Page 51 of Jayson (Gatti Enforcers #3)

JAYSON

I sit with the photo for a long time before I take it to her.

It’s just paper. Glossy. Folded once down the middle, soft at the crease from where Kanyan handed it over this morning like a loaded gun.

Maddox’s face stares up at me. Arrogant. Cold. The kind of face that never earned its power but wore it anyway, like a mask.

I told myself I’d wait. That she wasn’t ready. That pushing her would do more harm than good.

But I can’t shake the feeling that if he’s still out there, he’s still a danger to her, and time isn’t a luxury we have.

I find her on the edge of the bed, curled up under one of Lula’s soft throws. Her hair is braided back, loose strands curling around her face like smoke. She looks… fragile. Not weak. Just cracked in places I can’t reach.

“Keira,” I say softly.

She looks up. Blinks. Something in her posture stiffens—like she already knows I didn’t come in here to soothe her.

I sit beside her but keep just enough distance not to crowd her .

“There’s something I want to show you,” I say. “Only if you’re up for it.”

She nods slowly, guarded.

I pass her the photo.

She takes it with both hands. And then she goes still. Completely.

Her eyes lock onto the image, scanning every inch like it’s not a face but a battlefield. She doesn’t say anything. Just studies him like the answers she’s been chasing her whole life are buried beneath the surface of his skin.

Her fingers tremble. Not a little. A lot. The paper shivers with the weight of her grip, but she doesn’t loosen it.

I murmur her name. Once. Twice. Nothing breaks through. She’s locked in. Somewhere I can’t follow. Somewhere darker.

I want to take it from her, pull her out of it, lie to her if I have to—but I don’t. This is her moment. Her war.

I just sit there, aching quietly beside her.

Finally, her hands fall open. The picture drifts to the floor like a dead leaf.

She exhales a sound I wouldn’t call a breath.

“They called him the Ringmaster,” she whispers. Her voice is barely a thread. “That’s all I remember,” she adds after a beat. “I’ve been digging. Inside my head. Scraping at the edges. But it’s like someone closed the door and bolted it from the inside.”

I nod, gently pulling her into my arms. She comes without resistance.

And then she breaks. Not softly or by any means prettily.

Her whole body shudders against mine as sobs tear out of her.

Deep, guttural, animal sounds. The kind of grief that doesn’t live in the throat but in the spine. In the bones.

I hold her tighter.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, over and over. “No-one’s going to hurt you ever again. ”

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Long enough for her sobs to slow, for her breath to steady against my chest.

Eventually, I pull back, just enough to meet her eyes.

“I have to go,” I say quietly. “Work. Some associates I need to meet.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Just nods, hollow-eyed.

“You’re safe here,” I tell her again, more firmly now. “But don’t leave the house. Not for anything.”

Another nod.

I brush a strand of hair from her face. My thumb rests against her cheek a moment longer than it should. Then I stand.

As I move through the hallway, the tension follows me like smoke.

I pull out my phone, scroll to Lula’s contact, and tap out a message.

Can you ask Tayana if she’s available to sit with Keira? She’s locked something up tight. I think it’s time to help her open the door.

I hit send.

Then tuck the photo of Maddox into my jacket pocket.

This ends with him. It has to. Because Keira’s safety and a future that’s guaranteed is all I care about now.

She hasn’t moved since the sobs stopped—blanket clutched tight around her like it’s the only thing holding her bones together. Her eyes are swollen, her voice hollowed out.

I should leave now.

I should walk away, deal with the people who need dealing with, and let her rest. But I can’t—not yet. Not with the weight of that damn picture still bleeding between us .

I step toward her. She doesn’t look at me. Just stares at the floor like it’s whispering things only she can hear.

“I have to go,” I say.

I wait.

“You came,” she says, voice low and frayed.

The words hang there. Heavy. Unfinished. The shadows swallow the breath from my lungs. I inhale slow, measured. I don’t speak.

“You killed the only man that should have protected me,” she continues. “You caged me. Married me. Took what little innocence I had left and buried it without even looking me in the eye.”

