Chapter 47
CHAPTER 47
NORTH CAROLINA
I t was late in the evening before Adria finally pulled herself from bed.
Eric had already checked on her—twice.
The first time, she pretended to be asleep. The second, she’d snapped at him, insisting he leave her alone.
She kept reminding herself how strong Loretta was. She was going to live, there was no alternative. After leaving the hospital, Adria had called the estate. Frances had answered.
The girl was shaken up. Adria didn’t have the strength for it, not really.
But as Frances stammered and cried, Adria found herself comforting her.
The words came automatically. Soothing. Reassuring.
“I came home, and she was just lying there on the foyer floor,” Frances sobbed into the phone.
Every time Adria got her calmed down, she would say something that would send Frances spiraling back into tears.
When Loretta came home from the hospital, Adria would add security to Loretta’s home. Frances had assured her that was unnecessary. It was only an accident. Except in Adria’s world, there were no accidents.
The photo being delivered to her the same day Loretta was put on life support was no coincidence. Adria pressed on her chest in an effort to hold herself together.
Her heart ached.
Everywhere she looked, her life was falling apart. Systematically, she was losing everything she had ever cared about. She struggled with the urge to fold Eric up and keep him in her pocket. Not willing to lose anyone else.
When the soft glow of twilight was long gone from the house, Adria made her way, barefoot, to the kitchen.
She dished herself three scoops of Rocky Road ice cream, the cold tile on her feet a welcome reprieve. Grabbing a spoon, she pushed herself onto the counter.
Adria liked the house like this. Silence reigned, and shadows slept. The stillness of it overpowered the war raging inside of her and, for the first time in days, she relaxed.
Her moment of calm was brief.
A sound at the far end of the kitchen caught her attention.
She turned just in time to see Bryson slip in through the patio door.
Moonlight kissed his skin, damp and glistening from a run, his breath just beginning to settle.
Didn’t he sleep?
His casual posture made it clear he didn’t know or expect her to be in there. Which was for the best, because she didn’t need his level of complicated tonight.
He rummaged through the freezer before coming out with the same ice cream she had just put away. Adria watched the tattoo of the large peony on his left arm flex and turn. Three pink petals falling from it.
Of the three boys, Bryson had the most color. Most were Nine related, but some were not. Adria absentmindedly traced the angel on her right arm.
Loretta’s words rang in her ears.
Just talk to them.
It really wasn’t a great time, she reasoned with herself.
Loretta would say, “There is never a right time.”
“Can’t sleep?” she asked into the stillness.
Bryson froze, glancing over his shoulder.
At first, he didn’t see her—Adria was tucked in the darkness, all shadows and silence.
She let him sweep the room again before leaning into a slant of moonlight.
When he finally saw her, she expected the usual sarcasm, the sharp deflection followed by retreat. But instead, he hesitated near the island, then moved to sit beside her on the counter.
“Seemed like an ice cream kind of night,” he said.
She lifted her silver bowl. “Seems like it.”
Adria held her spoon aloft. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Bryson lifted his own and clinked hers.
“My mother and I used to do that,” she said quietly. “When my father was out late.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. She felt warm and cold all at once.
Bryson smiled.
Not the cocky grin or smug smirk she was used to. A real smile. Small. Genuine. It softened something in her.
Loretta had said they should talk. And there was so much she could say—but the moment felt too perfect to ruin with words. For now, she wanted to be just two people sharing ice cream under moonlight.
Adria sucked the last bit of sweetness off her spoon. The soft clink of metal against the bowl echoed in the quiet room.
“Seconds?” Bryson asked .
The question hit her somewhere tender. He didn’t want it to end either.
“I’ll get this round,” she said, hopping off the counter.
Reaching into the freezer, she said, “You are not who I thought you were.”
And when she shut the door, she saw she had his attention.
“I mean you are,” she said, scooping the ice cream. “But then you aren’t.”
She waited, and when he didn’t say anything, she continued, “I guess it’s hard to see the good in people when you are surrounded by so much bad.”
He took the bowl she offered, but not before she caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed—like the words had landed somewhere deep.
Climbing onto the counter again, Adria tucked her knees to her chest.
“You’re exactly like I thought you’d be,” Bryson said.
The ache bloomed in her chest. She blinked fast, refusing to let tears rise. This had been a mistake. Ice cream and moonlight—what had she expected?
“You’re strong. Stubborn. Dangerously beautiful,” he continued, hazel eyes steady on hers. “And impossible to say no to.”
She laughed, sharp and unexpected. “You did not think that.”
He raised a hand, forming a crooked cross over his chest. “Swear. I mean, maybe in a slightly different context, but the cliff notes line up.”
Adria arched a brow. “Let me guess—you thought I was a soul-sucking succubus who devoured men in the dead of night?”
Bryson grinned. “More or less.”
Adria leaned her head against the wall, looking at him fully .
“I never got a chance to thank you properly for what you did for me after—” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Jonathan.
The unsaid name hung between them.
“I know what he did to you.” Bryson’s eyes were like fire when he met hers.
She shook her head. No, he only knew about that one night.
“Adria, I saw the picture,” Bryson said, leaving no doubt what he was referring to.
“He’s not in the picture,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“The way he looks at you, how you are,” he said, his voice pained. “I put it together.”
Adria watched him. His eyes didn’t hold the pity that people normally expressed when she shared that she had been abused as a child.
“ Para um bom entendedor, meia palavra basta,” s he whispered.
