Page 36 of The Ache That Stayed

Not now. Focus.

“He said someone’s been digging. About you. Personal details.”

“How do you know he’s not bullshitting?”

“Because when it comes to your safety, he doesn’t gamble. Not ever.”

“Do you think it’s because of him?”

“If it was,” I replied calmly, “he wouldn’t be standing.”

She huffed and smoothened the crease in my shirt.

“I don’t want him here.” Her voice cut sharp, brittle with anger.

“I know.”

“I mean it. Marci.”

She always used that name when she wanted to make a point, knowing very well I’d fold like goddamn paper.

“So do I.”

I brushed my knuckles on her cheek. She leaned in.

“This isn’t about comfort, mia metà,” I said. “It’s about keeping you safe.”

She hated when my voice turned into strategy instead of comfort. Hated when I stopped sounding like the man who loved her and started sounding like the man people feared and obeyed.

“You always do this,” she murmured. “You decide.”

“I don’t decide lightly.”

She was still angry. Still vibrating with it.

I leaned down and kissed her again, deeper this time, until the anger between us blurred. Her hands fisted in my shirt.

Mine slid beneath her sweater like I needed proof she was still here. Still mine to hold.

A week apart had hollowed me out. Long enough for old instincts to come crawling back.

The kind that left bodies behind and silence in their place.

And now she stood in front of me, flushed with anger, eyes blazing, body tense beneath my hands. I wanted to ease the fury out of her.

Kiss it out.

Fuck it out until she stopped carrying it in her shoulders.

And if that failed, I’d deal with the man responsible for putting that look in her eyes.

I could still taste her anger between us. But anger had never stopped us from reaching for each other.

This woman was my undoing. One look from her and years of discipline started splintering beneath my skin. One touch and my entire body lit up with want sharp enough to turn violent. My cock already ached for her.

“I’ve missed you,” I said, nipping at her jaw.

A sound left her throat—low, involuntary. Her fingers dug into my shoulders like she needed something solid to hold.