25. Dante
Dante
T he sun is just beginning to dip below the edge of the infinity pool, painting streaks of lavender and gold across the Los Angeles sky. A soft breeze moves through the palm trees, ruffling the leaves with a hush that feels like contentment. Peace.
I don't think I really understood that word until now. Six months ago, I wouldn't have recognized this feeling. This stillness in my chest where there used to be constant vigilance. Where there used to be the weight of past failure.
Brookes breaks the surface with a splash and a laugh, wiping the water from his face with both hands as he floats toward the edge of the pool.
The water slicks over his golden-brown skin, glistening like something holy.
He's in those ridiculous lemon-print swim trunks he bought on a whim, and I swear they've never looked better on anyone.
The scent of roses rises from his warm skin, mingling with the chlorine, somehow making even that chemical smell sweeter.
"Tell me again why we're not already on vacation?
" he asks, breathless, arms spread wide against the tiled lip.
"Because this feels like St. Lucia to me.
" His eyes catch the fading sunlight, turning them almost amber at the edges.
When he smiles like this, unguarded, without the shadows that sometimes cross his face, I feel something in my chest clinch and release in relief.
Levi, stretched out nearby on a lounger in damp swim shorts and a linen button-down left open, smirks over the rim of his drink.
The ice clinks against the glass as he takes a sip, those dimples appearing on his cheeks.
"Because Milan comes first. You're walking in Delvecchi's winter show, remember?
" His deep voice carries easily across the water, warm as the vanilla scent that always surrounds him.
Brookes groans dramatically, rolling his head back, exposing the elegant line of his throat. Water droplets cascade down his collarbone, catching in the hollow there. "Right. High fashion before high tide. Priorities." He flicks water toward Levi, who doesn't even flinch, just grins wider.
Hero surfaces beside him, sleek and calm like a damn dolphin, and leans his forearms on the edge.
His hazel eyes scan the perimeter of the property, a habit none of us have broken, and probably never will, even in these moments of relaxation.
Satisfied, he turns his attention back to Brookes.
"Three months in Europe, sunshine. Then we'll take you to the tropics and feed you fruit by the pool like you're royalty.
" The sandalwood scent that clings to him intensifies in the heat.
"I am royalty," Brookes says, fluttering his fingers, diamonds of water scattering from his fingertips. "I'm just humble about it." The sass in his voice is pure Brookes.
I snort and drag my wet fingers through my hair, settling beside them in the water.
My shoulder brushes against Brookes’ and I feel him lean into the touch, subtle but deliberate.
"Humble? You threatened to cut someone for wrinkling your linen pants last week.
" I keep my tone light, teasing, but I remember how I'd stepped closer when that assistant had fumbled with Brookes’ wardrobe, how my hand had found the small of his back to steady him.
The way his breath had hitched from that momentary flash of panic that still surfaces sometimes in crowded spaces.
"They were custom," he says with an exaggerated pout, those full lips curving in a way that still makes my heart skip.
"And irreplaceable. Like me." There's a flash of vulnerability beneath the joke that only we would recognize, a brief shadow crossing his features before his smile returns, brilliant as ever.
Levi chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "He's not wrong, though.
After Milan, we're overdue for a break." He sets his glass down and stretches, the constellation tattooed on his arm seeming to shift with the movement of his muscles, his birth sign, Aries, catching the golden light of the setting sun.
His eyes soften when they land on Brookes, that protective instinct we all share visible in his gaze.
Brookes gives us all a mischievous look, something soft and wicked shining in his eyes as he floats closer, his lithe body graceful even in water.
"Charlotte promised me St. Lucia," he says, running a wet hand through his short black hair.
"I'm holding her to it. I want white sand, turquoise water, and the three of you shirtless with cocktails in hand. That's my runway goal."
Hero raises a brow, hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "You planning to wear anything?" His voice is quiet but carries that hint of playfulness he reserves only for Brookes.
"Depends who's watching," Brookes teases, his brown eyes dancing with mischief as he moves through the water with the same grace he shows on the runway.
I reach over and tug him closer by the waist, dragging him halfway onto my lap in the pool.
The water laps around us as he settles against me, his skin warm despite the cooling evening.
"We'll make it happen," I say, brushing my fingers over his hipbone, feeling the slight shiver that runs through him at my touch.
"Milan first. Then paradise. You've earned both. "
He quiets, curling into the touch, letting his head rest on my shoulder.
The shadows grow longer, the water warm around us, and I can feel the exact moment when his breath evens, the tension melting from his frame.
His lashes flutter against his cheeks as he closes his eyes briefly, trusting us completely.
He still has his moments, flickers of doubt, of fear, but this?
This is the calm after the storm we weathered together.
"I came into this mission thinking I was here to protect an Omega," I murmur, letting my fingers tracing the curve of his spine beneath the water.
"What I didn't know was that I'd find the love of my life and I'd get to share that love with the two men who've become my brothers.
" The admission comes easier now than it once did, when emotions were something to be locked away, controlled.
Hero glances over, water beading down his chest, droplets catching in the hollow of his throat, and gives me the smallest nod, agreeing with me.
His expression speaks volumes in its subtlety.
The slight softening around his eyes, the barely perceptible curve of his lips that for him is the equivalent of a full smile.
Levi, ever the heart of us, simply stands and closes the distance between the pool and lounger. He sits beside me, feet dangling in the water. He reaches for Brookes’ hand beneath the water and laces their fingers together.
"Not just protection," I say softly, watching how perfectly they fit together. "Not just passion. This is peace. This is home." The words feel inadequate for what we've built, this sanctuary of trust and love that none of us expected to find.
