Chapter 16
LEVI
"Can we have some privacy?" I asked.
My voice sounded like gravel in a blender, but I got the words out.
Byron nodded immediately. "Of course. The yacht is yours, if you want it. It's quiet. Private. No one will bother you."
Of course, there was a yacht.
I should've been annoyed. Should've bristled at the casual display of wealth, the assumption that a fucking yacht was the solution to having your entire world blown apart.
But I was too tired to care.
"Fine," I said.
My father gestured toward the back of the house. "Through the veranda. Down the lawn. You'll see it at the dock."
Charlie pushed off the wall. "I can show you—"
"No," I cut him off. "We'll find it."
He nodded once, jaw tight, and stepped back.
Amelia's hand tightened in mine. "Let's go."
We walked out through the back of the mansion, past more sitting rooms and the kitchen, through the veranda doors that opened onto manicured grass stretching down toward the water.
The night was still humid, the air thick with salt and something floral I couldn't name. The moon hung low over the harbor, painting the water silver.
The yacht loomed at the end of the dock—sleek, black, massive. It looked like something out of a spy movie, all sharp lines and tinted glass.
A crewmember waited at the gangway, nodded politely as we approached. "Mr. Dane. Ms. Emerson. The main stateroom is ready for you."
"Thanks," I muttered.
We boarded. The deck was polished teak, the railings gleaming chrome. Inside, the main cabin was all dark wood and leather, soft lighting casting everything in warm amber tones.
The crewmember showed us to the stateroom—king bed, wide windows overlooking the water, a bar displayed in the corner.
"If you need anything, just call," he said, and disappeared.
I went straight to the bar.
Found whiskey—good stuff, older than I was—and poured two glasses. Handed one to Amelia, downed mine in one swallow, and poured another.
She sipped hers, watching me over the rim.
"You good?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But I will be."
I took another drink, slower this time, and leaned against the bar.
"I need to tell you something," I said. "About two years ago."
Her eyes sharpened. "Levi—"
"No," I cut her off. "I need to say this. I should've said it then, but I couldn't. Now I can."
She set her glass down and waited. I took a breath.
"We're past top-secret bullshit," I started. "But what happened goes even higher than that."
Her brow furrowed, but she didn't interrupt.
"You were right," I said. "About the story. About the contractors. Some political prick thought he'd save the world on his own, naively appropriating funds for a small army of private mercenaries. These guys were especially cunning. Very good at disguising themselves as the good guys."
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
"At first, I really didn't think there was a story," I continued. "I thought you were chasing shadows. But then, not hours before I was supposed to pick you up at the motor pool, I found out the truth. It was by accident. I overheard a conversation that led to me poking a little deeper."
Amelia's expression didn't change, but I could see the tension coiling in her shoulders.
"What I found shocked me," I said. "These mercenaries weren't just running off-book operations. They were preparing something big. A large-scale operation to exterminate an entire village. Civilian targets. Women, kids. The whole town."
Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh, my God."
"And that wasn't the worst part," I said. "They knew about you. They knew you were digging. And they were prepared to kill you, too. Make it look like collateral damage. Another journalist caught in the crossfire."
The glass in her hand trembled.
"I wasn't about to let that happen," I said. "So, I took a small team—guys I trusted—and we followed the mercenaries. Let them get far enough out that they thought they were clear. Then I called in the wolves."
I drained the rest of my glass.
"Air strikes. Fire from my team. We wiped out the entire platoon. Every last one of them."
Silence.
Amelia stared at me, eyes wide, processing.
"When my chain of command found out, they went ballistic," I continued.
"Threatened to lock me away for life. Court-martial.
Leavenworth. The whole nine yards. But someone must've had a level head, because they understood that I'd done for them what they couldn't do for themselves—I'd cleaned up the mess in short order. "
I set the empty glass down.
"After that, the dominoes fell quickly. I had to disappear.
Swift reassignment. I had to sign no fewer than three NDAs.
The 'official' story was concocted for the media—the one you and the rest of the world saw.
And the politician who arranged it all? He was found a week later. Heart attack. Thirty-nine years old."
Amelia's throat worked. "Jesus, Levi."
"So, there it is," I said. "The truth and nothing but.
After everything happened, I knew you'd be mad.
I knew you'd hate me for cutting you off.
But they watched me for a year—monitored every call, every email, every move—until the Army thought they could trust me again.
Then they reassigned me to my current job.
Ironic, really. Utilizing the same talents I'd used to piss them off. "
I looked at her, waiting for the judgment. The anger. The disgust.
But she just stared at me, eyes searching my face.
"There's more," I said. Because fuck it. If I was going to burn everything down, I might as well burn it all.
"I've been taking out the trash on my own," I said. "Using intel to kill the motherfuckers who threaten my country. Traitors. Spies. People who sell out their brothers for a paycheck."
Her eyes widened.
"Paris," I said. "That was my most recent exploit. Two former Army guys selling operational intelligence to Iranian assets. I tracked them down, confirmed what they were doing, and put bullets in their heads."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
I waited. For her to call me a murderer. To walk away. To tell me I was exactly the monster she'd always feared I might be.
Instead, she asked, "Did you ever think of me?"
The question hit me like a punch.
"Always," I said, voice cracking. "I always wanted to call you. Sneak away and explain everything. But as time passed, I just assumed you'd forgotten about me. Moved on. Found someone who wasn't a walking classified file."
"I never did," she said quietly.
"I know that, now."
She crossed the room and sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing her in.
"What are we supposed to do from here?" I asked.
She looked up at me, eyes fierce. "Do you love me?"
My heart swelled so hard it hurt.
I couldn't say it earlier. Not with Byron standing there, not with Charlie watching, not with the mess of my father and my half-brothers and all the lies swirling around me like a storm.
But now? Now, I could.
"I've loved you," I said, "ever since the time you found that snake in your boot and instead of screaming for help, you stomped it to death with your other boot."
She laughed—surprised, genuine—and the sound broke something open in my chest.
"That was the moment?" she asked.
"That was the moment," I confirmed. "I thought, 'This woman is going to either kill me or save me, and I don't care which.'"
She laughed again, softer this time, and I kissed her.
Not desperate. Not hungry. Just love. Just truth.
"I love you," I said against her mouth.
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "I love you, too."
The words settled between us like a vow.
I wanted time to stop right then and there.
Wanted the world to remain on that yacht, anchored in the dark water, insulated from everything waiting for us on shore.
Because the outside world—Dominion Hall, Byron, the Charleston Danes, the enemies circling closer—seemed like the last place I wanted to be.
But even as I held her, even as I let myself believe for just a moment that we could stay here forever, I knew we couldn't.
The world didn't stop for people like us. It just kept spinning, dragging us with it, whether we were ready or not.
So, I held her tighter, pressed my forehead to hers, and let myself have this.
One perfect, fragile moment. Before we had to face everything else.