“So are you.”
She exhaled softly.
We stayed that way a moment longer—close enough that the world felt outside of us instead of pressing in.
Let them watch.
They didn’t get this part.
They didn’t get the way her grip tightened when a door slammed too hard. Or how I cataloged every exit without breaking conversation.
Safety wasn’t loud.
It was deliberate.
And right now, it was her hand fisted in my shirt and mine steady at her back. I could still smell her shampoo when the wind shifted—clean, faintly citrus. It didn’t match the turmoil in my head.
My thoughts ran names instead.
Darren. Ferraro. King. Leverage.
I kept my palm steady at her back, thumb moving slow and deliberate so she wouldn’t feel the way my pulse refused to settle.
She stared at the quad for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose. “Edwardo doubled down this morning.”
I kept my posture loose, gaze scanning out of habit. “Define doubled down.”
“He told my mom not to leave the house alone. Told me to text every time I changed locations.” Her mouth pressed into a line. “He used the word untouchable again.”
“Untouchable” wasn’t something said lightly. It came with a price.
“Anything specific?” I kept my voice low, calm enough that anyone watching would hear nothing but casual conversation.
Mila’s fingers flexed around the to-go coffee cup. “Edwardo mentioned a plan settling. And he told my mom not to arguewith him.” A pause, then dryly, “Which, honestly, might be the most terrifying part.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I buried it.
Marcus had outlined the facts. On paper, Edwardo was clean. That almost made him more dangerous. He ran a gym. He trained fighters. He paid his bills in his own name.
But Monday night told me the rest. He hadn’t introduced himself. Hadn’t wasted time proving anything.“We keep them safe,”he’d said.“That’s the priority.”
No bluster. No threat implied. Just certainty. Edwardo didn’t posture. He drew a line. And men who understood his last name respected it.
Mila turned toward me, eyes narrowing in that way that meant she was lining up pieces. “You knew more than I did yesterday.”
The words weren’t an accusation. They were a statement. A measured one.
I held her gaze. “Yes.”
Her brows rose slightly. “About what, exactly?”
I could have dodged. I could have rationed information the way I always did—control the variables, protect the outcome. That instinct ran deep. It had kept me alive in rooms where men with money smiled while they sharpened knives.
But Mila had earned better than my reflex.
“Edwardo called me Monday,” I said.
Her gaze snapped to him. “About what?”
