Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
PRESENT
Santi parks the truck in front of his house, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. For a moment, neither of us move.
It’s as if we’re tethered. Sharing the same breath, the same exhale, the same weight of relief. Theo sleeps in the backseat, his body curled up, the adrenaline finally giving out.
Santi steps out of the truck and circles to the passenger side. He opens Theo’s door and reaches down, his arms strong and sure when he takes my son into his embrace. To Santi, Theo is practically weightless. But the care in his movements speaks volumes. His hand cradles the back of Theo’s head like he’s holding something fragile—something irreplaceable.
Tonight, Santi would have done anything for him. For us. He called us his family.
The word lingers in my mind, heavy and tender, soothing the jagged edges of my heart. At the time, I was so focused on Theo, on his safety, on surviving, that I barely registered it. But now, watching Santi walk toward the house, Theo’s head slung over his broad shoulder, his steps slow and careful, it sinks in.
He meant it.
This—what I’m seeing right now—is a picture I didn’t even know I’d been carrying inside me, waiting to be painted.
For so long, I believed love had to be earned—by giving, by doing, by sacrificing. That it came with conditions. That’s what my father taught me, and I spent my life trying to be enough.
Santi showed me something else. Love that doesn’t ask, doesn’t weigh, doesn’t keep score. Love that’s steady, quiet, ferocious. He didn’t fight for Theo tonight because he had to—he fought because there was no world in which he wouldn’t. Because that’s what love does. It moves. It acts. It protects. No proof required.
That truth was always there—buried beneath my father’s conditions, Nic’s control, and the fear that clouded me for too long.
I always knew what love was. I chose it at eighteen. When I kissed Santi beneath that tree. When we got those tattoos. When we walked away from everything to build something new. Together .
Santi glances over his shoulder when he reaches the porch, his eyes finding mine in the soft light. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear.
Are you okay?
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. I follow him inside. My steps are slow, heavy with exhaustion—but lighter than they’ve been in years.
Inside the house, the familiar scent of cedar and leather greets me. Santi carries Theo up the stairs, his wide shoulders silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the windows. I follow my boys up, as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Theo.
But when Santi lays him down in bed, my little boy stirs. He’s grown up since this morning.
“Mom?” He whispers.
“I’m here,” I smooth hair off his forehead.
Santi kneels beside us, his large hand covering Theo’s smaller one. He murmurs, “You’re safe. At home…”
Theo’s eyes flutter closed. “I know.” His breathing evens out and sleep takes him again.
For a moment, we stay there, the three of us, holding on to the fragile peace.
When I rise, Santi follows, his hand brushing against mine when we step out of Theo’s room. We leave the door slightly ajar, the amber glow of the nightlight spilling into the hallway. Santi leans against the wall, his head tipping back as if letting the final bit of stress propping him up drain away. His knuckles catch my eye—raw, the skin split and bruised, each mark a testament to the lengths he went to for us tonight.
Gently, I reach for his hand. His fingers are warm, strong, but tense faintly beneath my touch. It hurts.
“We need to clean these. ”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer a stoic deflection. He just lets me take his hand and guide him toward his en suite bathroom. I flick bright lights on, they’re harsh against the quiet shadows of the house.
I turn the knob and adjust the temperature. The sound of running water fills the room. I guide his hand under the stream, crimson swirls away, spiraling down the drain, carrying pieces of the night with it. His rough hand is heavy in mine. I brush my thumb over his knuckles, featherlight, affectionate. Eventually taking the other.
Santi doesn’t flinch. He watches me instead, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity that fortifies me.
“I thought I lost you both.” The words catch in his throat.
I meet his eyes. They’re darker than usual, swimming with emotions he hasn’t let himself speak aloud. His ache pierces through me.
“You didn’t.” I turn off the faucet and gently dab a towel on his hand to dry it. “And we didn’t lose you either.”
He brushes his fingers against my cheek and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness in the gesture undoes me, and tears prick the corners of my eyes.
“Kat,” he murmurs, his voice a thread binding us tighter. “Since the day I met you, here or not, you’ve been the gravity that holds me together.”
His forehead dips to mine. His vulnerability wraps around my heart.