We stay like that as the stars come out, the four of us together in the quiet glow of everything we've built, stronger, softer, and finally whole. The water reflects the first evening stars, rippling with our movements, creating a private universe around us.
The evening air cools around us as night fully settles in, but none of us moves to leave the water.
There's something about this moment I want to preserve, to bottle up and keep forever.
Eight months ago, I couldn't have imagined this.
The four of us fitting together so perfectly, like we were always meant to find each other, like every mission, every scar, every decision led us precisely here.
Brookes shivers slightly against me, his body alerting me before his conscious mind even registers the temperature drop.
Without a word, Hero moves closer, bracketing him from the other side, sharing his warmth.
It's these little things, the wordless understanding, the protective instincts that have transformed from duty into devotion that remind me how far we've come.
"I can practically hear you thinking, Te," Brookes murmurs against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. "What's going on in that tactical mind of yours?"
My fingers trace lazy patterns on his lower back beneath the water. "Just appreciating the view."
He lifts his head, those brown eyes searching mine. "Bullshit," he says softly. "You're getting sentimental on me, aren't you?"
Levi chuckles from his lounger. "Dante? Sentimental? Never."
"You're all assholes," I grumble, but there's no heat behind it. They know me too well now, can read me like no one else ever could.
Hero smirks. "He's thinking about how he never expected to fall in love with the job."
"I'm thinking about how I'm surrounded by mind readers," I counter, but Brookes just grins, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to my jawline.
"You love it," he whispers.
Fuck if he isn't right.
I remember the first time I saw him, terrified but defiant, trying so hard to hide his fear behind sass and bravado.
I was supposed to be professional. Detached.
It was just another assignment: protect the asset, neutralize threats, maintain perimeter security.
Brookes Daniels was never just an asset.
"Come on," Hero says, breaking into my thoughts as he pulls himself out of the pool in one fluid motion, water cascading down his tattooed back. "Let's move this inside before our model catches a chill."
Brookes rolls his eyes. "I'm not that delicate."
"Tell that to the time you got a cold and declared it was the end times," Levi teases, standing and grabbing towels for all of us.
"I had the flu! A legitimate flu!"
"You had a slight temperature for twelve hours," I remind him, helping him out of the pool despite his protests. "And you made us create a last will and testament on a napkin."
Brookes huffs indignantly but accepts the towel Levi hands him. "I was being practical."
"You left your entire Louboutin collection to Charlotte and specified that Hero should get custody of your facial serums," Levi reminds him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"They're expensive serums! Hero's the only one who understands proper skincare."
Hero, already toweling off, just shrugs. "He's not wrong."
There's something about watching them like this, Brookes nestled against Levi's side, Hero close by, all of us moving around his orbit, that makes my body warm and fuzzy in the best way. I follow them inside, listening to their banter, wondering how I ever thought I was complete before this.
Later, after showers and dinner, we settle in the living room.
The space has transformed since Brookes really settled into this place, touches of his personality everywhere, from the ridiculous crystal bowl filled with lemons on the coffee table to the framed fashion prints on the walls.
What was once a sterile and functional holding place to hide from his trauma is now undeniably a home.
Brookes is sprawled across the couch, his head in Hero's lap while his feet rest on mine. Levi sits on the floor beside us, his back against the couch, one hand idly stroking Brookes’ arm as we debate what movie to watch.
"I'm just saying," Brookes argues, "if we're going to Italy, we should at least watch something Italian."
" Call Me By Your Name is not going to prepare you for Milan Fashion Week," I counter.
"It has beautiful scenery! And fashion! Sort of," he huffs in the bratty way I’ve grown to love with my whole heart.
Levi chuckles. "I think Dante's more concerned about the fact that you'll cry again."
"I will not!" Brookes protests, then pauses. "Okay, I might. But that's because I'm sensitive and cultured."
Hero's fingers thread through Brookes’ hair with practiced tenderness, a small smile playing at his lips. "How about Roman Holiday instead? Classic film, Italian setting, less likely to make our Omega emotional the night before we have to pack."
The term 'our Omega' ripples through me like a breath of fresh air.
Ours. I catch Hero's eye over Brookes’ head, that silent communication we've perfected, and I know he feels it too.
This fierce, tender possession that isn't about control but connection, a distinction I've learned is everything.
It still feels surreal sometimes. Three lone Alphas, used to isolation and duty, now a pack, with an Omega worth burning down the world for if necessary.
"Fine," Brookes concedes with an exaggerated sigh, wrinkling his nose in that way that makes me want to kiss the expression right off his face. "But I reserve the right to watch sad gay cinema on the plane."
"Noted," I say, squeezing his ankle gently, letting my thumb trace the delicate bone there.
As the movie starts, the familiar black and white scenes of Rome flickering across the screen, I find myself watching them more than the film.
Hero, attentive and quiet, his fingers never stopping their gentle massage of Brookes’ scalp, occasionally whispering something about the cinematography that reveals the depths behind his silence.
Levi, solid and warm against the couch, occasionally tilting his head back to share quiet observations about Audrey Hepburn's expressions that make Brookes laugh, that genuine, unfiltered sound I never tire of hearing.
Brookes himself, relaxed and unguarded between us, his defenses lowered in a way that still feels like a sacred privilege to witness after everything he's survived.
This is what we fought for through each nightmare, each hesitant step toward trust, each negotiation of boundaries.
What we'll always fight for, every day of our lives together.
Not just his safety, which was once all I thought mattered, but his happiness, his peace, the light in his eyes when he feels truly seen.
Our future. One I couldn't even imagine wanting before him but now can't imagine living without.