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Jordyn’s body is draped over mine, soft and bare, skin still damp from everything we just gave each other. One of her legs is tangled between mine, her cheek resting against my chest, fingers lazily drawing invisible shapes over the scar above my ribs.

I don’t move. I don’t speak.

If I do, this quiet moment might end.

And fuck, I need it to last. Just a little longer while I pretend we’re just a normal couple falling in love.

I trail my hand up and down her spine, slow and steady. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away. Her heartbeat is calm, but mine isn’t.

I’ve never felt so full and so fucking empty at the same time.

She sighs. “Mm, this is… nice.”

That word, from her lips, makes something ache in my chest. Like she’s describing something simple. Soft. Not the goddamn cathedral she just built inside me.

I nod, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. It is.”

A few quiet beats pass between us. Then her voice returns, smaller, thoughtful.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.”

That pulls me back.

I glance down, just as she shifts to look up at me. Her eyes are still sleepy, lips swollen from kissing, but something’s there now, uncertainty.

“What is it?” I ask.

She props her chin on my chest, drawing idle circles with her fingertip. “Earlier, after I got home from town… I got a call. An unknown number.”

I go still.

She notices. “It kept ringing. Four times. I ignored the first few, but then I answered it.”

“Jordyn…” My voice is already low, already sharpening.

She lifts a shoulder. “There was nothing at first. Just silence. And then as I was about to hang up… I heard this voice. A man.”

“What did he say?”

Her brows draw together like she’s still trying to make sense of it. “Presto. Then he hung up.”

The word hits me like a gunshot to the spine.

Soon.

My mind fractures instantly into calculation, who has her number, who knew she’d be alone, who wants me rattled. My grip on her waist tightens, and I feel her tense slightly.

“Ares?”

I blink down at her. “Do you think it was just… a wrong number?” she asks carefully.

I force my face to remain calm. My voice doesn’t shake when I say, “No. I don’t.”

Because I know what that was.

A warning.

And whoever it was, they just made the biggest mistake of their life.

Jordyn is still curled against me, trusting, unaware of the storm that just split open behind my eyes.

But I don’t move or speak.

Not yet. Because if I get out of this bed right now, I’ll be gone before she blinks. And she deserves more than that. She deserves peace, for one fucking night.

So I keep my arm around her, fingers trailing over her spine like I’m soothing her , when really I’m trying to stop myself from ripping out of my own skin.

Presto. Soon.

That word isn’t random. It’s a message. And not for her...for me.

Someone’s letting me know they got close. Close enough to scare her. To touch my world without permission. To use her voice, her number, her against me. And they will pay for it. Slowly and fucking painfully.

She shifts slightly, laying her cheek flat against my chest again, her breath warm across my skin. I force my muscles to relax, even as my mind goes cold and sharp with focus.

“Maybe it was nothing,” she murmurs, half-asleep now.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and keep my nose buried in her hair, breathing her in. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Fuck, lying to her tastes like rust in my mouth.

Because it’s not nothing. I know, it’s not. It’s a threat. A forewarning.

And tomorrow… I’m going to make mine.

Her breathing slows against my chest, and I know the exact moment sleep takes her, the subtle way her fingers go still where they rest against my stomach, the way her lips part slightly, soft breaths warming my skin.

I lie there a moment longer, holding her, watching the ceiling as silence folds around us like a shroud. Then I move. Slow and careful.

I shift out from beneath her inch by inch, easing her head onto the pillow without waking her. She murmurs something faint, then settles again, lost in dreams.

I stand beside the bed, bare, bruised, and fucking wired. I see her phone’s on the nightstand, screen down. I take it quietly.

The screen lights up in my hand. Passcode locked.

Of course.

I stare at it for a second, then slip it into my pocket anyway. I don’t need access here. I’ll get what I need from Dante, so I turn and walk out.

No shoes. No shirt. Just a pair of low-slung sweats and the kind of rage that moves through my blood like gasoline.

I close the villa door behind me without a sound and head across the courtyard, past the rows of sleeping cars, through the shadows that stretch long and silent under the moon.

Dante’s already waiting near the garage.

He sees me coming and flicks his cigarette to the ground. “You look like hell.”

“I need a trace on a number,” I say, holding up Jordyn’s phone.

His gaze sharpens instantly. “What happened?”

