the entrance to the bedroom. Massimo. Naked. Gun in hand.
"Stay here." He orders in a deadly voice that doesn't leave room for argument.
My heart beats a hundred miles an hour; every instinct in me calls me forward to the sound of my son's voice, but I force myself to stay behind Massimo, at least long enough to grab his shirt off the floor and fling it over myself. I catch up with him in the living area, where he's conducting a fast, measured scan of the surroundings. The front door is open, and my heart races even faster.
Max and two of the guards are already inside when I register what's happening. My heart slams into my throat. Guns are up. Movement everywhere. Dark shapes cut through the low light like something out of a nightmare. Déjà vu hits me like a cement truck. Fear doesn't stand a chance against the rush of adrenaline pulsing through me, though.Not again, is all I can think. I'll die before I let anything happen to Amauri again.
"Stop," Max says sharply, holding up a hand as he reaches the guest bedroom door. His voice drops immediately. "He's having a nightmare."
Everything pauses. The guards lower their weapons in one smooth, practiced motion. Massimo's hand presses lightly between my shoulder blades. "Go," he murmurs.
I don't hesitate. I rush to Amauri's side just as he jerks awake, tangled in sheets, eyes wild with terror. He latches onto me the second he sees my face.
"Mummy," he sobs, fists clutching my shirt. "Mummy."
"I'm here, baby," I whisper, crawling onto the bed and pulling him into my arms. "It's okay. You're safe. I've got you."
I don't notice the guards filtering out. I don't even notice Massimo leaving the room. All that exists is my son shaking against me, his breath hitching, his fingers digging in like he'safraid I'll disappear. I kiss his face over and over, murmuring nonsense and promises. "It's okay. It's okay. Mummy's here."
When I finally look up, Massimo is back. He's donned joggers, but is still barefoot, making his movements quiet. The gun is nowhere to be seen. He stops a few feet away, watching us with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
"And Massimo," I add softly, smoothing Amauri's hair, "see? He won't let anything happen to you."
Amauri peeks out from my shoulder. Then, without warning, he stretches his arms toward Massimo. My heart leaps into my throat. Massimo doesn't hesitate. He steps forward and lifts Amauri effortlessly, settling him against his chest like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"It's okay, champ." His voice is low and rough with emotion. "I've got you." Amauri buries his face in Massimo's shoulder. "Nobody will ever hurt you again," Massimo continues quietly. "I swear it. They'll have to come through me first."
The honesty in his words—and in his voice—is impossible to miss. It brings tears to my eyes. I still have no idea how to untangle all the strings holding the three of us back, threatening to pull us under. But I know this much: Massimo will find a way. With precision. With patience. With brutal force, if necessary. And God help me; I'll be right there with him.
