His eyes met mine. Searching. “You’ll tell Luke.”
“I will.”
Mom’s voice softened, though the fear underneath it didn’t disappear. “You’re not alone in this.”
“I know.” But I also knew something else. If I pulled away now, the message would have worked. I texted Luke and told him about the message from the unknown number, that Edwardo had already traced it as far as he could, and that additional security was outside the house. I made it clear it wasn’t random.
The reply came before I locked my screen.
Luke:I’m coming over.
Me:I’m not scared of this.
Luke:Good.
He arrived less than twenty minutes later. Edwardo met him at the door first. Luke listened while Edwardo explained what had been traced, what hadn’t, and what would happen next if the number resurfaced.
Then Luke came upstairs. He didn’t ask if I was okay. His gaze traveled slowly over every inch of me until I squirmed. He was looking for damage. I tilted my chin. “I’m not running scared from this.”
His jaw flexed. “Neither am I. They want to tear us apart,” he said evenly. “They won’t. We’re stronger than anything they can throw at us.”
I stepped closer, needing something more from him. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“No.” His hand gripped my waist, firm and steady, holding me there slightly longer than necessary. “It doesn’t,” he repeated, quieter.
Only then did he pull back slightly. “I have practice,” he continued. “And I need to stop by the house tonight for a mandated family dinner.”
“Call me after,” I told him.
“I will.”
He kissed me before he left, firm and certain, his hand warm against my waist. It didn’t ask to stay. It promised he would come back. Then the door closed behind him.
Luke
By the time I pulled into my driveway that evening, Drew and I had already spoken twice about the number that contacted Mila. He moved faster than I expected. That meant he’d been anticipating something.
That alone told me dinner wouldn’t be routine.
The house was quiet when I walked in. I moved silently through the hallway but stopped when voices drifted from my father’s study. The door was open a couple inches, and I paused to listen.
“You’ve overcorrected.” Lorne’s voice carried with controlled frustration. “Two SUVs at the school this morning owned by Dominick Ferraro. You’re inviting scrutiny.”
“You don’t get to lecture me about scrutiny,” my father returned. “You misread Dunn’s positioning.”
“This isn’t about share percentages,” Lorne snapped. “Dunn is accumulating through shell acquisitions, and your son is choosing to publicly align himself with a household tied to Ferraro. Adjacency invites federal agencies to start asking questions.”
Mila wasn’t the risk. The connections around her were.
“You think pulling back now restores control,” my father countered. “It doesn’t. It signals weakness.”
“And escalating security while Dunn is making moves invites questions we cannot afford.”
I stepped inside. They both looked at me. Lorne’s gaze assessed. My father’s hardened. “He put his hands on her.”
“And you involved yourself.”
I stepped forward slightly.
