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His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. “It’s my job to protect you, Vesper.” His words come rough and uneven, full of a wounded pride I’ve never heard before. “I’m supposed to be the one who does the ugly things so you don’t have to.”

I can see it now—the pain he carries isn’t just about Mario’s death. It’s about me being the one who pulled the trigger.

“You hate that I killed him,” I say, the realization dawning with sharp clarity. “Not that he’s dead, but that I was the one who took his life.”

Zaire’s silence is confirmation enough. He drops his forehead to mine again, his breath warm against my lips.

“I’m supposed to be your monster.” His grip tightens at my waist. “I can live with taking another life. I can’t live seeing you shatter again. It will kill me this time, moya koroleva.”

His confession hits like a punch to the chest. I press my face against him, leaning into the warmth of his skin, into the steady rhythm of his breathing. My fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m still here,” I whisper, pressing my palm to his cheek. “Nothing has changed.”

But even as the words leave my lips, I know they’re a lie.

The woman who woke up this morning no longer exists. In her place stands someone who understands exactly how much pressure it takes to end a life—who has watched the light vanish from a man’s face.

Zaire studies me in silence, his features drawn tight with grief and knowing. He doesn’t speak, but the small movement of his jaw—a tick, then another—says everything.

He knows I’m lying.

He’s always known.

“What do you need from me right now?” he asks instead.

I exhale slowly, grateful for the reprieve. "Sleep.”

I let him guide me to the bed, my body suddenly heavy with exhaustion. He pulls back the covers and helps me settle against the pillows. The tenderness in his movements nearly breaks me again—this dangerous man is treating me like I'm made of glass. I would expect it from Oz and Talon, but not Zaire.

“Don't leave,” I demand, reaching for his hand. The thought of being alone with my thoughts terrifies me more than anything else.

Zaire's expression softens. Without a word, he kicks off his boots and lowers himself onto the bed beside me. He doesn't get under the covers, just stretches out on top of them, creating a barrier between me and the world. His arm drapes protectively over my waist, his body a solid wall of warmth against my back.

“Never,” he vows with a fervor that sears the air, his breath hot and urgent against my neck. “No one will ever tear you away from me, Vesper. Not even the God himself would dare to try.”

OSCAR

Sleep isa luxury I've never been able to afford, especially when it comes to protecting what's mine. I've been staring at Vesper's closed bedroom door, mapping every crack in the wood grain.

“You're going to burn a hole through the door if you keep glaring at it like that.”

I don't jump at Talon's voice behind me—a testament to my exhaustion rather than my composure. The familiar scent offreshly brewed coffee fills my nostrils before I see the mug he's extending toward me.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, his voice subdued in the pre-dawn quiet. “It's been what…thirty-six hours since you last slept?”

I accept the steaming cup, letting its warmth seep into my palms. "Something like that.”

I take a long sip, letting the bitter liquid burn down my throat. It's not enough to chase away the bone-deep weariness, but it helps sharpen my focus. I move away from my position at her door and drop onto the worn leather couch in the living room, stretching my legs out on the coffee table.

Talon follows, settling beside me with his own mug. For a few moments, we just exist in the quiet, both watching the steam rise from our cups.

“How was she?” I finally ask, keeping my voice low. “In the car, after...” I don't finish the sentence. We both know what happened at the mansion.

Talon's jaw tightens, the muscles working beneath his skin. He's never been one to soften blows, and I brace myself.

“Fucking wrecked, Oz.” He sets his mug down with a dull thud. He runs his fingers through his hair, loosening the bun. “She thinks killing Mario means Luca is gone.”

My stomach clenches. I suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.