CHAPTER 21
ZANE
I'm finishing coloring when I hear my father's heavy footsteps in the hallway. I grip the colored pencil tighter, pressing it against the paper, trying to finish before he tells me to go to bed.
"Zane, it's late, champ," he says, leaning against the doorframe with that usual relaxed manner.
I glance up and give a quick smile. "Wait! Just finishing a drawing."
He steps into the room and leans over my desk, curious. "Let's see what we’ve got here."
Beaming with pride, I push the sheet toward him. "Everyone's happy!"
His eyes scan the drawing carefully.
Taylor wears a blue dress, like Alice’s. Kyle sits at his computer—because he's always at his computer. I’m holding a spray paint can, and my dad stands beside his motorcycle, smiling. But my mom… she’s in bed. Sad.
My father’s smile falters slightly. He points to her. "Why is your mother like that, son?"
I fidget with the colored pencils, my chest tightening, like when I overhear something I shouldn’t. "Because she is sad. Kyle and Tay don’t notice, but I do."
My father is quiet for a moment. Then, he sits on the edge of my bed and gestures for me to come over. I set down my pencils and climb into his lap, and he pulls me close, like I’m still small enough to fit there.
He takes a deep breath. "You know, sometimes people get sick in ways we can’t see. Like when you catch a cold and can’t play properly. But instead of your body, it’s your mind that gets tired. And when that happens, you can stay sad longer than you should."
I rest my head against his chest, absorbing his words. "So Mommy is sick?"
His fingers comb through my messy hair. "In a way, yes. But it's not her fault, champ. She’s just fighting a battle inside herself."
I bite my lip, that tight feeling growing. "Are you going to be sad like that too?"
He squeezes my shoulder gently, offering a small smile. "No. Because I have three beautiful little things that make me happy." He pokes my belly, and I laugh, squirming.
But the question in my head doesn’t go away. I tilt my face up to look at him. "Then why isn’t Mommy happy with us?"
He blinks, as if he hadn’t expected that. For a moment, he just looks at me, and I see something shift in his eyes. But then his smile returns, softer this time. "She is, Zane. Very much. But when you're fighting an illness, sometimes you need time to get better."
I don’t say anything. I don’t like the idea of a sickness that makes you sad for no reason. But I do like the way my father holds me, like nothing bad can reach me while I’m here.
He lifts me easily and carries me to bed, tossing me onto the mattress. I laugh, wrapping myself in the blanket as he tucks me in.
"I’m going to tell you a secret," he says, his voice quieter now. "Something your brother and sister probably wouldn’t understand. But you will—because you see the world differently, my little artist."
I blink up at him sleepily. "What?"
"Sometimes life makes us believe we’re better off alone. But we’re not, Zane."
I frown. "I don’t have a someone."
"You have Abby."
"She’s not mine," I mutter, rolling my eyes.
"No, she’s not," he agrees with a small chuckle. "But one day, your person—whoever they are—will be there for you. And loving them will be as easy as breathing."
I scrunch my nose. "I don’t think I’d like anyone. It seems gross."
My father laughs.
"Now go to sleep," he says, ruffling my hair one last time. "And tomorrow, you can show me more drawings, okay?"
I nod, my eyes already heavy. He turns off the light and walks to the door, but before he leaves, he looks back at me with a smile.
"Good night, champ."
"Daddy?" I mumble.
He turns, the same gentle smile on his face.
"I love you, Daddy. As easy as breathing."
His eyes soften. "I love you too, champ. As easy as breathing."
And even with all the questions still swirling in my head, I feel safe enough to close my eyes.
I wake up to hushed voices in the hallway.
Blinking against the weight of sleep, I clutch my blanket to my chest. The house is dark, except for the sliver of light spilling through the gap in my slightly open door.
I turn onto my side and lie still, listening.
It's Kyle and Cole.
A strange unease settles in my stomach. There’s something off about the way they’re speaking—too quiet, too urgent. Like they’re doing something they shouldn’t. Like they’re… running away.
Slowly, I slip out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. I move soundlessly to the door, fingers tightening around the wood as I peer into the dimly lit hallway.
Kyle is the first person I see. He’s slinging a backpack over his shoulder, his face tight with tension. Cole stands beside him, whispering something, his eyes darting around like he’s expecting someone to catch them.
