Page 27

FIFTEEN

REIGN

“Careful with the fucking corners,” I growl as Marcus and I maneuver the canvas into the back of my truck. “This is her best piece.”

“Would you relax?” Marcus adjusts his grip and slides the canvas into position. “I’ve disarmed bombs with less care than I’m giving this painting.”

I can’t help but snort. “You’ve never disarmed a bomb in your life.”

“Disarmed, shaped charges.” He helps me lower the protective cover over the painting. “Same principle. Steady hands, calm breathing, don’t fuck up or everything explodes.”

It’s Sunday afternoon, and Marcus and I are loading Audrey’s painting into my truck, preparing to submit it to the San Diego Regional Art Competition. The June heat shimmers off the asphalt, but up here in the mountains, the air stays cool. Perfect weather for what’s coming.

The canvas shows the view from my cabin’s studio window, the one she painted during our weekend together.

Mountains rising through morning mist, pine trees catching golden light.

But it’s more than scenery. There’s something honest in the brushstrokes, like she worked out her frustrations on the canvas.

Every stroke shows what she can’t say out loud.

It’s the kind of piece that wins first place.

“So, what exactly is this contest?” Marcus asks as we secure the tailgate. “And why are you entering her work without telling her?”

I pull off my work gloves and toss them into the truck bed. “Art competition in San Diego with a cash prize and gallery showing. She told me about it this morning, but she’s too scared to submit.”

“And you’re just going to submit it for her?”

“Pretty much.”

Marcus leans against the truck bed, watching my face. “What’s your long-term plan here? You and Audrey can’t keep sneaking around forever.”

I grab a beer from the cooler and crack it open. The cold liquid doesn’t do much for the tension coiled in my shoulders. “We’re managing.”

“Managing.” His tone is flat. “That’s not a plan, that’s a holding pattern.”

“It’s working.”

“For now.” He crosses his arms. “But Vega’s not stupid. How long before he figures out why his fiancée keeps disappearing to paint landscapes?”

I take another swig. “He won’t be a problem much longer,”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I weigh my words. Marcus has been my partner for five years. If anyone deserves the truth, it’s him. But some information is dangerous even with someone you trust.

“Just what I said.” I meet his stare. “Gio’s days are numbered.”

“Reign.” His voice carries a warning. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” And it’s true. I didn’t pull the trigger, didn’t plant the bomb, didn’t give the order. But I sure as hell didn’t stop what’s coming either. “I got a tip.”

“What kind of tip?”

“Reliable sources say the Torrino family is making a move today.”

“The Torrinos?” His eyes widen. “Those psychopaths from Chicago?”

I nod. “They’ve been gunning for Vega’s territory for months. Today’s the day they settle the score.”

Marcus runs a hand through his hair, processing this. “How reliable is this source?”

“Solid. Former DEA contact who’s never steered me wrong.”

“So, when’s it going down?”

“This afternoon,” I say. “When Vega gets back from the airport.”

“Does Audrey know what’s coming?”

I take a last swig, avoiding his eyes. “I thought it was better if she didn’t know the details.”

“But she knows something’s up, right?”

“I told her this morning that she needs to be ready to go when I tell her to.”

Marcus leans against the truck, studying my face. “And what did she say to that?”

The question hits the nerve I’ve been avoiding all day. “She said she’d think about it.”

“Think about it.” His tone is carefully neutral. “Not yes, not no. Think about it.”

“She’ll come when the time is right.” I crush the empty can. “She just needs to process what it means.”

But even as I say it, doubt eats at me. Because “think about it” isn’t the response of a woman ready to abandon everything. It’s the response of someone weighing options, calculating costs. Someone who might choose the devil she knows over the unknown.

And maybe that’s what scares me most. Not that she’ll say no, but that she’ll keep saying maybe until it’s too late for either of us.

“You sure about that?” His voice carries no judgment, just genuine concern. “Because once this goes down, there’s no taking it back. If she’s not ready to run with you...”

“She will be.” The certainty in my voice is more for my benefit than his. “When she realizes she’s free, she’ll choose me.”

The words sound hollow even to my own ears. Because freedom isn’t just about removing obstacles. It’s about having the guts to walk through the door when it opens. And I’m not sure Audrey has that kind of courage. Not yet.

