Chapter 37 Nacho
NACHO
The headlights cut through the darkness so late at night.
I'm on the back porch, nursing a beer I don't particularly want, watching the tree line shift in the wind.
The night is cold, clear, stars scattered across the sky like someone spilled a bag of diamonds on black velvet.
The Negrorio property stretches out before me, forty acres of forest and field that our great-grandfather cleared a century ago.
I know every inch of this land. Every tree. Every shadow. Every sound that belongs and every sound that doesn't.
The engine rumbling up our private road doesn't belong.
I set down my beer and move to the corner of the porch, where I can see the driveway without being seen. The motion is automatic, instinctive, years of law enforcement training kicking in before my conscious mind catches up.
A black Mercedes rolls to a stop twenty feet from the front steps. Expensive. German engineering. The vanity plate reads MORRISON.
My jaw tightens.
The driver's door opens, and Callum stumbles out.
He's drunk. I can tell from fifty feet away by the way he catches himself on the car door, the unsteady sway as he finds his footing.
He's wearing a suit, charcoal grey, but the jacket is wrinkled and the tie hangs loose around his neck.
His hair, usually styled perfectly, sticks up in disheveled clumps.
He looks like a man who's been drinking alone in an expensive hotel room for several days.
Good.
"Jessica!” His voice cracks through the quiet night, startling a pair of crows from the oak tree near the garage. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
I pull out my phone and text Sergio. Two words: He's here.
The response comes immediately: On my way.
I pocket the phone and step off the porch, circling around the side of the house. My boots are silent on the grass. The cold air bites at my face, carries the scent of woodsmoke from our chimney and dead leaves from the forest.
Callum is still shouting, stumbling toward the front steps.
The front door opens.
Sergio stands in the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the living room. He's in jeans and a black t-shirt, barefoot, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is carved from granite.
"Leave." One word. Flat. Final.
Callum stops at the bottom of the steps, swaying slightly. His face changes and becomes darker.
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Negrorio. She's my fiancée."
"Ex-fiancée." Sergio doesn't move. "And you're trespassing."
"I have a right to see her."
"You have no rights here." Sergio's voice drops lower. "This is your last warning. Get in your car. Drive away. Don't come back."
I round the corner of the house and take up position at the base of the porch steps. Callum's head swivels toward me, and I see recognition flicker through the alcohol haze.
"Sheriff." He spits the word like a curse. "Going to arrest me for wanting to talk to my woman?"
"She's not your woman." I keep my voice level. Calm. "She never was."
"The hell she wasn't. Two years. Two years I invested in her. Shaping her. Teaching her. Making her into someone worthy of being a Morrison."
The words hit me like ice water.
Shaping her. Teaching her. Making her into someone worthy.
This is how he sees it. How he's always seen it. Jessica wasn't a person to him. She was a project. Raw material to be molded into the perfect omega wife.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
"She was always worthy." My voice comes out harder than I intended. "You were just too blind to see it."
Callum laughs. The sound is harsh, broken. He takes another unsteady step toward the porch.
"You think you know her? You think three weeks of fucking gives you some special insight?" He gestures wildly at the house, nearly losing his balance. "I spent two years with that woman. I know every flaw, every weakness, every pathetic insecurity she tries to hide."
"You know how to exploit her." Sergio descends one step. "That's not the same as knowing her."
The front door opens wider.
Pedro emerges, positioning himself beside Sergio. He's in his usual scrubs, arms crossed, green eyes cold and assessing. A moment later, Carlos appears, shirtless despite the cold, sawdust still clinging to his jeans from whatever project he abandoned.
Four brothers. A wall between Callum and the woman inside.
But we're not the ones he needs to face.
The final figure appears in the doorway.
Jessica.
She's wearing my grey hoodie, the one she stole during her heat and never gave back. Leggings and bare feet, dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looks small framed by my brothers, but there's nothing small about her expression.
She looks calm. Powerful. Like a woman who's finally found her footing after years of being knocked off balance.
She looks like pack.
"Jessica." Callum's voice shifts, goes soft, wheedling. The practiced tone of a manipulator who thinks he still has leverage. "Baby, please. We need to talk."
"Don't call me that." Her voice is steady. "I'm not your baby. I never was."
"You're confused. They've gotten into your head." He takes another step forward, and all four of us tense. "This isn't you, Jess. The woman I fell in love with would never..."
"The woman you fell in love with didn't exist." Jessica descends the steps, moving past my brothers until she's standing on the porch, eye level with Callum on the ground below. "You created her. Built her out of criticism and control and the constant message that who I was wasn't good enough."
"That's not true."
"You made me shrink myself to fit inside the box you built, and when I still didn't fit, you just made the box smaller." Her voice doesn't waver.
Callum's face flushes red. The charm is slipping, the mask cracking.
"Everything I did was for your own good. I was trying to help you."
"You were trying to control me." Jessica crosses her arms over her chest. "There's a difference."
"You ungrateful..." He stops himself, visibly swallowing the word. Takes a breath. Tries again. "I gave you everything. A home. A future. Access to a world you had no business being part of."
"You gave me anxiety attacks and self-doubt." Jessica's voice rises, finally showing a crack in her composure.
"That's not..."
"It is." She cuts him off. "But I'm done apologizing."
Silence stretches across the front yard.
The wind picks up, rustling the dead leaves scattered across the lawn. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls. The stars continue their slow rotation overhead, indifferent to the drama unfolding beneath them.
Callum's shoulders slump. For a moment, he looks almost pitiful. A drunk man in a wrinkled suit, standing alone in the cold, facing a woman who's finally stopped being afraid of him.
