Chapter 22
“What changed?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “A week ago, you were trying to bury my investigation. Now, you want me to publish?”
Remy’s fingers drum against the marble counter, a rare tell of agitation. “Nothing changed. Everything changed.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No? I spent entire days thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere. Days imagining every possible scenario, each worse than the last.”
I lift my chin. “I can take care of myself.”
“You were lucky. For a week.” He crowds me against the counter, hands gripping the edge on either side of me. “And luck runs out, Eve. Especially with men like Ano Montoni.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken accusations. I study Remy’s face, searching for any hint of deception beneath that controlled mask.
“So you made yourself indispensable to him,” I say finally, my voice tight. “The fixer who could do anything. But how does someone like Montoni even become your client?”
Remy watches me carefully, his expression unreadable at first. His fingers tap against his coffee mug, a rare tell of internal conflict. “I don’t take just anyone on, Eve. There are… lines I don’t cross. Or at least, I didn’t think I would.”
The bitterness in his voice makes me pause. “You’re saying my father was different?”
“Initially.” Setting his coffee down, Remy straightens, his tone matter-of-fact but edged with tension.
“Montoni came to me years ago, long before I knew what he really was. He was a powerful man—one of those people who keeps things running in ways the public doesn’t see or understand.
It wasn’t my job to ask questions, only to solve problems. Within certain boundaries. ”
My jaw tightens, and I fix him with a cutting stare. “And when you found out? When I told you about the trafficking ring?”
He exhales sharply, his composure cracking.
For a moment, I glimpse something raw beneath his controlled exterior.
“You can think the worst of me, but I have lines I would never cross. Human trafficking is definitely one of those. The moment Montoni admitted he was deep in that shit, I would have been out…” His voice drops, heavy with meaning.
“If you wouldn’t have been part of the equation. ”
“Don’t.” I grip my mug harder, ignoring how my hands shake. “Don’t act like I’m the reason you stayed involved with a monster.”
“A monster who happens to be your father.” Remy’s eyes darken. “The same father who would’ve had you killed without hesitation if I hadn’t been there to intercept the contract.”
“That doesn’t justify—”
“No?” He cuts me off, voice sharp. “Then tell me, Eve. What would you have done? Walk away and leave you exposed? Let him send someone else to handle the hit?”
The truth in his words burns, but I refuse to look away.
Remy’s words echo in my head, impossible to dismiss. The weight of truth settles heavily in my chest.
“You’re right.” The admission comes out barely above a whisper. “If you hadn’t taken the contract…” I swallow hard, forcing myself to face reality. “I’d be dead.”
Remy stays silent, letting the gravity of those words sink in.
“I hate that you’re right.” My voice strengthens with frustration. “I hate that you had to deceive me, that this whole elaborate game was necessary.” Looking up at him, I see the tension in his jaw, the careful way he’s holding himself back. “But I understand why you did it.”
The admission costs me something—pride, maybe, or the last shred of denial I’d been clinging to. Ano would have found another way, hired someone else. Someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to put a real bullet in my head.
“I still don’t like being manipulated,” I say, needing him to understand. “Even if it was to save my life.”
“I know.” His voice carries a gentleness that makes my chest ache. “But I’d do it again.”
The scary part is that I believe him. Everything he’s done—staging my death, risking his position with Ano, protecting Heath—it all points to one undeniable truth: Remy chose me over everything else. My survival meant more to him than his reputation, his connections, and maybe even his own life.
I watch him, this man who saved my life through deception, and try to reconcile the conflicting versions of him in my mind.
“You did all this to protect me.” The words taste strange on my tongue. “Maybe you’re not—”
“Don’t,” Remy’s voice cuts like steel. He pins me with that penetrating stare, the one that sees through every defense. “Don’t you dare see me like a changed man or, even worse, a knight in shining armor. I don’t regret the choices I made to build my business and make my name.”
My breath catches at his brutal honesty. The morning light streaming through the windows casts harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the dangerous edge I’d almost forgotten.
“So what am I supposed to see?” I challenge, refusing to back down. “The man who saved my life, or the fixer who serves monsters?”