“What?”
“It’s a saying my mother used to use. It means to a good understander, half a word is enough.”
Bryson Winters, why do you have to understand so much?
“That nickname. The one your father used—” he said.
Princess .
“It’s what they used to call me,” she said, eager to change the subject.
His lips pressed together. “I remember.”
He was quiet for a long while, and Adria played with the ice cream soup forming in her bowl.
“If I had known what the nickname meant,” he started to say, but Adria held up a hand, cutting him off.
“No one knew.”
“No one will call you that again,” he said .
And she was shocked by the certainty in his eyes.
“Bryson, you can’t promi?—”
“No one!” he said more forcefully.
It was an impossible thing for him to promise, but it still felt good to hear.
“And the other photo?” Bryson asked.
“Loretta,” she said, feeling that pain in her chest again.
“She was a childhood friend of my mother’s,” Adria explained.
“She brought me into the world of BDSM. She taught me everything I know about the lifestyle. Showed me that there was more to my father’s world than killing and taking. Showed me I could do more. Be more.”
It should have been hard to talk about. But Adria was surprised at the ease in which the words fell out. Like a soothing balm to a wound.
“Jonathan wasn’t happy, of course. He hoped I would follow in my father’s footsteps. Then I would be easier to control.”
She paused, glancing at Bryson.
He didn’t speak. Just watched her. His expression open, quiet, older than his years. Normally, she thought of him as impulsive, still rough around the edges. But in this moment, she saw something else.
She saw the man he could become.
One year ago, she would’ve bet her fortune that Bryson Winters would go down in history as the worst leader the Nine families had ever known. Reckless. Defiant. Uncontrollable.
But now—here, like this—she saw it.
He was nothing like his father.
He understood people. He cared. He burned hot, but it wasn’t aimless fire—it was focused. Strategic.
Like her, he carried his legacy like a blade. But unlike the men who came before them, neither of them wanted to use it to destroy.
They wanted to change the rules entirely.
“For the first year, he wouldn’t leave me alone. It was Loretta that found a solution. We mailed that photo to him, with the promise that there was more to come if he didn’t stop coming around. Although the photo didn’t have his face, we said that I had many that did.”
She pulled the photo of Loretta out of her pocket.
It was her graduation day. Like many milestones, it was the happiest and worst day of her life.
Loretta was there, cheering her on, screaming louder than anyone else. She had done it, finished school; she was officially an adult.
But while everyone else was making plans for their life, she was getting a tattoo and finishing an itinerary for her trip to Rome.
“What happened?” Bryson’s voice was thick.
“He left me alone. We rarely spoke. I was a little old for him, anyway. There was no reason for him to risk exposure. That is until now.”
She spit the words, “The Triune assigned him to ensure this deal between myself and your family was not a farce. It seems working so close together was no good for either of us. His fragile ego, mixed with my inability to separate the past from the present. Something was bound to happen.”
Bryson considered her words. “You don’t have any other photos, do you?”
He was quick.
She shook her head.
“You bluffed,” Bryson said, clearly surprised.
“What, you never lie?” she teased. “It was Loretta’s idea. And it worked. Until it didn’t.”
“Do you think he knew about Loretta’s involvement?” Bryson asked.
Her eyes dropped to the image in her hand. “He must have. The photos came together.”
Bryson leaned forward. “You should tell the Triune. Seth, Kaydon, and I—we’ll stand behind you. What he did was treason.”
Adria exhaled. “I have my mother to worry about. If I push too hard, I risk her safety. Eric’s tripled security here, and when Loretta’s out of the hospital, she’ll get the same.”
She paused. “After the sale…there shouldn’t be any reason for me and him to interact again.”
She shrugged like it was a solution, not a desperate hope.
“If you change your mind,” Bryson said, shifting on the counter.
His finger brushed hers. The contact was feather-light, but her whole body stilled at the contact. Then his hand encircled her wrist.
“Why does selling us to Vega help your mom?”
She blinked.
He shouldn’t know that name.
Her instincts should’ve screamed. She should’ve pulled back. But she didn’t.
His touch grounded her. Calmed her in a way that defied logic.
“For her safety, I can’t tell you everything,” she said quietly. “But yes. You’re right. It would help her.”
He nodded, trailing his fingers along her forearm. “You’re going to get through this.”
His eyes met hers, steady. Sure.
She smiled, soft. “I’m starting to think we all will. We just have to get through the next few days. Keep our heads down and hope?—”
“—we don’t get hurt,” Bryson finished.
He pulled her closer by the wrist, and for a second, she was sure he would kiss her .
Spoon still in her hand, she leaned in. “Promise?”
The word sat between them like a dare.
Promise .
Her gaze raked along his chest and moved upward. Adria followed the lines of his lips, remembering the salt of his tears.
The chilly night air simmered around them, and Adria watched as his posture and body language changed. In an instant the warm open version of him vanished. His eyes shuttered, and he let go of her wrist.
“I can’t do this,” he said, moving off the counter.
The cold air hit her as he created space between them.
Then he was gone, practically fleeing into the dim hallway.
Adria sat frozen, spoon aloft, the silence pressing in.
Promise.
But there was no one left to say it.
When Adria finally made it to her room, she saw a missed call from the hospital.
Miss Federov, we are sorry to inform you that Loretta Welker passed away at 2:45a.m.
Adria’s knees came out from under her, and she sank into the carpet. She wanted to cry, but the pain was so suffocating she couldn’t catch her breath.