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Remo walks over, a cup of coffee in each hand. He’s careful not to spill, but his movements lack his usual grace. He hands me a cup and sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning my face. “You look better,” he observes.

“Thanks,” I mutter, taking a sip. The coffee’s strong, almost bitter, but it’s exactly what I need. “You still look like crap.”

He chuckles—a low, gravelly sound. “You’re welcome to fix that.”

“Oh, sure,” I tease. “Let me just wave my magic wand and make your bruises disappear.”

“You’ve got a smart mouth, Daniela.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it. He’s not used to being challenged, and I’m not used to letting things slide.

We eat breakfast together in silence, the kind of silence that’s heavy with unspoken thoughts. I’ve been trying to make sense of everything—the violence, the chaos, and the way my heart races when he’s near. It’s like I’m caught in a storm, and I don’t know if I’m fighting to survive or letting it carry me away.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Remo says, breaking the quiet.

“Am I not allowed to think?”

“Not when it makes you look like that.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “Like you’re trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t have an answer.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” I say softly. “Maybe some things aren’t meant to make sense.”

Remo’s eyes darken, his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away. “Finish your coffee.”

By the time night falls, the house feels quieter than usual. Remo and I sit on the couch, the TV playing some old black-and-white movie neither of us is watching. He’s reclined, his arm stretched along the back of the couch. I’m close enough to feel his warmth, but we’re not touching. Not yet.

“You’ve been hovering,” I say, breaking the silence.

“You need someone watching over you.”

“I’m not a child,” I protest.

“Didn’t say you were.”

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You sure act like it.”

His lips twitch, almost a smile. “You’d prefer if I ignore you?”

“I’d prefer if you treat me like an equal.”

At that, Remo leans closer, his gray-blue eyes locking onto mine. “An equal? You really think that’s what this is?”

My heart pounds, but I refuse to look away. “What else would it be?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing against mine. The kiss is soft at first, almosthesitant, but it deepens quickly, pulling me under. His hand tangles in my hair, and for a moment, everything else fades away as Remo fucks me on the couch.

Lately, Remo and I have made love everywhere in this house. It’s like we’ve been trying to erase the past, the hurt, and the weight that’s been hanging over us both.

I think it’s part of the healing process. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Every time, it’s in a different place, like we’re trying to claim the house as ours, one space at a time.

And I don’t know, it doesn’t matter anymore if we’re heard or seen. It used to bother me, the idea of someone knowing, someone catching us, but now? Now, all I care about is being with him. Just the two of us. Sometimes, when I’m down on my knees, with his men standing guard at the door, I realize I kind of like it.

It’s dangerous, it’s wrong, but there’s something about it…about feeling the control slip away from me and still wanting more. It’s like I’m giving up control and letting the chaos in, and it feels like healing.

When we pull apart, his breathing is ragged. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Good,” I whisper. “Maybe now you’ll understand what you do to me.”

The days blur together after that. Remo insists on taking care of me, even though he’s the one who’s still injured. He’s relentless, making sure I eat, rest, and don’t overexert myself. It’s infuriating and endearing all at once.

“You’re worse than a mother hen,” I say one afternoon as he places a plate of food in front of me.