His laugh is sharp, devoid of humor. “Both. Neither.” Remy meets my gaze, his voice steady but low. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, Eve. I’m not even sure I deserve it or even want it. I’ll always be in the shadows, where I belong.”
“And where do I belong in all this?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He moves closer, and I fight the urge to step back. “You’ve never been just another anything, Eve.” His fingers brush my cheek, the touch at odds with his harsh words. “That’s what makes you so fucking dangerous.”
“To whom?” I whisper. “You or my father?”
“Both.” The admission hangs between us. “You have a way of destroying carefully built walls. Of making men like me question things we shouldn’t.”
“Things like helping human traffickers?” The accusation hits its mark—I see it in the tightening of his jaw.
“Things like believing we can be better than what we are.” His voice carries an edge of bitterness. “I’m not your redemption story, Eve. Don’t make that mistake.”
Before I can process Remy’s bitter words, he asks, “The real question is how could a father put a price on his daughter’s head?”
The question hits like a physical blow, stirring memories I’ve tried desperately to bury. I turn away from him, gripping the counter’s edge until my knuckles turn white.
“You want to know about Ano? The real one?” My laugh sounds hollow.
“Picture the perfect father. Weekend sailing trips, private ballet lessons, and designer dresses for every occasion. He’d carry me on his shoulders through our garden, pointing out the names of every flower.
Called me his ‘piccola rosa’—his little rose. ”
Remy stays silent, but I feel the weight of his attention.
“My mother, Lina…” My voice catches. “She was beautiful. The kind of beauty that made people stop and stare. Ano paraded us around like prizes—his gorgeous wife, his precocious daughter. We were living proof of his success.”
“When did you first suspect?” Remy’s question is gentle, but it still makes me flinch.
“I was fifteen.” The memory rises sharp and clear.
“Found documents in his study—contracts disguised as business deals. Then, I started noticing things. How my mother would shake before certain dinner parties. The way some of his associates looked at her. How she’d disappear for hours with them while Ano made excuses. ”
“Eve—”
“He was lending her out.” The words explode from me. “His own wife passed around like a party favor to seal deals and curry favor. And she had no choice. He made sure of that.”
Remy moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “Did she ever tell you?”
“She didn’t have to.” My hands tremble. “I saw the bruises she tried to hide. Heard her crying at night. Ano called it ‘being a good wife’—doing whatever was necessary for the family’s success.”
“A week before she died, I found her packing a small bag.” My voice wavers, but I force myself to continue.
“She’d finally gathered the courage to leave.
Had everything planned—money hidden away, a contact in Montreal who’d help her disappear.
” The memory constricts my chest. “I begged her to take me with her.”
Remy’s expression darkens. “But Ano found out.”
“No.” Bitter laughter escapes me. “I did this. I thought I was being careful, covering our tracks. But I was fifteen, naive.” My fingers dig into my palms. “Ano’s security chief caught me researching bus schedules to Montreal. Within hours…”
“Eve—”
“Do you know what it’s like?” I cut him off, my voice rising. “To come home and find your mother hanging from the chandelier? To see her beautiful face…” I choke on the words.
Remy remains silent, but I see the muscle working in his jaw.
“The police arrived so quickly. Everything was perfectly orchestrated—the timeline, the suicide note in her handwriting.” My laugh sounds hysterical. “Ano even had her therapist’s records already prepared, documenting months of depression.”
“He forced you to corroborate the story.”
“Oh, he was brilliant.” The words taste like poison.
“Gathered the household staff, tears in his eyes, as he explained how my ‘fragile’ mother had been struggling for years. How he’d ‘tried everything’ to help her.
” My voice cracks. “And there I stood, watching him weave this perfect lie. The devoted husband, the grieving widower.”
“The media bought it?”
“They devoured it. ‘Tragic Death of Socialite Lina Montoni.’ They painted her as this troubled, unstable woman who couldn’t handle the pressures of high society.
” My fists clench. “Ano gave tearful interviews about her ‘battle with depression.’ Even had fake prescription bottles planted in her bathroom.”
“And you couldn’t say anything.”
“What was I going to do? Tell them my father murdered her because she tried to escape?” I meet Remy’s gaze, letting him see the raw pain there. “I was fifteen, terrified, and alone. He made sure I understood the consequences of speaking out.”
“How?”