I stop in front of him, “She got a call. Unknown. He said one word before hanging up.”

“What word?”

“Presto.”

Dante’s expression shifts. Cold, alert, all traces of humour gone.

He doesn’t need me to explain. We’re not playing chess anymore.

“No more warnings,” I say, voice so callous it doesn’t even sound like me. “I want a name.”

Dante takes the phone from me and unlocks his own, already moving toward the SUV parked at the side of the property. The door clicks open, and the interior lights spill out, revealing a tablet and mobile rig in the centre console.

“Give me ten minutes,” he mutters, sliding into the passenger seat. “I’ll ping the last incoming number and run it through the burner database.”

I lean against the hood, arms crossed, eyes scanning the shadows of the trees that border the estate. The gravel crunches beneath Dante’s boots as he shifts his weight, fingers flying across the screen inside.

Every second that ticks by presses harder into my spine.

Presto.

They want me anxious. Distracted. Off balance.

What are they planning. What is happening soon ?

“Got it,” Dante says from inside the car.

I walk over.

Dante angles the tablet toward me. “Rerouted through three different carriers, bounced off a tower in Messina, then redirected. Professional.”

“Name.”

“Not yet. But I’ve got the IMEI code locked. Once they power the phone back on, we’ll get a location ping.”

I nod, jaw grinding. “And if they never turn it back on?”

“Then we backtrace through the tower ID and cross-check every burner bought in the last thirty days in Sicily. It's slow, but it’ll land.”

I exhale through my nose. Slow and focused. My brain already cataloguing every enemy bold, or stupid, enough to come this close.

“I want eyes on the gate. No one comes in or out unless I approve it.”

Dante nods. “Done.”

“And pull security footage from the villa perimeter for the last forty-eight hours.”

“You think someone got close enough to plant something?”

“I don’t think. I know. ”

I step back, casting a glance toward the faint glow bleeding from my bedroom window, where she still sleeps, safe and warm and unaware that someone just circled her name with blood.

My voice drops, quiet but final.

“I want your best men on her. Around the clock.”

Dante straightens. “You got it.”

“I want to know where she is every second of the fucking day.” My tone cuts sharper now, no room for doubt. “They track her like shadows, but they’re never seen. I don’t want her spooked.”

He nods once. “Discreet. Tight net. She won’t notice them.”

“She better not,” I murmur.

Because if she does, if she starts looking over her shoulder the way I do, I’ve already failed her.

I rub a hand down my face, the muscles in my temple twitching as the adrenaline starts to give way to something colder. Something older.

This isn’t about intimidation.

It was a reminder , that no matter how careful I think I am, no matter how many walls I build around her… they’re still watching. And the next time they try to get close, if they try again, I won’t just send a warning back.

I’ll send them home in fucking pieces.

There’s a warmth pressed against my side. It’s soft and bare and very familiar. The kind of warmth I never expected to deserve. The kind that doesn’t come from a bottle or a bullet, but from skin and breath and something dangerously close to peace.

For a moment, I think I’m still dreaming. The air is still, the bed sheets tangled low around our bodies, and she’s pressed close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against my ribs. A soft sigh escapes her lips, brushing against my skin like silk.

Then I feel it. The whisper of a kiss against my shoulder. Light, barely there.

Then another...slightly lower, a little slower. Her lips linger this time, a breath longer, like she’s testing the edges of sleep. Testing me .

I keep still. Eyes closed. Letting her believe I’m still sleeping. Letting myself feel it without breaking the spell.

She keeps going, one kiss after another, tracing the curve of my shoulder blade, the base of my neck. Her lips follow the long, pale scar that cuts through my skin. The one no one touches.

Except her.

Her fingers lightly ghost over it, like she’s not afraid of what it means. Like it tells her something about me that no one else has ever bothered to learn.

Not what I’ve done.

But what I’ve survived.

Her mouth finds my skin again, this time with a little more pressure. Like she’s learning me, but in pieces.

I should open my eyes. Should say something.

But I don’t. I just let her have this. Let her map my body like it’s something worth knowing.

Then I hear her voice, quiet, amused.

“You’re not actually sleeping, are you?”

A corner of my mouth twitches. I open my eyes slowly, the light filtering through the curtains casting a golden glow across her face. She’s lying beside me on her side, one arm tucked under her head, the other lazily tracing circles across my chest.