Chapter 23 #2
I take him silently, careful with how I’m supporting his head and neck properly.
He’s heavier than the last time I held him.
His weight is warm and solid against my chest. His stubby little hands curl near my collar, his dark eyes staring up at me with an intensity that seems far too knowing for an infant.
He looks so much like Maximo—same dark eyes, dark hair—it’s uncanny. As I watch him, something in my chest loosens. Just a little. Just enough to let me breathe a little easier.
Then Maximo steps forward. “You two should talk,” he says quietly but firmly. He doesn’t frame it as a suggestion—more like an instruction as he takes Luca from my arms and heads towards another room deeper in the penthouse.
Elira frowns as she watches him disappear with their son, but she doesn’t argue. She turns back to me, brushing a hand down her hip, already slipping into hostess mode even as I see the realization dawn in her eyes that something is wrong.
“Do you want something to drink? Or are you hungry? I can make you something—”
“Elira…” My voice breaks before I can stop it.
She freezes mid-step, then turns slowly to face me. Her hazel eyes search mine, sharp and increasingly panicked. She knows. She just doesn’t want it to be true. “Ate?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shake my head regretfully, heart tugging so painfully I almost can’t breathe. “We lost him yesterday morning.”
She stares at me for what feels like an eternity, like she didn’t hear it right.
Like if she doesn’t react, maybe it won’t be true.
Then something seems to crack behind her eyes.
Her whole body jolts forward as she walks towards me, and when I open my arms, she throws herself into them with her full weight.
I hold her as tightly as I can without hurting her as she sobs into my chest, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief. She’s not graceful about it. It’s not quiet. It’s raw and ugly, and it cuts through me in a way nothing else has managed to.
She’s breaking.
And I can’t. Not yet.
I keep my hold on her steady, rubbing soothing circles on her back, not saying much because words won’t fix any of this. All I can do is keep her close and let her fall apart in my arms, let her feel safe in my presence while her world crumbles.
My shirt gradually dampens, sticking to my chest as her tears soak through the fabric. “It’s going to be okay. I promise,” I murmur quietly in Albanian, and she only cries harder, her anguished sounds stabbing repeatedly at my chest, making my breath strangle in my throat.
But I don’t cry. I’m not sure I can. Because I know the second I start, I might not be able to stop. And right now, she needs me to stay strong and solid. The men need me to be strong and logical.
So I’m strong. For her. For them.
I don’t know how long we stand there like that, but eventually my ankles start to ache from staying in one position, my arms throbbing from holding them up for so long.
Her gut-wrenching sobs slowly taper into hiccups and shaky breaths, and when she finally pushes away from me, she looks like she’s aged several years in just these few terrible minutes.
My insides twist with fresh pain, and I reach up to rub my fingers gently over her face, wiping away her tears.
“W–what happened?” she asks, her voice hoarse and broken. “I thought he was getting better? The doctors said—”
“He was,” I confirm with a frown as I guide her towards the couch and help her sit. “I honestly don’t know what triggered the heart attack yesterday. It was sudden...”
“Was he in pain?” she asks so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“No. He looked peaceful. Like he was just taking a nap,” I answer truthfully, relieved to be able to give her this small comfort.
She nods, swallowing hard. “Good. Good.” She nods again like she’s trying to convince herself, but silent tears continue streaming down her cheeks. “What about funeral arrangements? Who’s handling—”
“Hey.” I grab her hand firmly and wait until she looks at me. “Leave that to me. You don’t need to worry yourself about any of those details right now. I’ll handle it.”
Her lips wobble, and she presses them together, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “Th–thank you,” she manages to croak out, then bites her lip, as if to stifle the sound of her grief.
“Who found him?” she asks after a moment. “God, I hope it wasn’t you.”
“It wasn’t,” I reassure her quickly, leaving it at that. I don’t want to talk about Katie right now, don’t want to think about her or explain the complicated situation.
She nods with visible relief. “Okay… that’s good at least.” Then she turns her hand under mine, lacing our fingers together. “You know you don’t have to be so strong all the time, right? It’s okay to break down. If not with me, then with someone else. Do you have anyone you can lean on?”
It’s crazy, but an image of Katie immediately flashes through my head—her face, her body, the way she held me last night—and I ruthlessly shove it down.
No. That’s not going to happen. For now, whatever exists between us is just sex, just physical release, and I’m content with that.
It can’t be more than that. Once I figure out what her motives are for being in my estate, I’m cutting her off.
“I’m fine, Lira. You don’t need to worry about me.” I pull her back into my chest and press a lingering kiss to her temple. I’m fine.
By the time I get back to the estate, the weight pressing down on my chest is somehow even heavier than when I left.
The ride back is quiet, same as before, but now it feels like something has shifted for good, like the hours I spent at Elira’s have only made everything more real.
There’s no buffer anymore, no denial left to cling to.
The grief is everywhere now—in the carefully averted eyes of my men as I walk through the main house.
In the thick silence that hangs around every corner.
I go straight to my office, needing a minute to think, to breathe, to figure out what the hell comes next. But Dhimiter is already there, sitting across from my desk like he’s been waiting for a while.
He doesn’t speak right away, only watches me as I drag both hands down my face and sink into my chair with a sigh so heavy the leather creaks under me. I lean back, eyes closing for a moment, letting the exhaustion catch up to me.
“There’s something you should know,” Dhimiter starts, pausing expectantly for a response. I don’t open my eyes, just flick a hand for him to continue.
“Mia went out this morning. Said she was going to the pharmacy.” The way he says ‘pharmacy’ makes it clear he doesn’t buy that for even a second—like the word itself is a joke.
“What are the odds,” he continues, “that she went to tell whoever sent her here that Afrim is dead?”
My heart thuds once—hard. But I keep my body still, my face blank as I open my eyes. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.
He crosses his arms as he waits for my response. But instead of responding, I reach for my phone and type out a message to Lorik.
Any update on Kayla Pierce?
Somehow, I know instinctively that finding information about her sister is the key to unlocking the reason Katie is here. It takes less than a minute for his reply to come through, like he was already on his phone waiting.
LORIK
I found the foster family the girl was taken to when she got separated from Katie, but she ran away a few years ago and hasn’t been seen since. I’m getting close to a lead, though.
LORIK
You should know that Katie has also been looking for her over the years and never made any progress.
My jaw clenches as I read the messages.
Of course I know Katie’s been looking for her sister.
Are you trying to tell me you can’t find a twenty-year-old girl?
LORIK
Of course not. I’ll find her. Soon.
For his sake, I hope he does.
I lock my phone and set it down on the desk, then look back at Dhimiter, who’s still watching me with that penetrating stare. “Where is she now?” I ask flatly.
“She came back and has been in your house since,” he answers without hesitation.
My chest expands with my deep inhale as I get to my feet.
Seems I’ll have to deal with my little problem now.