“I love you. Simple as that. I fucking love you…”
And then, as if the space between us no longer exists, his lips find mine. The kiss is anything but gentle. It’s fierce, desperate, a clash of everything we’ve held back and everything we almost lost. All the pain, the longing, the fight, the fear—it’s all here, spilling over.
Santi’s hands frame my face, his fingers lacing into my hair, anchoring me to him like he’s afraid to let go. And I don’t want him to let go. Not now. Not ever.
I wind my arms around his neck, pressing my body on his. He releases a groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating through my chest, unraveling me.
He takes me like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. And maybe, so have I.
Because this isn’t just a kiss.
It’s a homecoming.
And then?—
The sound of boots on the porch.
A sharp knock at the door.
My pulse jumps, the tension I thought I’d left behind snapping back into place.
Santi moves first. His body is tense, already prepared for whatever comes next. We both rush downstairs.
When he opens the door, Gabriel is there. And behind him—Rio, Anton, Luis, Enzo.
All of them.
Gabriel’s expression is grim. “Your father’s at the gate.”
“What does he want?” Santi bites.
“He says he wants to help.”
Help?
The word tastes bitter. He didn’t help when I became a teenage girl without a mom to guide me. Help wasn’t what he offered me at eighteen when he tore Santi away from me with nothing but a cold decree. Help wasn’t what he gave when I was suffocating in that marriage, bruised and desperate for an out.
Help wasn’t what he gave me when I needed him most.
“He wants to help?” The disbelief is sharp, edged with exhaustion .
Gabriel nods, his expression unreadable. “It’s your call. But if you talk to him, we all do.”
Santi doesn’t say anything, but his dark eyes consider me carefully. He won’t make this choice for me, but I feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Then my mind flickers upstairs to where my little boy is sleeping.
And Nic’s final words— this isn’t over.
There could still be a mole. There could still be someone watching, waiting for an opening.
I force myself to find one more moment of courage. “Luis, would you stay here in case Theo wakes up?”
He nods without hesitation.
But I’m still uneasy.
As if reading my mind, Anton steps forward. “I’ll stay, too.”
Relief unfurls in my chest—small but steady. Anton’s instincts are too sharp to ignore. If there’s even an ounce of danger left behind, he’ll catch it.
Santi watches me, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Are you sure about this?”
I shake my head. “No.”
But then I set my shoulders. Let the old anger settle in my bones like armor. If my father knows something that can help us end this, we need to hear him out.
When we get to the gate, the familiar shapes of the ranch are unchanged, but my father is a foreigner standing at the side of his car .
As we approach, his gaze flickers across the faces surrounding me, wary and uncertain. What he sees isn’t just a family—it’s a fortress. A small-town army of men who don’t hesitate to draw a line in the sand and say– here. This is where you stop. And for the first time, I realize—I don’t just belong here. I am protected here.
While my dad doesn’t know their full strength, I do. It’s a reminder that this place, these people, are more than my haven—they’re my shield. And tonight, my father is an outsider, stepping into a world he can’t control.
My dad’s expensive suit is wrinkled and his tie hangs loose around his neck. His face is pale, down-turned, with something that looks suspiciously like regret. For a moment, he hesitates, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words come out. He appears older than I remember, the lines on his face deeper, the weight of his choices etched into every crease.
And yet, it’s not just the years that have worn him down—it’s everything that’s come to light. His ambition, his pride, the deals he made, and the ones he didn’t. Those choices shaped my life as much as they did his, pushing me into a marriage that was never about love but obligation. A partnership forged in his vision of security and alliances, as if I were another piece on his chessboard, one I still, in my little-girl heart, want to believe he thought was for my own good. Did he know how much it all hurt me?
Now, seeing him like this—worn, humbled, almost fragile—it’s hard not to wonder if he regrets it.
As much as I want to lash out, to make him feel the anger and hurt I carried for years, I know it won’t change the past. It won’t take away the pain of what I endured or undo the choices he made. It won’t give me back the time I lost trying to fit into a life he said was best for me.
All that matters now is that he knows I’m no longer his daughter to mold but a woman who broke free to find herself.
Santi steps closer, his presence protective and commanding. “What do you want, Paul?”
My dad flinches but holds his ground. His words are unpolished. “I came to help.”
