52. Silas
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
T he sharp tap of my pen against the desk was like a metronome of my own stupidity.
I wasn’t thinking. Just zoning in and out, eyes burning as they locked onto the same cluster of numbers I’d been staring at for what? Hours? Days? Weeks?
I flicked my gaze down to the time on the screen.
12:32a.m.
Shit. How the hell had it gotten so late?
I set the pen down, rolling my shoulders back, trying to shake the irritating ache that’d buried itself deep in my muscles and tendons.
I barely even remembered sitting down at my desk. One minute, I was running through surveillance reports, cross-checking timestamps, trying to tighten the non-existent net around the bane of my life. And then out of nowhere, it was tomorrow.
Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I grabbed my phone with the intent of at least checking in on Lilith. The second I unlocked it, the screen lit up with a barrage of missed texts.
Lilith
Did you know I’m still devastatingly hot and hilarious and you 100% miss me.
Lilith
Definitely not picturing you in flannel chopping wood right now. Just wanted to make that crystal clear.
Lilith
You want to kiss me. You want to kiss me so bad.
Lilith
Know you’re busy, but can you just say something? Anything?
That last text hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.
I hadn’t ignored her. I hadn’t even seen them. Hours ago, she’d been waiting for me to say something, and I didn’t even realise.
Guilt curled hot and sharp in my veins.
I meant to check in. I’d thought about it at lunch. But then something else had pulled me in, another search, another step closer to ending this whole damn thing, and I just… forgot.
I powered down the monitors, shoved my files into my bag and grabbed my coat. Enough for tonight. I needed to go home.
Streaks of neon and silver lights blurred past me as I weaved through the nearly empty city streets, fingers tightening on the wheel.
Was she already asleep? She probably was. She should’ve been.
Fuck, I missed her.
Once Clark was gone, once the asshole was buried six feet under or locked behind a steel door, we wouldn’t have to miss each other. Everything would be fine, we would be fine.
It was just past 1a.m. by the time the soft chime of the elevator echoed into the penthouse.
Gesù Cristo.
I took a step forward, eyes locking onto the disaster zone that used to be my kitchen. The island alone looked like a last meal crime scene.
Half-empty containers of spaghetti, a nearly demolished lasagna, an entire loaf of bread savagely torn apart by hand, a container of tiramisu with a single bite taken out of it, parmesan cheese dusted across the counter, a bottle of olive oil lay on its side, the cap missing.
The soft hum of a saxophone drifted through the speakers, smooth and expensive, like I’d just walked into a high-end steakhouse.
Jazz.
Lilith doesn’t listen to jazz.
I just stood there for a second, frozen, processing.
Then my eyes caught movement on the floor.
The Roomba.
It whirred softly as it bumped into the counter, wearing a baseball cap.
No. Wearing my baseball cap.
My jaw tightened as I crouched down, reaching for the tiny, crumpled piece of paper stuck to the top.
‘Corporate Executive in Training.’
What the hell had happened in my penthouse?
I exhaled slowly, pushing to my feet, when a soft sound had me turning my head toward the living area.
My gaze landed on the couch. On Lilith. She was flat out, curled up, completely dead to the world.
Her dark hair spilled over the cushions, legs tucked up, one arm draped lazily over her stomach.
But my brows furrowed as I processed what I was actually looking at.
Shirt. Tie. Trousers. Jacket.
Was she wearing one of my suits?
The tie was loosened around her neck, the collar popped slightly. The trousers were way too long, the waistband rolled over twice, probably so she wouldn’t trip over them.
One part of me wanted to laugh. The other part of me was plain confused.
I crouched down beside her, gaze dragging over every delicate feature, drinking her in. The soft curve of her cheek, the way her dark lashes fanned against her skin, lips flushed the palest pink.
She looked peaceful. Like she’d had fun. And I’d missed it.
I moved to brush a few stray strands of hair from her face, and she stirred slightly, shifting against the cushions, breath hitching as she blinked up at me groggily. “You’re home.”
I huffed a small breath. “Apparently.”
She made a quiet noise, moving like she was trying to wake up properly.
“Do you want to go to bed, sweetheart?”
She nodded sleepily, pushing herself up on one elbow.
I reached for her. “I’ll carry you.”
“No. I’ll puke.”
Fair enough.
She yawned, then laced her fingers with mine and tugged me toward the bedroom. I followed easily, letting her pull me along, my gaze drifting down to the mess of fabric hanging off her.
She looked ridiculous.
She looked like home.
The late-night city lights spilled through the curtains as she stood in front of me, barely awake, swaying slightly.
“What happened?”
She yawned, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. “Me and Molly played dress up with your suits.”
“Of course yo u did,” I said with a smirk.
I reached for the jacket first, sliding it from her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. The tie was next, my fingers working it loose, undoing the knot carefully.
She didn’t stop me. Didn’t even open her eyes. Just hummed, forehead brushing my chest as she tipped forward slightly.
“Dio, sei incredibile,” I murmured as I unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off her.
“Sei la cosa più bella che abbia mai toccato.” I ran my hands down the bare skin of her arms, smoothing them over her ribs.
“E lo sai?” I whispered, pressing my palm flat against her spine, anchoring her against me. “Non lascerò mai che nulla ti faccia del male. Mai.”
Her fingers curled lazily into the front of my shirt, her breath deep and steady against my chest.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Bedtime.”
She gave a small noise of protest but let me guide her into the bed. I eased her down, tucking the covers around her. “I’ll go get you some water, okay?”
I moved to stand but her fingers curled around my wrist, holding me in place. She blinked up at me, grinning. “Tu sei caldo e forte, cavallo grande.”
I froze. “Cavallo grande?”
She squinted. “Yeah. That means, like… big guy, right?”
I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down my face. “No, sweetheart. You just called me a large horse.”
Her brows knit together. “Oh…”
Then she giggled, soft and breathy, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Shit. That’s not what I meant.” She paused, then wiggled her eyebrows. “Although…”
I huffed out a low laugh, shaking my head.
Gesù Cristo.
“ If you want to say ‘ big guy, ’” I muttered. “It’s ‘ragazzo grande. ’”
She hummed, testing the words in her head.
“Dormi, tesoro,” I whispered, brushing my lips against her forehead one last time. “Sleep, sweetheart.”
Her soft laughter chased after me like an echo as I slipped out of the bedroom.
She’d just called me a fucking horse. A large horse, specifically. And I’d never wanted to kiss her more.
I shook my head, stepping into the aftermath of the bomb explosion in my kitchen, but my mind stayed on her. On that sleepy grin. The way she’d fumbled through the words.
She’d tried to learn Italian. For me. Sure, she’d used it to call me hot and strong. And sure, she’d absolutely butchered it. But still. I was so damn lucky .
I gripped the edge of the counter, staring down at the mess. I’d always hated mess.
I liked order. Structure. Things in their place.
But this? I didn’t mind this. Not when it was her.
She did this. She’d been there, in my space, living in it, filling it with laughter and warmth and terrible Italian pronunciation.
And shit, I wanted that. I wanted this. This life.
I wanted to walk into this exact mess every damn day.
I wanted to find her asleep on my couch again, wearing my suit, curled up in my home like she belonged there.
Because she did.
More than anything in my life, I wanted this. I wanted her .
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and turned back toward the bedroom, jaw tight, chest burning.
I’d take her the water. Then, I was going to get back to finding him. I was going to end this. So she could keep making messes in our penthouse every damn day for the rest of our lives.