Page 141 of The Tower

He crosses to the bed, cupping my face in his hands. “Please, Sasha. I need to know you’re safe while I deal with this.”

The intensity in his eyes stops my protest. This isn’t about control—it’s about protection. His desperate need to keep me from harm.

“Okay, but you stay in contact. I want to know exactly what’s happening.”

“I promise.” He kisses me, brief but fierce. “Everything will be fine,” he assures me, though the promise doesn’t reach his eyes. “Stay here. Stay safe.”

The next few hours are excruciating. Ruby joins me, but we don’t talk. Instead, she sits on the sofa while I pace the suite, checking my phone obsessively for updates from Liam, which come in terse, infrequent texts:

Following Victor. In Tribeca.

Heading toward Brooklyn now. Bane separated, going elsewhere. Secondary team following.

He’s stopped. Team’s approaching with caution.

Then, nothing. An hour of silence that stretches my nerves to the breaking point. I call, but it goes straight to voicemail. I text, but there’s no response.

Something is wrong. Terribly, catastrophically wrong.

“You don’t know that,” Ruby says. “Don’t worry until you have to.” Her expression, however, suggests that I should be worrying.

I’m about to ignore Liam’s edict not to leave the suite when my phone finally rings—not Liam’s number, but Leo’s.

“What’s happened?” I demand without preamble. “Where’s Liam?”

“He’s okay,” Leo says, though something in his voice suggests otherwise. “But … There’s been an incident.”

I go cold. “What kind of incident?”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, “Victor Reed is dead.”

The words hit me like a gut-punch, stealing my breath. “What?”

“Shot once, at close range. The shit had a weapon. He was threatening Liam. There were witnesses.”

Dead. The monster of my childhood, the architect of my captivity, the man who poisoned and manipulated me—gone. Forever.

“So, it was self-defense?” My father tried to kill Liam?

A pause, then, “One-hundred percent.”

It’s the answer I want to hear, but I feel a chill up my spine nonetheless.

“I need to see Liam,” I say, already moving toward the door. “Where is he?”

“Police station in Brooklyn. Giving his statement.” Leo sounds tired, resigned. “I’ll text you the address.”

The ride to the station passes in a blur of conflicting emotions—shock, grief, relief, anger. The father I hate killed by the man I love. The finality of it is both liberating and terrifying. No more looking over my shoulder, no more fear of being recaptured and controlled.

But I heard the truth in Leo’s lie, and now I can’t help but fear that the cost of what Liam did is going to break both of us.

At the station, I’m directed to a small interview room where he’s waiting alone, hands clasped between his knees, head bowed. He looks up when I enter, and the expression on his face cuts straight through me—part relief at seeing me, part dread at what he knows must follow.

“Sasha,” he says, rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I glance around the room. “Can we talk in here?”

His brows rise, and I’m certain he knows what I’m going to ask. He nods.