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She looks at me with that same unreadable expression. There’s defiance in her eyes, but it’s muted now, dulled by exhaustion.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” she says.

“This isn’t babysitting,”I tell her. My tone is firmer now but not unkind. “Now get in. You’ll feel better after.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue. She steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

The sound of water running fills the room. I lean against the wall, staring at nothing. My mind is a battlefield, torn between the instinct to protect her and the voice screaming at me to keep my distance.

She’s not my responsibility.

And yet, she is.

When I hear the water shut off, I push away from the wall. She emerges wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and clinging to her shoulders.

“Clothes are on the bed,” I say, nodding toward my bedroom door. “And you’re sleeping there tonight.”

She hesitates but doesn’t reply. She just walks past me. I watch her disappear into the room and hear the door clicking shut behind her.

I go in after a few minutes and pace up and down before moving to sit on the edge of the bed and resting my head in my hands.

She shouldn’t be here. This house, this life, it’ll eat her alive. She’s not built for it. Hell, I’m not sure I am either, but here we are. A pair of misfits in a world that doesn’t forgive weakness.

My jaw tightens. Weakness. That’s what this is. Letting her in, bringing her here—it’s a crack in the armor I’ve spent years forging. But what’s the alternative? I’ve gotten her wrapped up in all this.

The buzzing of my phone cuts through the silence. It’s Marco.

I pick up. “His name. Now.”

“We weren’t able to get any leads. But James and Elia are dead. So is the old woman.”

Shit.

“So we have no fucking idea who the bastard is?” My voice is low and controlled, but a fire is building in me. Frustration. Helplessness.

“They were very careful in covering their tracks. A getaway car was found a few streets from here, and prints were cleaned off every surface. Whoever did this was prepared. They had no way of knowing she was going to be there.”

“Unless we have a mole,” I mutter, the thought settling coldly in my chest.

“Even so, with the time they used to get in and out without leaving a trace…there’s no way they could’ve known. It had to be premeditated. I’ve already vetted all our men since she moved in. Everyone’s under strict surveillance, their houses wired. If there’d been a leak, I’d know by now.”

“So I’m supposed to just sit back and chill while this psycho roams free?” I don’t hide the bite in my words.

“I’m still on it, Boss. I promise. As long as she stays put until this blows over…it’s all clear.”

“For now,” I say resignedly.

“Don’t sound so optimistic,” Marco quips.

“Optimism gets you killed,” I mutter, my fingers tightening around the phone.

He sighs, his frustration palpable. “You really know how to brighten a guy’s day.”

“Just keep your bloody eyes open,” I say, cutting him off and hanging up before he can say anything else.

When Daniela reappears, she’s wearing the clothes I left for her—an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. They swallow her small frame, but there’s something strangely fitting about the way she looks in my things.

“I have my own clothes, you know.”