She’s spent her life trying to save her father’s company, carrying the weight of his debts on her shoulders. Even if I remove Vega from the equation, will she know how to stop fighting? Or will she just find new battles to lose herself in?

The thought makes my chest tight. Because I’ve already crossed the line. The moment I decided not to warn Vega about the Torrinos, I committed to this path. There’s no going back now.

Marcus studies my expression, reading the doubt I’m trying to hide. “Where is she now?”

“Back home,” I say. “Made sure she had no reason to go to New York with him this weekend.”

Marcus nods, understanding. “That’s why you insisted on the painting weekend. You wanted her nowhere near the city when it goes down.”

“Among other reasons.” I toss the crushed can into the truck bed. “Nature’s going to take its course, and she’ll be safe at home when it does.”

Safe. The word tastes wrong. Because once Vega is dead, Audrey won’t be safe. She’ll be free. And freedom is dangerous for someone who’s never learned how to use it.

“And then what?” Marcus asks. “You just show up at her door and tell her that her fiancé is dead?”

The question pisses me off because I don’t have a good answer. I’ve been so focused on eliminating the obstacle between us that I haven’t thought much about what comes after. All I know is that she’ll be mine. All I know is that without Vega standing between us, we’ll finally have a chance.

But Marcus is right to question the logistics. You can’t just walk up to a woman and announce that her fiancé is dead and she’s free to run away with you now.

The problem is, I don’t give a damn about logistics. I care about Audrey, about getting her away from a life that’s slowly killing her, about giving her the chance to choose for herself instead of carrying her father’s debts.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say.

“We.” Marcus straightens. “So, I’m in this with you?”

I meet his eyes directly. “If you want to be.”

“Course, I do. You’re my partner.” Marcus moves closer, dropping his voice. “But we need to think this through. What if she doesn’t come? What if she chooses to stay in her old life?”

The question I’ve been avoiding slams into me. What if she doesn’t come? What if, when faced with the reality of leaving everything behind, she chooses the familiar prison over the unknown freedom? What if the woman I’ve built my entire future around decides that duty is more important than desire?

Maybe he’s right to worry. Maybe I’m betting everything on a woman who might choose safety over the unknown.

But when I close my eyes, I see the way she looked at me this morning when she thought I wasn’t watching.

The hunger in her touch, the desperation in her kiss, the way she clung to me like I was the only real thing in her world.

“She’ll come,” I say quietly. “She has to.”

My phone buzzes against my leg, cutting through our conversation like a blade. I pull it out and see Audrey’s name on the screen.

“I have to take this,” I tell Marcus, already knowing what this call will be about. The timing is too perfect, too precise. Something went wrong.

Marcus nods and steps back, giving me space but staying close enough to hear.

I swipe to answer. “Hey, Princess.”

“Reign.” Her voice is shaky, high-pitched with stress. “Something happened.”

My blood turns to ice. “What kind of something?”

“Gio’s been in an accident. Some gang tried to blow up his car.”

The word “tried” hits me like a punch to the gut. My source was solid gold, never wrong. The Torrinos don’t miss. They don’t leave loose ends. They sure as hell don’t botch a simple car bomb.

“How bad?” I keep my voice steady, but my hand tightens around the phone.

“He got food poisoning at the airport. Something he ate on the plane made him violently sick, so he had his driver pull over.” Audrey’s words come out in a rush.

“He was throwing up on the side of the road when the car exploded. The blast threw him about fifteen feet, but he wasn’t inside when it happened.

He’s got cuts all over his face and arms from the glass, some bad bruising on his back, and at least two fractured ribs. But the doctors say he’ll be fine.”

Food poisoning. Of all the fucking things to save that bastard’s life, it had to be a bad meal. The Torrinos planned this perfectly, timed it to the second, and Vega survives because his stomach couldn’t handle airplane food.

I close my eyes and try to process what this means. Vega is alive. Injured but alive, which means he’s still engaged to Audrey. Still holding her father’s company hostage. Still standing between us like a wall I can’t tear down.

But worse than that, he’ll be suspicious now. A man doesn’t survive a car bomb by accident and just go back to his normal life. He’ll be looking for enemies, tightening security, asking questions. And the first question he’ll ask is who knew where he’d be today.

“Reign? Are you there?”

“I’m here, baby.” I force my voice to stay calm. “Where are you now?”

“At the hospital. But that’s not the worst of it.”

My jaw clenches. “What else?”