Chapter 55

**A L E X**

The accusation in her voice is sharp, like glass. She’s staring up at me, the faint tremor in her gaze giving her away. She’s frightened, confused, maybe a little disgusted. She doesn’t understand. Her question hangs between us like smoke, suffocating the air around us.

Why did I have a gun?

I’m suddenly ice-cold, staring at the reflection in her eyes. What she’s seeing—what she’ll never fully know but can start to guess at—could destroy her. It’s better to look away, to make this moment pass, push her back into whatever little dream she’s got of me, of this. I say the first thing I can think of, dismissive.

“You’re tired, Grace Miller. Go to sleep.”
“You’re tired, right? You should sleep,” I say instead, voice clipped, trying to steer her out of this, back to safer ground.

She narrows her eyes, the disbelief written all over her face. Her gaze, piercing and relentless, drills straight through me. She shakes her head. “That’s not what I asked.”

She won’t let it go. Fine. I take a step back, give her space, give myself a second to gather the lies.

“Don’t care. Go to sleep.” I turn, already heading for the door. But then she stops me, voice slicing through the quiet.

“Why did you have a gun?” Her voice is louder this time, demanding. I turn around before I can even think, the words slipping out, exposing more than I intend.

“Did Matt have a gun? Did you even stop to think about that?” I hear the frustration in my own voice. Pathetic, isn’t it? That I care at all what she thinks of me. I’m standing here, trapped between what I am and what she believes I could be, and all I want is to hold onto that sliver of respect in her eyes. Ridiculous.

Grace Miller isn’t letting up. Her lips press into a line, her brows draw together, and I know she’s taking every bit of this in. “Well, so why do you have guns?” she presses, voice controlled, yet there’s an edge of something I can’t quite pin down. “Why both of you have guns? What’s happening between you two? What is this…business? Who gave either of you the right?”

I roll my eyes, not out of disrespect, but to keep from doing something I’ll regret. This girl, so smart one second and so naive the next. I twist the truth, hoping it’ll be enough to placate her. “We’re important people, Grace Miller. We need guns. We carry guns. It’s no big deal.”

She doesn’t flinch. “And point them at each other?” Her voice rises, accusing, louder than anyone has ever dared. No one questions me like this; no one. I clench my fists, my arms stiff at my sides. Every part of me is taut with the instinct to lash out, but I hold back. Just barely.

“Yes, Grace Miller,” I say finally, keeping my tone cold, void of any softness, hoping she’ll back down. “If the situation calls for it, then yes, even that.” She studies me, eyes intense and sharper than ever, like she’s trying to unravel me, untie every carefully knotted thread. She takes a step closer, her face resolute, voice steady.

I smirk, watching the disgust flash in her eyes. “Why would you excuse the gun if it was for you?”

I say, letting the taunt slip. I want her to feel the edge of it, to recoil. But I see the effect immediately—her face tightens, her eyes darken, and there it is. The disgust settles under her skin, directed straight at me. Good.

She takes a step back, looking around like she’s piecing everything together. Then she meets my eyes again, something softening in hers, something I don’t expect—concern. “Does Sophie know?”
“Sophie’s a child,” I say, my tone forced, making the lie sound simple. “She doesn’t need to know everything.”

The disappointment in Grace Miller’s eyes is instant. It’s so clear, cutting, it twists inside me for a second. I feel it like a blow. She looks at me, head tilted, voice as calm and certain as I’ve ever heard her. “You better keep it that way, then,” she says, and her honesty stings. “She can’t take being disappointed by the only person she trusts in her life.”

It hits me, sharper than I expected. The one person Sophie trusts is her brother, the mafia boss who’s lying to everyone, including himself, just to keep Grace Miller safe. Just to keep her from knowing. And somehow, despite everything, this girl cares about that, about Sophie’s trust, about me keeping my word.

I swallow the bitterness, shove it down, and say, “Don’t worry about her. Just…go to sleep.” I turn to leave, shaking off the last remnants of this confrontation. I’ve had enough for the night. My hand meets the doorknob, but before I can step out, I slam the door behind me, more to shut out the noise in my head than anything else. I think I hear her gasp, but I don’t look back.
I’m halfway down the stairs when the front door creaks open. I pause, heart thrumming with a new kind of anger when I see who it is. Matt. With boxes of pizza and a bottle of cheap wine, like he’s here to stay, to linger around Grace Miller a little longer. As if that’s happening.

Without a second thought, I head back to the room. It’s impulse, driven by the need to protect what’s mine, to keep him out of my world, out of my space. But when I walk in, the sight stops me cold.
Grace Miller is half undressed, struggling with the last buttons of the dress, her hands reaching behind her back, her shoulders bare, the dress sliding off them, exposing her skin, her warmth. My warmth. I don’t even remember choosing to act, but I cross the room in a few strides, reaching her before she can even register my presence. I grip her arm, firm but controlled, pulling her back until her spine meets the cool glass of the window. My body is close, too close, shielding her from any prying eyes. My hand finds her exposed skin where the dress slips down, the heat rising off her, a reminder of exactly what I have at stake.

One arm pins the glass beside her head, the other resting on the bare skin of her back, the dress half open, barely clinging on. My body pins her in place. Her eyes widen, shock radiating from her, but she doesn’t fight me. Not yet. Her lips part, and I almost lose control.
Just a few more seconds. I can hear Matt’s footsteps just outside. He’ll see this and understand exactly what I want him to understand: she’s off-limits.

The door slams open, and I feel her body tense, her breath hitching as she looks over my shoulder. I keep her pinned, making sure Matt understands. I feel her stiffen. Her hands push at my chest, but I stay firm, pressing in closer, securing the image.
I feel her hands press against my chest, trying to push me away, but I’m firm, leaning closer so she can’t escape. Her voice is a harsh whisper. “What are you doing?”
It’s hard not to smile, pride swelling as I press a finger to her lips, quieting her, leaning close to her ear. “Shh… just one more second.”
It takes only moments before Matt gets the message. I hear his footsteps recede, retreating down the hallway. And then she’s shoving me back, and this time, I let her. I step away, barely a few inches, giving her the space to throw a punch at my jaw.
Wow.

She’s stronger than she looks, but it hardly does any real damage. Still, I find myself touching my jaw, half-impressed.

She steps forward, anger burning in her eyes, her hands pressing into my chest with more force, and she yells, “What the hell was that about?”
I smirk, rubbing my jaw, relishing her reaction. She doesn’t know it, but she’s safer than ever now.