Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
LUCA
I left them in bed.
Bastion dead asleep, Emilia curled against him, his arm a cage even in sleep. All I could see was what he’d whispered in the dark two nights ago—her in a coffin. Cold.
It hadn’t left me since.
I should’ve stayed. Listening to her breathing, that anchored me, but the thought of tomorrow, haunted me.
Damius. The sit-down was supposed to be yesterday.
Rescheduled. Tomorrow instead. Every hour between now and then was another chance for someone to decide the Adams girl with the Accord in her veins was too dangerous to live.
And she was dangerous to them. The minute the papers were signed, she stopped being an Adams and started being a Crow. That made her a target.
The Adams wouldn’t hand over the spine of their dynasty without blood. They’d try to take it back with knives in the dark if they had to. I couldn’t let my guard drop for a second.
So I was in the War Room before dawn, screens lit, files open, every system tuned to her name. I mapped exit routes. Logged staff rotations. Cross-checked the drivers, the doctors, the cooks. Anyone with debt, anyone with cousins in rival houses, anyone breathing near her who I couldn’t control.
If they came for her after tomorrow, it wouldn’t be through the front door. It would be through the men we paid to watch the door.
The paranoia should have calmed me. It didn’t.
The memory of Bastion’s voice—raw, broken, describing her in a coffin—wouldn’t shut up.
He’d been pale when he woke, hands shaking when he reached for her like he was already too late.
I’d told him it was just a dream. It wasn’t.
Not to him. Not to me. In our family, dreams weren’t just dreams. They were warnings.
I ran the same projection six times before sunrise, tracing how long it would take to pull her out if the Adams made their move before we sat down with Damius. The answer wasn’t good enough. Nothing ever was.
Numbers never lied. People did. Dynasties did. And numbers told me she was vulnerable in ways I couldn’t harden fast enough.
The thought of her cold, her lips blue, her body still, made me sick. If she slipped out of reach, if they managed to get past me, there wouldn’t be a city left when I was done.
My phone buzzed once. Rome, sending me the morning dock reports. I didn’t open them. Not yet. My eyes were locked on the penthouse feeds, Bastion still asleep, his hand possessive over her hip. Her chest rose, fell, the rhythm steady.
Safe.
For now.
I pressed my knuckles into my eye sockets until the black behind my lids steadied me. Tomorrow we sat with Damius. The dynasty weight hit the table. Tonight, I still had a city to hold together.
The thought of losing her, consumed my ability to think. So, I just kept typing, kept planning, kept building walls higher and higher, because it was the only way I knew how to breathe.