Then his expression hardens.
"You'll regret this." His voice goes ugly. Vicious. "When they get tired of you. A late-presenting omega with nothing to offer."
I move before I consciously decide to.
Three steps put me between Callum and Jessica. My hand lands on his chest, firm but not violent. Not yet.
"Enough." The word comes out low. Dangerous.
"Get your hands off me." Callum tries to push past me. "I have every right to..."
I increase the pressure on his chest, forcing him back. "You forfeited those when you put bruises on her arm."
"That's not..."
"I have video footage of you assaulting her." I lean closer, dropping my voice so only he can hear. "One phone call, and your family's lawyers won't be able to save you."
Callum's face goes pale.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
We stand there, frozen, my hand on his chest, his eyes searching my face for any sign of bluffing.
He won't find one. I don't bluff.
Jessica's voice cuts through the tension.
"Go home, Callum."
I step aside, letting her have the moment.
She's descended the porch steps, standing on solid ground now, flanked by my brothers but not hiding behind them. Her chin is lifted. Her eyes are clear.
This is the woman she was always meant to be. Before him. Before the criticism and control and constant diminishment.
“Fucking Melissa isn’t enough for you?” Her voice is tired but firm.
"Jess..."
“Go home!” She shakes her head.
She turns her back on him and walks up the porch steps, then closes the door behind her with a soft, final click.
Callum stares at the closed door.
I watch him process the reality of his situation. The power he thought he had over her has evaporated like morning fog.
"This isn't over." His voice is hoarse. "My family..."
Sergio descends the steps to stand beside me. "I spoke with your father yesterday. Explained what would happen if you continued this harassment."
"You spoke to my father?"
"He was very receptive." Sergio's voice is cold. "Apparently he's tired of cleaning up your messes. This was the final straw."
Callum's face crumples.
For a moment, he looks like a child who's been told there's no Santa Claus. The arrogance, the entitlement, the absolute certainty that he would eventually get what he wanted... all of it drains away, leaving something small and pathetic in its wake.
"I loved her." The words come out broken.
"No." Carlos speaks for the first time, his voice uncharacteristically flat. "You loved the idea of her. That's not the same thing."
"What would you know about it?"
Carlos moves to stand on my other side, forming a wall of The Negrorios Pack. "I see it every day. In my brothers. In myself. Real love makes you bigger."
Callum stares at us. Four men. United. Unmoving.
"Get in your car." Pedro's voice is clinical. Detached. "Drive back to the city. Don't contact Jessica again nor us."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I file charges. Assault. Harassment. Defamation. You'll spend the next several years in court, and by the time it's over, there won't be enough left of your reputation to salvage."
Silence.
The wind gusts, scattering leaves across the driveway, swirling around Callum's expensive shoes.
He looks at the house one more time. At the warm light glowing through the windows. At the life happening inside that no longer includes him.
Then he turns and walks back to his car.
The Mercedes purrs to life. Headlights sweep across the yard as he backs up, and I watch the red glow of taillights slide down the driveway until the darkness swallows them whole.
We stay there even after the engine fades to nothing, like we're waiting for something that's already gone.
"Think he'll be back?" Carlos's voice breaks the silence.
"No." Sergio shakes his head. "That was his last play. He's got nothing left."
"His mom might try something." Pedro crosses his arms.
"Nah.” I turn toward the house. "The story Rosa published yesterday had two million views before noon. The other women are scheduling interviews. The Morrison law firm is in damage control mode."
"Couldn't happen to nicer people." Carlos follows me up the porch steps. "You think Jess is okay?"
"Let's find out."
The living room is warm and golden, lit by table lamps and the dying embers of a fire. Jessica sits on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the flames. She looks smaller than she did outside. More vulnerable.
But when she looks up at us, her eyes are dry.
"He's gone?"
“Yes.” I cross to the couch and sit beside her. "For good, this time."
"You're sure?"
“Yeah.” I take her hand. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly. "His father pulled his support. His family is cutting their losses. The story is too big, too public. They can't make it go away."
She nods slowly. Processing.
"I didn't feel anything." Her voice is quiet. Wondering. "When I was talking to him. I thought I would feel... something. Fear or anger or sadness. But there was nothing. Just... emptiness."
"That's okay." Sergio settles on her other side, arm wrapping around her shoulders. "That's normal."
"Is it?" She looks up at him. "I spent years with him. Shouldn't I feel more?"
Carlos drops onto the floor at her feet, head resting against her knee. “You were never happy with him, so you lost nothing and gained something more. Self-love.”
Pedro takes the armchair across from us, watching Jessica with careful eyes.
"Emotional detachment after the end of an abusive relationship is common." His voice is gentle. Clinical but warm. "Your brain is protecting you. Processing will come later."
"What if it doesn't?" Jessica's voice cracks. "What if I stay empty forever?"
"You won't." I squeeze her hand. "You're just... clearing space. Making room for something better."
She turns to look at me. Hazel eyes searching my face.
“Like what?”
"This." I gesture at the room. At my brothers surrounding her. "Us. Pack. Whatever comes next."
A tear slides down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, almost angrily.
"I thought I was done crying."
"Crying is allowed." Carlos reaches up and takes her other hand. "Happy tears only, remember?”
She laughs. Watery. Broken. But real.
"I love you." Her gaze moves from Sergio to Pedro to Carlos to me. "All of you. I know I keep saying it. I just need you to know."
"We know." Sergio presses a kiss to her temple. "We love you too."
The fire crackles. The wind whistles around the corners of the old house. Outside, the night stretches on, dark and cold and full of stars.
Inside, we hold our omega.
Our pack.
Our future.