"Fuck."
I catch her as she collapses. Her body goes limp against my chest, a sudden, terrifying weightlessness that hits harder than any blow. She's lighter than she should be. Too light. As if the world had already been carving pieces out of her while I wasn't looking. Too fragile. Not for what she's endured.
For what's coming.
My arm locks around her instinctively, holding her upright as if she belongs there. As if she's always belonged there. Her head falls against my shoulder, warm breath ghosting across my collarbone, her pulse flutters weakly beneath my fingers. For a second—just one—I feel the echo of something dangerous. Then I crush it. Because no matter why she's here. No matter why, my body moved before my mind could stop it. No matter why, seeing another man's hands on her made something in me snap?—
She's onmycasino ground now.
Myterritory.
Myworld.
And God help her—because nobody else will—I'll have my revenge on her. Fate. Gods. Whatever cruel, cosmic joke dragged her back into my orbit didn't do it out of mercy. Not for her. Not for me.
This isn't salvation.
This is judgment.
I carry her past the waiting SUV, my grip firm, unyielding, already claiming what the city dared to hand back to me. Around us, my men move with brutal efficiency, sealing off space, erasing witnesses, restoring order like this was always meant to happen.
Maybe, I think sardonically,this is divine justice. Not the kind that absolves. The kind that balances the scales with blood. Maybe this is my turn. My time to collect.
I take her back into the casino, and people gasp, hands fly to their agape mouths. I barely notice any of it. Not really. My guards push people out of the way so I can take Jenna back up to the penthouse. The moment the glass doors close and the outside disappears behind tinted glass, one truth settles cold and final in my chest: Whatever she came here seeking?—
Protection.
Help.
Redemption—
She's going to pay for what she took from me first.
"Get a doctor. Now," I bark.
On the way to the elevator, as her head rests against my shoulder, I know one thing with terrifying clarity: There's no going back from this.
Not for me.
Not for her.
She stirs as the elevator hums upward. At first, it's just a breath, a faint shift of weight against my chest. Then her lashes flutter, long and dark, trembling as consciousness creeps back in. She frowns slightly, as if waking from a dream she doesn't want to leave. Her eyes open. Green. Still too bright. Still a weapon. They find my face and lock there instantly, as if no time has passed at all. A smile curves her lips. Soft. Dazzling. Familiar enough to cut straight through muscle and bone.
"Massimo," she murmurs.
My spine turns rigid. That smile has ruined men. I know that now. I know what it does. How it disarms, how it makes you forget where you are, who you are, what you swore never to be again.
Sirena. Like the creatures of myth who don't drag men under by force. They sing. They make you step into the water willingly. And by the time you realize you're drowning, it's already too late. The name coils through my mind, bitter and precise. She looks at me like I'm salvation. Like she's been lost at sea and finally found land. Her eyes light up, wet with relief, hope spilling out of her so freely it almost takes my breath.
Almost.
I harden.
I don't smile back. I don't soften. I don't give her anything. My glare is cold enough to freeze steel. Her smile falters. Confusion flickers across her face, quick and fragile. Her brows knit together. She searches my expression like she's looking for something she misplaced. Then she sees it. The wall. Her lips part slightly. Tears well, fast and treacherous, pooling in her eyes like she's trying not to cry and failing anyway.
The sight should do something to me.
Once, it would have undone me completely.