They look nervous.
No—scared.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Something isn’t right.
I hold my breath as I watch them slip out the back door. Fear claws at my chest. Where are they going? Why do they look so afraid?
I take a step back, my pulse racing. I should follow them. I should call out.
But my feet won’t move.
And then, without thinking, I turn and bolt down the hall.
I reach my parents’ bedroom and push inside. The room is steeped in darkness, but I don’t need light to know where my father is. He’s asleep, lying on his side, his breaths deep and steady.
I scramble onto the bed and shake his arm, my fingers clutching tight.
“Dad.” My voice is an urgent whisper. “Dad, wake up.”
He stirs with a sleepy mumble, cracking open one eye. “Zane… what’s wrong, champ?”
I grip his arm harder. “It’s Kyle,” I say, breathless. “He ran away. With Cole. I saw them.” My voice wobbles. “They looked scared.”
The change in him is instant.
His eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone. He sits up in one swift motion. “What?”
I swallow, my heart hammering. “They went out the back. I saw them, Dad.”
For a moment, he just stares at me. Then he’s moving—throwing on a shirt, his actions sharp, efficient. He doesn’t ask me to go back to bed. He doesn’t say anything at all.
He just leaves.
I stand frozen, small and helpless, watching as he disappears down the same hallway Kyle and Cole had slipped through minutes ago.
A terrible feeling twists in my chest.
Something is wrong.
I should run after him.
But I don’t.
I stay.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
And he never comes back.
I've spent so much time away from Austin that going back feels almost unnatural, even after Amber's death.
Everything is still as I left it—the same scent of dust and tires lingering in the air, the same tree at the end of the street that I used to climb—but the people are different.
Four years ago, when I tried to return, I would have said that everyone had moved on while I remained stuck in the past. But now, I realize that's no longer the case. I, too, have changed.
I glance at my reflection in the car's side mirror. My curly blonde hair is still dry from a month of temporary dye.
My gaze shifts to the worn jacket draped over the passenger seat—the one my dad made for me when I was little, the one Kyle insisted on swapping for a larger version when I turned eighteen.
I hesitate, debating whether to put it on.
Whether I even belong in Evermore anymore.
It’s just Kyle’s house—nothing to stress about.
It’s a nice house, by the way.
I can picture Liam growing up here, happy. The thought melts me a little, makes me take those final steps toward the door.
Before I can knock, the door swings open.
“Zane! You came!”
Abby grins at me, her enthusiasm catching me off guard. I regret not bringing Mia—it would’ve been easier with her here.
I hug Abby and then study her with amused suspicion. “You were spying on me at the door, weren’t you?”
She makes a face that’s somewhere between indignation and holding in a fart, then sighs in defeat. “I was. You wouldn’t get out of the car, and I was worried you’d change your mind.”
Guilt tugs at my chest. I shouldn’t have let her worry like that.
Inside, Liam is utterly focused on mixing paints, his little hands and face already smeared with colors that won’t fully wash off until his next bath.
He looks so full of life, so comfortable here. It’s strange to think that Kyle has a son. That I have a nephew.
I lean back, taking in the house. The familiar scent of wood, dirt, and gasoline lingers in the air, as if nothing has changed. But everything feels different, maybe because I’m different.
My thoughts drift to someone else who should be here. I frown.
“What about Taylor?”
Kyle’s expression shifts instantly. He doesn’t respond right away, just picks up a cloth and slowly wipes the ink from his fingers, his movements deliberate. Finally, he says, “She hasn’t been around much lately.”
My eyebrow arches. Something about his tone feels off, but my mind instinctively searches for the simplest explanation.
“She’s still mad at me, isn’t she?”
Kyle just watches me. He doesn’t confirm or deny it—he doesn’t need to.
That’s the problem with seeing my brother again after so long. He’s always been able to read me before I even speak.
I glance out at the lawn, a knot tightening in my chest. I don’t know what I expected coming back. I’ve spent years trying to put distance between myself and all of this.
But now that I’m here, I realize nothing ever truly disappears.
But people... people change.
And maybe I’m afraid I’ve lost my connection to them forever.
