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Probably Everly or her mother, seeking comfort I can't provide right now.

The distance between us feels like it might rip me apart.

"We proceed as planned," I decide. "Ingrid handles Njal. We maintain security on all the women and children. And tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow you get married," Runes finishes. "The rest is just noise."

But it's not just noise.

It's threats and sick ex-boyfriends, and a bride who might not show up.

It's the weight of decisions made without her input, the price of protection that feels like control.

It's the skull charms in my pocket, promising death if I don't show weakness.

"I should go," I say, though leaving her here kills me. "There are so many things to be done."

"She's safe here," Runes assures me. "Nothing touches her under this roof."

I nod, trusting him because I have to. Because sometimes protecting someone means stepping back, even when every instinct screams to hold tighter.

"Before you go," Rati says, "you should know something. Bembe's not the only one making threats. There's been chatter. Others smell blood in the water. They think you're weak, letting a woman affect your decisions."

"Let them think it," I reply. "Tomorrow they'll see different."

"Will they? Because from where I'm standing, you're about to risk a war over hurt feelings."

"I'm about to prevent a war by handling a threat," I correct. "If Bembe wants to use my wedding as leverage, he'll learn why the Bratva and Irish mafia have survived when others haven't."

"Through violence," Fenrir states.

"Through adaptation. My grandfather would have already killed Bembe, starting a cycle of retaliation. My father would negotiate, showing the business side of things. I'm going to let a sick man solve our problem while keeping our hands clean."

"That's cold," Ingrid observes.

"That's practical." But the words taste like ash.

This is who Revna fears I am—the man who uses people like chess pieces, who finds the angles even in tragedy.

As I head for the door, Ingrid stops me. "She loves you, you know. Even angry, even hurt. It's all over her face when she thinks no one's looking."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know what it looks like when someone loves a person who infuriates them." Her smile is sad. "Just... don't waste it. What you have. Don't let pride or control or this life ruin something real."

"Is that what happened with you and Bjorn?"

Her face closes off. "That's different. He chose his demons over me. You still have a chance to choose her."

Outside, the Florida humidity wraps around me like a blanket.

I pause by my car, looking back at the clubhouse.

Somewhere inside, Revna's probably helping her mother clean, or talking with Dalla, or just trying to process the insanity of the last few days.

Tomorrow.

Less than eighteen hours now.

Mikhail appears at my shoulder. "The team's in place. If Njal moves on Bembe tonight?—"

"When," I correct. "When he moves. His mania won't let him wait."

"When he moves, we'll know. The question is whether we intervene."

I consider this. Save Njal from himself, or let him remove a threat? The calculation is cold, practical, everything Revna hates about me.

"We protect him if possible," I decide. "But Bembe's the priority threat. If it comes down to it..."

"Understood." Mikhail opens the car door. "Your father called. He's mobilizing additional resources. Says to tell you the Bratva protects its own."

"Even reluctant brides?"

"Especially those." He almost smiles. "Your mother's already planning the grandchildren."

"Let's survive the wedding first."

As we drive away, I catch one last glimpse of Revna through the clubhouse window.

She's standing in the kitchen, surrounded by the evidence of her mother's stress-baking, looking lost.

Tomorrow, I'll either marry her or lose her forever.

Tonight, I'll make sure she lives to make that choice.

The skull charms rattle in my pocket as we accelerate into the darkness, carrying death threats and promises.

Bembe thinks he has me cornered, forced to choose between pride and love.

He's wrong.

I choose both.

By dawn, Bembe Reyes will no longer be a threat.

Whether he's dead or simply neutralized depends on how the night unfolds.

Njal's mania will see to that, guided by Ingrid's careful words.

Is it cruel? Yes. Is it necessary? Also yes.

This is the world we live in, where love and violence intertwine like lovers.

Where protecting someone sometimes means becoming the monster they fear you are.

But I've made my own promises, and those matter more than any threat.

By dawn, the threats will be handled.

By noon, I'll stand at an altar, waiting.

By sunset, I'll either be a married man or a broken one.

But Revna will be alive to choose.

That's all that matters now.

The city lights blur past as we head toward whatever violence the night holds.

Behind us, the clubhouse glows with warm light, sheltering the woman who owns me, whether she knows it or not.

Eighteen hours.

Time enough to save her.

Time enough to lose her.

Time enough to prove that the man who buys horses and the man who orders deaths can coexist, if she'll have me.

The skull charms click together in my pocket, a countdown to consequences.

Let them come.