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…found at 7:59 this morning.

…drug overdose.

…identified by the landlord…

…no proof of foul play.

…immigrant recently moved to New York…

My eyes scan through the entire paper, and return to the picture on top. A man who would still have been handsome in his late forties, if not for all his substance abuse.

My jaw falls as my eyes return to Caden.

I’m sitting. I haven’t even made a conscious choice to sit, but I’m in the armchair now, and he’s taken over my job behind the bar, pulling glasses.

“Champagne, wouldn’t you say?” Caden offers, smile never wavering.

But they don’t reach those cold, familiar eyes.

“You did this.”

Without waiting for my reply, he retrieves a bottle of champagne from the fridge and opens it with a loud pop. “He’d already used up about forty percent of the cash, in two months. I imagine he’d be out by the end of next year, and coming for more.” Caden shrugs. “Which I can’t say I mind, but his methods have proven problematic.”

He circles the bar and hands me a flute, just as Callum walks into the lounge, sweaty and glistening. “Thought I heard obnoxious self-importance.”

“Cousin.” Caden grimaces. “You stink.”

“I know. Hug?”

“I’d rather be flogged, thanks.”

The casual banter is usual for them, but completely surreal given the bomb Caden just dropped.

He killed my father, who was apparently in New York.

Made it look like an accident.

He was in the mountainsif anyone asks.

But no one will.

“Are you all right, love?” Callum asks.

I can’t formulate a word, so his frown is redirected toward his cousin, who shrugs. “I might have killed her dad. Merry Christmas?”

Callum shoots him a glare, before rushing to my side, protectively. “Hey. Are you okay?”

His hands run over my lap, while his voice drops down to a smooth whisper; he’s babying me, like he thinks I’ll break like I almost did at the start of November.

I guess I should have said something sooner. “Sorry, I… That’s a lot to take in, all of a sudden. I’m not even sure I’m not dreaming the whole thing.”

Exhaling to ground myself, I set the flute down and stand, crossing the distance between me and Caden. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you. I was… I tried to ignore it, but I was so scared of what he’d do next. Thank you, thank you,thank you.You’re crazy. But thank you.”

“It was my distinct pleasure, darling.” He snorts. “You’re going to be a Noble.No oneis ever going to get a second chance to hurt you.”

He achieves what therapy, time, and an entire security detail couldn’t achieve: I feel safe.

Also, clearly, I’m surrounded by murderers, but as they’re on my team, I don’t mind.