I swallow hard, trying to keep that feeling at bay. “Makes sense,” I mutter. “I haven’t been around much lately either.”
Kyle studies me for a moment before sighing. “Yeah.”
Something about the way he says it pulls at me, like I’m being yanked back to a place that once felt like home but now feels distant. Still, part of me wants to reach for it.
Liam, oblivious to any tension, taps his paintbrush against the wood and makes a satisfied sound, admiring his work.
He looks between me and Kyle, his wide eyes searching, as if trying to understand.
Kyle breaks the silence. “Are you mad at me? Is that why you left?”
“No. It wasn’t about you and Tay... it was about—”
“Amber.”
“Yes.”
“She hurt us all.”
“Not you. That would require you to actually care enough to be hurt.”
Kyle smirks. “I care, okay.” Then, more seriously, “I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. I had things to do, so wallowing like she did would’ve been a waste of time. Just another cycle.”
"So you're saying I could've just ignored the trauma?" I huff, shaking my head. "Great. Wish I'd known that before uprooting my entire life—would’ve saved me the trouble of packing."
Kyle chuckles, and for a moment, silence settles between us. A comfortable silence.
Liam, still wedged between Kyle’s legs, is lost in his drawings, unconcerned with the rest of the world.
Then Kyle speaks again, surprising me.
“I always thought you blamed me for Dad’s death.”
“I blame myself more than I blame you.”
“Why?”
“I told him you were out that night.”
Kyle frowns. “He said he tracked us.”
“He only knew where to look because I told him you guys left. And because of me, he never came back.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Zane. It was the cartel’s fault. And trust me, if I could return the favor to Nico Riviera by taking something precious from him, I would.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist. I forget that most of Evermore doesn’t know the truth—that Seth is Nico’s son.
That Nico doesn’t even know Seth is alive.
Would Kyle still say that if he knew? Would he really hurt Seth?
“They’re all rotten,” Kyle continues. “I’d kill them all.”
“Not all of them are rotten,” I snap, unable to help myself.
Kyle looks at me, confused, before assuming, “You must have met Laura.”
I don’t correct him.
“She’s tolerable,” he admits. “But she wasn’t raised by Nico. Ceci did that. I can’t imagine any child raised by him being anything less than abominable.”
My jaw clenches.
Mia isn’t abominable.
She’s kind. She’s good. She’s the best person I’ve ever met.
I want to scream it at him, but I can’t. Not without exposing Seth’s secret. And suddenly, I understand why Seth keeps it hidden. Because they wouldn’t understand. Because to them, he would always be the destruction Nico left behind.
My phone rings, and I exhale in relief. I hate keeping secrets from my brother, and this one feels heavier than most.
“Zane, I think Mia’s a little tired,” Laura’s voice says calmly.
“I’ll come get her,” I reply, hanging up.
I turn to Kyle. “I have to go.”
He nods. I hesitate before hugging him, pressing a kiss to Liam’s paint-streaked cheek.
Abby looks a little sad as I say goodbye, but she hides it with a smile—like always. I smile back and promise to return.
But I don’t know if I can.
Not with all these secrets between us.
Because maybe Mia was right.
If my family can’t accept that she’s Nico’s daughter, that she’s here to stay—then there’s no place for me near them.
My loyalty lies with Mia. Always.
Laura Barone’s mansion was exactly what I expected from someone in the Barone family—and someone married to Pietro Barone. Cold. Imposing.
The kind of place that made you wonder if cracking a bad joke would be the last mistake you ever made. It had an air of royalty, with just enough subtlety to fool some. But not me. I was always on my toes in this place.
I stopped in front of the door, taking a slow breath.
Before I could ring the bell, Laura herself opened it, as if she had been waiting.
"You came quickly," she commented, leaning against the doorframe. Her analytical gaze swept over me, cataloging every decision that had led me here.
"I’m not exactly patient." I crossed my arms. "I just want my wife."
"She's sleeping." Laura pushed the door open wider. "Come in if you want to carry her yourself."
I stepped inside, already calculating the fastest way to get Mia out. Mia was the sweetest, most precious thing in the universe—to me, at least. Her family? Not so much.
