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"That's not something we have the freedom to do in my line of work," Antonio states, still with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We'll have an official wedding after Carlos… is in jail," I correct myself in time. I'm learning. I hate lying to my dad, but he can't know the truth, although he probably does suspect it. Why else would Antonio want Carlos sent to a specific jail? My dad is a smart man; he understands how the world turns. But we can't say it out loud in front of him; he's still a judge. "And I'm really hoping you'll be there." I snuggle up to him.

He swallows, and I give him time to digest the news.

"If this is what you really want…"

"I do," I nod.

"Shouldn't you be asking me for my daughter's hand in marriage?" Dad challenges Antonio.God, give me strength, I pray. Caught between two alpha males, I realize I’m in for a whole new experience.

Antonio scoffs, a low, dark sound that’s more amusement than submission. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tap once against his knee. I can see the war inside him—his natural instincts to reject authority, refuse explanation, and take instead of ask, clashing with the current situation. I send him a pleading look, silently begging him not to make this harder than it already is. His sharp green eyes flick to mine, holding me in place for a second. Then, with a slow exhale, he leans forward, resting his elbows on hisknees, and his presence expands in the room like a force of nature.

"Judge Lambert," he says, his voice smooth, steady, and laced with a quiet dominance that refuses to be challenged. "I don’t ask for things that are already mine."

Dad’s expression darkens instantly.

"But if you need to hear it, then fine—Scarlet is mine. I'll protect her. Provide for her. Kill for her. She'll never want for anything." His voice dips into pure steel now. "But let’s be very clear—this isn’t me asking. This is me telling you how things are going to be."

Oh dear. A tense silence stretches between the men as they silently duel each other with their eyes. I inhale slowly, willing my pounding heart to slow down. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. I'm about to say something when Dad finally nods.

"You better mean that, DeLuna." His voice is gruff, but beneath the edge, I hear approval. "Because if you ever hurt my daughter, I don’t give a damn who you are?—"

Antonio leans back in his chair, his smirk lethal. "If I ever hurt her, Judge, I’d expect you to put a bullet in my head yourself."

Dad studies him for a long moment, then—finally, reluctantly—he nods. "Then you have my blessing. Take care of her."

I let out a long exhale; I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or outraged.

Because I just watched two powerful men clash over my future… which sounds very medieval.

"I'll give you two a moment alone," Antonio says as he walks over to kiss me, nods curtly at my dad, and leaves his office.

"So," I turn to Dad.

"Since he left us, I assume he isn't forcing you to do anything you don't want," he hazards.

I force out a quick laugh and shake my head, "No, come on, let me show you something."

I lead my dad to the elevator Antonio had installed for me. It will take us up to the third floor, where men are busy building my curatorial studio.

"What is this?" Dad looks around. There's not much to see yet, but an ultramodern office has been finished first.

"This is my office," I show him.

White shelves decorate the walls, filled with the books from my apartment, plus more that Antonio ordered, and some rare artifacts he bought me over the last few days. Every day, I'm finding something new on my nightstand—either a piece of jewelry or a small arrowhead like the one Dad is currently holding up.

"That's about eighty thousand years old," I tell him. Incredibly valuable and rare.

"He did this for you?"

I nod. "He loves me, and I love him, Daddy."

"So it seems." My dad scrutinizes another artifact, then my desk. Some of the computer equipment Antonio had bought for ourinvestigationhas made its way up here.

"He's building you your own curatorial studio?"

"Yes."