“Help?” Santi’s tone is sharp and unforgiving. “Where was that help when Kat needed it? When Theo was taken?”
My father’s gaze shifts, his shoulders sagging. “I’ve made mistakes,” he falters. “I know that. But I’ve handed over information—real information—that can bring Nic and the Mafia down.”
I sense shame in his words, but I ignore it, along with any sympathy that rises in my chest seeing him defeated like this. At one point, probably the last time he was here, he held information back to cover his tracks instead of ensuring Theo and I were safe. He lied. He did know something.
“I have names, accounts, recordings. Since coming to talk to you here…” he clears his throat, a change in his disposition, “I’ve been working with the FBI, but I thought…” He pauses, gazing at me. “I thought you deserved to know as much as I do. I brought copies of everything so you’re looped in, Kat. GhostEye, the FBI… they have it all now.”
Enzo nods, affirmative but unimpressed.
Santi gives no mercy. “Too little, too late, don’t you think, Paul?”
My dad’s eyes search mine. “It’s the only thing I have left to give.”
The sincerity in his voice moves me. I wish it didn’t, but for all his flaws, and all his failures, this man is still my father. And maybe, just maybe, he knows this is the last thing he’ll ever get to give me .
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” my father says quickly, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I know I don’t deserve it.”
The words catch me off guard.
Santi’s jaw tics, his eyes are dark with barely restrained anger. I’m sure he thinks my father is only here to cover his ass. Maybe to get on a path to saving his reputation. To participate, so he doesn’t get incriminated himself, or at least has the option of a plea bargain.
Santi doesn’t believe he’s changed. I wish I was that resolved but I’m not. Blood is a powerful connection not quick to break.
My father continues. “I don’t want you left in the dark, Katinka. Not when you’re worried about Theo. You deserve to be in the know. So much of this is out of our control; I hope this gives at least some of that feeling back.” He says it carefully. Not like a father offering guidance but like a man asking permission. “Would you like to see what I have?”
Santi takes my hand. “What do you think?”
The power is all mine.
In reality, I want to see the information. Playing the waiting game will kill me, and I can’t interfere with constant questions for Enzo, Ava, and Rio. They’re not even the only ones working on things. Honestly, it would empower me, just a little, to have a glimpse at the bigger story.
“I’ll take a look.”
My father’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”
My dad shifts his weight, his hands trembling as he reaches into the car. He retrieves a briefcase—still high-end, rich leather, but the design is at least a decade old. This is where he holds the evidence? How long has he lived with suspicion? How long has he let a rat nest in his coop?
“It’s all here,” he says. “Everything I handed over. Drives, copies of documents… everything that could tie Nic to the Mafia.” His eyes widen over dark circles deep with exhaustion. “I swear, I never saw this coming… but now? Now, it all adds up.”
Rio budges him aside and snatches the briefcase out of his hand.
His tone is dark and unforgiving. “Let me tell you something I learned about greed, Paul. A little greed can make a man ambitious, but too much? It rots him from the inside, makes him blind to the things he should be fighting for.” He lifts the briefcase toward us. “GhostEye will check this over first if that’s okay?”
I nod with a thin-lipped smile then meet my father’s gaze, searching for any trace of deceit. But all I see is a man desperate to fix what he’s broken.
Santi points his finger like a dagger at my dad. “If you’re lying, if any of this is bullshit—I won’t need the FBI. You’ll answer to me. And I don’t deal in plea bargains.”
Something shifts in my father’s eyes. Not just fear. Understanding. The kind of understanding that only comes when a man realizes he’s finally met someone he can’t buy, manipulate, or escape.
Then, Santi gives a curt nod. “Go.”
Dad nods quickly, taking one last glance at me, gaze full of loss until he crumples himself back into his vehicle and we watch him drive away.
Gabriel, Enzo, and Rio handle the rest, their efficiency a sharp contrast to the emotional storm still raging inside me. As we step back toward the house, I glance over my shoulder one last time, but my father is already gone.
Santi’s arm curls around my shoulders, his strength anchoring me to the moment, pulling me away from the past that clings like smoke. The air I breathe feels lighter, the weight of what’s behind me giving way to the fragile, undeniable spark of what lies ahead—not just survival, but the quiet, steady promise of something I thought I’d lost forever.
Hope.