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But I’ve neverwantedanything this badly. Not vengeance. Not victory. Just her. Her laugh and her chaos, her trust in my hands. And maybe it’s selfish, dropping my guard and daring her to break the only thing that’s still mine—a black, charred heart—at her feet in the middle of a fucking war… but I don’t care. Because if she walks away now…
Fucking Christ, she won’t get far.
And those chains sitting at the bottom of my go-bag?
She’ll wear them knowing she’s the only goddamn thing keeping me from going under.
When I finally go back inside, she’scurled in the armchair, knees drawn up, one of my shirts wrapped around her small, curvy body like armor. She looks breakable. Not fragile.Dangerously breakable. Like one more wrong move will be the final straw.
Her laptop glows faintly in her lap. Fingers tapping in code. Fast. Focused.
“I’m running a new backdoor,” she says without looking up. “We’ll have one shot at this. I’ll burn through the last layer if I brute-force it.”
Her voice is cold. Calm. Clinical.
But I hear it.
Ifeelit.
The distance she’s building brick by fucking brick.
I move to the kitchen, pour two drinks. Bourbon. Neat. My hand trembles just slightly as I set hers down on the side table.
She doesn’t touch it. Just types as we hurtle toward the crossroads.
I could lie again. Stay in character. The cold, ruthless bastard who got her into this mess and will see her through the end of it.
Or I could sit and finally face this silent war head-on.
I sit. And I say it. “I never wanted it to go this far.” My voice cracks. Raw. “Not with you.”
She turns, eyes wide, watchful. Is her breath held? “Where was the end point, Dante? With me bound and gagged at the back of your car? On my way to a landfill or back in my apartment?”
My laugh is coarse, searing. “The latter. Hopefully.”
Her eyes pierce mine. And yes, her breath is definitely held. In hope. Or rejection?
“Hopefully,” I repeat, softer this time. “But you have a habit of getting under skin that’s supposed to be bulletproof.”
A beat.
I should say it again.I love you.I should take the risk. Strip it bare like I stripped her body and asked her to trust me to Master it.
But I don’t.Fucking pussy.
Instead, I lean back in the chair and tip my glass to my lips. “Anyway. You’re still here. Which means I didn’t fuck up as badly as I thought.”
I offer a crooked smile. Deflection, laced in charm. A joke wrapped in panic.
Her lips part slightly. Like she wants to say something. Like she knows what I didn’t say. But she closes them again.
And the silence between us sharpens.
I let it hang there.
Because the truth is, I’m terrified—notof the Vesper Syndicate, not of losing the mission.
I’m terrified of losingher.