25. Reth
RETH
Ian's in the hallway when I come out of the bedroom.
“The whole fucking forest around us knows you two kissed and made up.”
I close the door behind me with a soft click, jaw already tight.
“There are some wildlife out there getting fucked.” Ian’s grin turns absolutely feral.
“I’m pretty sure I heard a bear roar in solidarity.
Or maybe it was just you. Hard to tell with all the moaning.
Congrats, man— you’ve got the local deer population traumatized and rethinking their life choices.
They’re probably out there unionizing right now.
‘No more loud humans during mating season.’”
“Shut the fuck up, Ian.”
“Make me.” He pushes off the wall, eyes sparkling. “Or better yet, go back in there and give her round three. I’ll stand guard. Maybe sell tickets to the squirrels. Front row seats for the horny wildlife.”
I shove his shoulder—hard. He rocks back but just laughs.
We start down the hallway, still trading barbs under our breath. The familiar rhythm feels… good. Normal. Or as normal as things ever get with us.
I stop at the top of the stairs and look at him properly. The bruises I put on his face have mostly faded, but I still see them every time I look at him.
“I’m sorry.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“For the hits. For all of it.”
The smirk fades into something quieter. He studies me for a long second. “I know you are.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want from me? A fucking parade?” He tilts his head.
“You want the full itemized list? Because I’ve been keeping score.
There’s the black eye—which, honestly, I’ve had worse from prettier people.
The rib I’m still pretending doesn’t scream every time I breathe.
And that one night around day two where you clocked me in the jaw so hard I saw a color that doesn’t exist on the visible spectrum. I named it Reth’s Regret.”
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches. “Such a fucking smart-ass.”
“Nope. Not done.” He holds up a finger, warming to it now, that wicked sparkle creeping back into his eyes.
“There was also the chair incident. We’re both pretending that didn’t happen, right?
You throwing me like a goddamn rag doll?
Classic. And the time you grabbed my collar so hard I had to trash the shirt.
It was my favorite one, by the way. The soft black one. You owe me fashion reparations.”
I stare at him. The bastard’s grinning now, full dimples, like listing the ways I tried to murder him is the highlight of his week.
“Buy me a drink somewhere expensive,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “Somewhere with tiny forks and a wine list that costs more than my soul. We’re even.”
“Done.”
“And you have to admit I was right about the diary.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Three little words, Reth. Ian. Was. Right. I’ll take it to my grave. Nobody has to know—well, except Crazy, but she already thinks I’m a genius.”
“Asshole.”
“Fine.” The smirk softens into something real, unguarded.
The first crack I’ve seen in his armor in weeks.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We’re even. But I reserve the right to bring this up at your wedding.
I’ll be the best man, obviously. Speech will be legendary.
‘And then he punched me in the face, but look at them now—’”
I stop on the third step down, turning to glare at him. “My what?”
“Your wedding. What?” He blinks, all mock innocence. “I didn’t say anything. Keep walking, big guy. Don’t let me distract you with your inevitable future of domestic bliss and therapy bills.”
We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I’m still shaking my head when I see Andrei standing in the kitchen.
Ian goes still at the exact same moment I do. “Before you do what I think you’re about to do—”
I push past him, already clenching my fist. Andrei just stands there like he’s been waiting for judgment day.
I don’t break stride. My fist connects clean with his jaw—solid, satisfying.
He takes it without flinching, head snapping to the side.
A thin line of blood blooms at the corner of his mouth.
“She got within arm’s reach of her,” I growl.
“Yes.” Andrei works his jaw, tasting blood. His eyes meet mine without apology. “It won’t happen again.”
“No.” I hold his gaze, letting him see the promise there. “It won’t.”
Behind me, Ian lets out a slow breath, almost a laugh. “Told him you’d do that. And he said—and I’m quoting—‘I know, it’s fine.’” Ian pauses, smirking. “So, full disclosure. He knew. Walked right into that haymaker like a champ.”
Andrei says nothing. His jaw is already starting to darken, but there’s a flicker of something like respect in his eyes. Or maybe just resignation.
A car pulls up outside. The slam of doors.
When I look at Ian, there’s something in his expression I don’t like.
