The interior of the SUV is dark and silent. The adrenaline from the parking lot is still burning in my veins, mixing with the heavy, undeniable truth that I can no longer ignore.
I look at Audrey.
She is sitting on the opposite side of the seat, her hands resting in her lap. She is staring straight ahead, but I can see the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat.
"What did he find?" she asks quietly, breaking the silence.
"Russo?"
"Yes. What did he find that Simon wanted so badly?"
I look at her profile. I could lie. I could tell her he found nothing, just like I told Russo to say. It would be easier. It would keep the fragile trust we are building intact.
Transparency.
"He found your mother’s financial records," I say evenly.
Audrey closes her eyes. A quiet, devastated sigh escapes her lips. She leans her head back against the leather seat, the fight completely draining out of her.
"Of course he did," she whispers. "Simon knows how much I hate talking about it. He knows it’s the one thing that makes me look like exactly what his father thinks I am. A stray looking for a payout."
"It doesn't matter what Preston thinks."
"It matters to the press." She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at me. "If Simon leaks those bankruptcies, the narrative changes. I’m not the victim of a corporate theft anymore. I’m agrifter with a history of bad debt who manipulated two Vance brothers."
She is right. From a PR standpoint, it is a lethal angle.
But I am not a PR manager.
I shift across the leather seat, closing the physical distance between us. I don't stop until my thigh is pressed against hers.
She looks at me, her eyes widening slightly at the proximity, but she doesn't move away.
"Simon is not going to leak anything," I say, my voice low and absolute. "Russo’s files are gone. The laptop is in Grant’s possession. There is no proof."
"Simon will just hire someone else."
"Let him." I reach up, my knuckles brushing against the soft wool of her turtleneck. "I own the security infrastructure of this city, Audrey. If he hires ten investigators, I will buy all ten of them. If he goes to the press, I will buy the publication."
Her breath hitches. "Malcolm, you can't just—"
"I can," I interrupt smoothly. "And I will."
I drop my hand, letting it rest on the seat between us, my pinky finger brushing against the side of her hand.
"You came to the South Loop today to protect me from making a mistake," I say, holding her gaze. "I am telling you right now, Audrey... protecting you is not a mistake. It is the only thing I am entirely certain of."
The silence in the car becomes suffocating.
She stares at me, the golden flecks in her eyes completely visible in the dim light. She is trying to find the lie. She is trying to find the manipulation.
But there is none.
She slowly turns her hand over on the seat, her palm facing up.
It is a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture of surrender.
I don't hesitate. I slide my fingers through hers, my palm pressing against hers, the cold metal of the vintage ring resting against my skin.
