Five years ago.
Before everything went to hell.
She has no idea that her smell alone has the power to split me wide open.
Perfume and whiskey and citrus rind with undertones of something soft, warm, like the childhood I never had.
The driver kills the engine, but we don’t move right away.
Eventually, I open the door, stepping out. Aisling hesitates only a moment before gathering her dress and following, heels crunching over gravel with confidence despite the stilettos’ impressive height.
Her dress swishes as she walks—a whisper of silk and lace trailing behind her like a ghost.
She stares at the ruins, gaze sweeping over shredded walls and cracked stone.
The front door is new, heavy, industrial, because the old one was splintered into matchsticks when they stormed the place.
But she doesn’t say a word as we step across the threshold.
Inside, the house smells like industrial cleaner and sawdust. Construction equipment lines the entry hall.
Someone left a coffee thermos on a marble pedestal that used to hold priceless art.
A tarp covers the doorway leading back to the west wing.
“Welcome home,” I say dryly.
She huffs out a short breath. “It’s… something.”
“Save your compliments. I know it’s shitty.”
“I wasn’t going to compliment it.” She shrugs, then softens. “But I wasn’t going to insult it either.”
Something unsettles in my chest again at the rare gentle note in her voice.
We walk down the hallway that leads to the east wing, where the house is still functional, though scarred by fire and bullet wounds.
Half of it is still wrecked—walls gutted, windows boarded up, floors stripped.
But tucked away at the very back is the half-renovated section where we’re staying—me, Sandro, Evi, and any of the guards and staff who need to sleep on the premises.
I nod toward the far door. “That one’s yours. Ours.”
She glances at me but says nothing.
I open it and flip a switch.
The room is clean, sparse, and functional. It smells like fresh paint and cedar.
Not a home. Just a placeholder.
The bed is new, with fresh sheets, the furniture minimal because Evi thought I might want to choose my own décor, but I haven’t gotten around to it.
The white walls wait for color, but that too I’ve put on the backburner.
I don’t care what my room looks like.
Unless I have the opportunity to paint the walls with Tanaka blood, perhaps.