“Now, listen,” he starts. “You might feel the need to punch me when you see who that is. But you need to focus on what’s important here.” A pause. Then he points at Andrei. “He got Sophia face to face with extreme, high-level fucking evil.”
Andrei gapes. “What the fuck, man?”
“Shh, peasant.” Ian waves a hand at him dismissively, then looks back at me. “Just… breathe through your nose. Count to ten. Think of fluffy bunnies. Or Sophia’s ass. Whatever works.”
I glare at him.
“I’m just saying. Prepare yourself.”
The tension coils tighter in my gut as footsteps approach the door. Whatever’s coming, it’s bad enough that even Ian’s trying to brace me for it.
There’s a knock on the door, and somehow between punching Andrei and listening to Ian’s sarcasm I missed that Sophia came down the goddamn stairs, and now she’s opening the front door.
Every trained instinct I have crystallizes into something cold and absolute before I've fully processed what I'm looking at.
Rowan fucking Capello.
Standing there, silver-templed and unhurried, wearing the particular stillness of a man who has never once needed to announce his presence in any room he’s entered.
He stands close enough to Sophia that the space between them feels deliberate—calculated.
The positioning of someone who has done his research and wants you to know it.
The air in the room changes. Thickens. Like the moment before a blade leaves its sheath.
I’m across the room before I’ve even decided to move.
My hand finds Sophia's arm, pulling her behind me in one clean motion, and I plant myself between her and the man who has been the architect of my entire life and ready to carve out his liver if he even so much as looks at her wrong.
"Nazareth," he says.
“I know a debt is due,” I say, quiet. The most dangerous register I own—low, flat, and dripping with the promise of violence. “But come close to her again and I’ll rip every tooth from your skull while you’re still breathing… then feed them to you one by one.”
The silence that follows is razor-sharp. A single beat stretching into eternity.
“Duly noted,” Rowan says calmly.
I take one step closer, voice dropping even lower. “Say it like you mean it.”
"I mean it." His eyes hold mine, steady. "You've built something worth protecting. I'm not here to threaten it."
Behind me, I feel Sophia's hand find the back of my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric—not pulling me back, just present, anchoring.
Rowan walks inside like he belongs between these walls, looks at Ian. Nods. I don’t miss it, the look between them, the silent acknowledgement of them knowing something the rest of us don’t.
I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame, wrap my arm around Sophia’s waist, and pull her in, placing a kiss on her temple before lowering my lips to her ear. “I need you to go upstairs. Lock the door. And do not open for anyone except me.”
I squeeze her one more time, feeling the shape of her curve to mine, then let go, never taking my eyes off Rowan as she moves up the stairs. One move…one wrong goddamn move, and today’s date will be engraved on his motherfucking tombstone.
Only when I hear the bedroom door shut upstairs and the lock click into place do I move.
I step into the living room, every sense sharpened, watching Rowan take a seat by the window like he owns the fucking house. The late light cuts across his silver temples, casting long shadows that make him look carved from something colder than stone.
He settles in with deliberate calm, crossing one leg over the other, adjusting his cuff with the same unhurried precision he’s used to ruin lives for decades.
My blood is already humming.
“You here for a thank you card?” The words come out low, edged with violence I’m barely holding back.
Rowan doesn’t answer right away. He simply looks up at me with that same expression he’s leveled at me since I was a boy—patient, knowing, and utterly in control. It still crawls under my skin like spiders.
“To settle accounts,” he says quietly. “And to deliver on my end of an arrangement.”
The room feels smaller. The air heavier.
“What arrangement?”
His eyes flick to Ian. Just once. Brief. Almost nothing.
But it’s enough.
Ian’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. A tiny tell most people would miss. I don’t. I see it. And the way Rowan’s mouth curves—just the faintest shadow of satisfaction—tells me everything I need to know and nothing I want to.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I look between them. The quiet knowing in Rowan’s face. The deliberate blankness in Ian’s. Two men holding opposite ends of a secret I’m not being shown yet.
“Your friend,” Rowan says, slowly dragging his gaze back to me, “drives a very hard bargain.” There’s something in his tone I can’t fully read—not admiration, not amusement. Something deeper. More genuine. Almost respectful. It makes my skin crawl. “He offered me something I couldn’t refuse.”
The words settle in the room like smoke.
I look at Ian.