She wraps the blanket tighter. Her hands tremble beneath it. “You broke me, Jayson.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. My voice comes quiet, reluctant. “If you’re waiting for an apology…”

“I’m not.”

Her eyes cut to mine—glass bright and defiant through the tears.

“I wanted to hate you. I really did. I tried,” she says, and her voice starts to shake. “But every time you did something unforgivable, you did it without pretending to be anything else. You never lied to me. You never dressed it up. You showed me the monster and said, ‘Take it or run.’”

She leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, eyes locked on the fire like she’s watching something burn that only she can see. Her voice is low—strangled in places, like it costs her to speak.

“And I think—God help me—I love you for it,” she says. “Because you ruined me honestly.”

The room stops breathing.

I watch her like a man watching a house collapse in slow motion. Her shoulders are pulled tight, jaw locked, eyes glinting like she’s already bracing for the fallout—like she expects me to throw her confession back at her, sharp-edged and weaponized.

But I don’t. Instead, I say the one thing I never say out loud. The one thing I’ve never let any woman drag from me. Not even the ones who bled for me.

“I don’t think I know what that word means, Keira.”

It grinds out of me like gravel. Thick with shame. Scarred with truth. Because no woman has ever earned my heart. But maybe…

My hands are shaking, so I lace them together like maybe if I tie myself up, I won’t come apart.

“When the house was under attack… when I heard you screaming—” I pause, swallowing back bile. “I felt something I didn’t recognize. And I know rage. Rage is familiar. It’s warm. It makes sense. But this?”

I rise and cross the room slowly until I reach her. My palms rest on either side of her legs—not holding her in place, just… anchoring us both to something real. Something solid.

“It was terror.”

The word hangs there like a bullet between us.

“Not panic. Not adrenaline. Terror. The kind that chews through bone. The kind that makes you wish for death just so you don’t have to live long enough to lose what matters.”

Her fingers curl in the blanket. She’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

“Nothing has ever mattered to me, Keira,” I tell her. “Not in a way that made me want to live better. Cleaner. And I can’t promise you redemption. I can’t promise you soft things.”

I reach up and cup her jaw, my thumb brushing just beneath her eye where tears threaten. “But I can promise this: as long as I’m breathing, no man will ever touch you without consequence.” My voice cracks—just once, but it shatters something inside me. “Ever again. ”

She closes her eyes. Her breath stutters. And when she looks at me, there’s no accusation left. Just pain, and understanding.

“You’re not good,” she whispers.

“No, I’m not.”

“But you’re safe.”

“Always.”

“You’d burn the world for me.”

I nod, throat tight. “Twice, if it didn’t burn clean enough the first time.”

She leans forward. Our foreheads press together, her breath hitching against my lips.

“Even if I walk away tomorrow?”

“I’ll guard you from a distance,” I swear. “And kill anyone who follows.”

“Even if I hate you someday?”

“I’ll bury the feeling next to anyone who tries to weaponize it.”

She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, like she needs to see if I mean it.

“And if I love you now?” she asks, voice a hair above broken.

I close my eyes. And for the first time in years, I let the war inside me fall still.

“Then I’ll spend whatever’s left of this violent, damned life proving you weren’t wrong to do so.”

Her mouth brushes mine—not hunger. Not lust. Just... understanding. A kiss like a wound closing.

I don’t move when she pulls away. Because that’s what you do when you’re in the presence of something sacred.

We sit like that—foreheads pressed, knees touching, her hand gentle against my cheek. The fire’s glow flickers across our wreckage, and for once, the storm inside me spins with her instead of against her .

She leans in, presses her lips to my scar. A seal. A benediction. When she pulls back, her eyes shine—but she’s steadier.

“Come back to me, Jayson” she murmurs.

I rise and extend my hand to her—not as a demand, not as a claim, but as an offering. She takes it without hesitation. No chains. No conditions. Just a silent understanding forged in the wreckage we’ve both crawled out of.

Because sometimes, when two traumas collide, they don’t explode. They fuse. And in that fusion, even if surrounded by ruin, there can be a quiet corner carved out just for softness.

Even if it’s blood-ringed and battle-scarred—it’s still ours.