Laura didn't seem like the type to care about etiquette, but considering her possessive lunatic of a husband was nearby and I was about to sweep Mia into my arms, I figured a little caution wouldn’t hurt. I could still run if needed, right?
I followed Laura into one of the rooms, where Mia was sprawled out on the couch, curled up like a lazy cat.
I sighed.
Crouching beside her, I slid one arm under her legs and the other around her back, pulling her gently against my chest.
She murmured something incoherent before nuzzling against my collarbone, breathing a satisfied, "Hmm, Zane," as if I were the most comfortable pillow in existence.
I didn’t smile. But it was close.
I stood with Mia in my arms, ready to leave.
And then Pietro Barone appeared.
Shit. I was almost there.
If Laura made this place feel like a psychological trap, Pietro made it feel like a death trap.
He stood in the middle of the hallway, blocking my exit like an immovable monolith. His cold gaze flicked to Mia, sleeping in my arms, then back to me—sharp, assessing, impenetrable.
"If you hurt this girl," his voice was calm, almost casual, "I will rip your soul from your body and watch as it fades into the void."
Mia stirred slightly, mumbling something about waffles into my shoulder.
I blinked.
Laura, standing beside Pietro, crossed her arms and nodded thoughtfully. "Technically, souls aren’t tangible, so extracting one might pose a logistical challenge. But I appreciate the metaphor."
"It’s not a metaphor," Pietro said without blinking. "I’ll find a way."
Fantastic. One scientifically precise Barone and the other homicidal enough to defy the laws of physics through sheer willpower.
"Noted," I said, adjusting Mia in my arms. "Now, if you could all get out of the way..."
Pietro didn’t move.
"Mia is a pure soul," he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. "If something in her breaks because of you, you’ll wish your existence had never begun."
"Your talent for elaborate threats is impressive."
"Thanks."
"I wasn’t complimenting."
"I know."
I sighed. "Can I go now, or do you have a PowerPoint presentation on creative torture methods?"
Laura tilted her head, considering. "I could prepare a document with statistical projections, if you'd like."
Laura and I had an unspoken understanding, but I get the feeling she suspects something’s up with Mia—especially if she’s looking this concerned.
"I’d rather not learn my death percentages today."
To my surprise, Laura’s gaze softened as she looked at Mia, still nestled against my chest.
"Just take care of my sister, okay?"
Her voice carried an unexpected vulnerability, catching me off guard. But before I could respond, Pietro was already pulling her closer, as if making sure every part of her was intact.
The gesture was automatic. Protective. Possessive.
And suddenly, I reconsidered some things.
For a moment, I wondered if Pietro's hostility had anything to do with Mia. If his problem was with me, if his hatred stemmed from an exaggerated protective instinct toward her. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Mafia people were weird like that.
But no.
It wasn’t about Mia.
It was about Laura.
It was for her that Pietro Barone threatened to rip out my soul.
I wasn’t sure if he realized it himself, but his intentions were clear as day.
He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her sad.
The realization settled over me in a strange, comfortable way.
Pietro wasn’t just an obsessive lunatic.
He was an obsessive lunatic with absolute devotion to Laura.
And that made him even more terrifying.
He was a handsome man—in that sharp, dangerous way that made you want to look away before he noticed you were staring.
But what made him truly unsettling was the way he positioned himself before Laura, as if the entire world was a threat to her and he existed solely to eliminate every single one of them.
So, yeah. It was obvious that he loved his wife. And with that, I relaxed a little. Because I knew Mia was special. I knew she could have anyone she wanted.
But she was mine.
No matter how beautiful, scary, or intimidating someone else was.
She was mine, and no one would take her from me.
Still, the threats, the stance, the murderous coldness—it wasn’t about Mia.
It was about what would happen to Laura if something happened to Mia.
I could sympathize with that.
Pietro held my gaze for a second longer, then finally stepped aside.
Mia, still in my arms, yawned, lifting her head slightly. "Zane..." Her voice was sleepy, almost childlike.
My chest tightened.
"Shh, go back to sleep."
She obeyed without question, trusting me blindly to take her home.
Like I said, as much as I hated Pietro Barone and his obsession with murder, I understood exactly why he was willing to defy the logic of reality to protect Mia.
She was everything.
And I love her… as easy as breathing.