Page 14 of Reign

I blink once. Then again.

No tears. I refuse.

“I’m fine,” I say, because it is the only language my family respects.

He studies me for a long second. Then he holds out his hand.

I stare at it. “I can walk.”

“I know.”

I should ignore him. I should step out on my own, chin high, spine straight, armor polished. I should be Elena Hope Amato, little sister to monsters, daughter of ghosts, untouchable because I learned too young that touch is how people get taken from you.

Instead, I place my hand in his. His palm closes around mine and I step out of the car.

For a moment, I’m too close to him. Close enough to catch the clean scent of his cologne. Close enough that if I tipped forward, my forehead would hit his chest.

Riot is easy to reach for when I’m lonely. That’s the problem. Loneliness puts glitter over comfort and calls it want.

I let him keep my hand for two extra seconds before pulling away. His gaze drops to my fingers as they slip from his.

Then back to my face.

“Happy birthday, Elena,” Vasilisa says softly.

Her voice is gentle enough that it almost hurts.

I turn and force a smile. “Thank you.”

Santo assesses me. Warmth only exists in him when Vasilisa pulls it out, but something protective shapes his look. Something older-brother-shaped, even if he’s never known what to do with me.

“You look nice,” he says.

My brows lift. “Careful. That almost sounded affectionate.”

Vasilisa smiles. Santo does not.

But his hand tightens around hers, and his gaze flicks briefly to Riot before coming back to me. “Behave tonight.”

I give him my sweetest smile. “I always behave.”

Luca snorts as he approaches. “That’s a lie.”

Nico grins, the scar down his face moving as he does. “Birthday girl gets one free crime, doesn’t she?”

“One?” I ask. “That seems stingy.”

Riot steps into place beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushes my bare arm. No one comments on it.

That’s the thing about my family. They notice everything, but they only speak when they’re ready to turn the observation into a weapon.

Vasilisa’s eyes flick between us for half a second.

Just half.

Then her smile softens like she knows something. I hate her a little for that.

Santo’s attention shifts toward the elevator. “Angelo’s waiting.”