18. Viral #2
She crossed the distance between us. "Ava didn't need a perfect father in that courtyard. She needed the one she has."
My jaw tightened.
"She reached for you," I said.
Riley's expression softened. "Because I was already in front of her. Because I knew where the headphones were. Not because she didn't want you."
"You were the one she trusted."
"She trusts both of us, Luca. That isn't you losing something. It's Ava gaining someone."
The bag creaked between us, slowly losing momentum.
Riley rested two fingers over the pulse in my forearm. "Presence matters more than damage control."
The contact was light. It still pinned me in place.
"I don't know how to protect her from this."
"Then start by not leaving her alone with it."
For the first time since dawn, I stopped looking for something to hit. Upstairs, my daughter was waiting to see whether I would come back.
Donny had turned the suite's dining table into a command center.
Three laptops, two phones, a legal pad, and Ava's abandoned box of crayons covered the glass. She sat curled into the corner of the sofa with her tablet and headphones, one foot tucked beneath her. Every few minutes, her eyes flicked toward me to make sure I was still there.
I stayed where she could see me.
Riley slid into the chair across from Donny and opened a blank document. "We stop reacting and decide what the story is."
Donny pointed at her with his pen. "Exactly. We own it before Victor sells it."
"There is no 'we,'" I said. "Ava stays out of it."
Riley's fingers paused above the keyboard. "Agreed."
"No footage of her. No family interview. No heroic-dad angle."
"Also agreed."
Donny leaned back. "You done arguing with people who aren't fighting you?"
I ignored him.
Riley typed a heading. "First statement: Luca intervened when a guest became physically aggressive. He used restraint, not violence. Security removed the guest. End of story."
"Too clean," Donny said. "People trust details."
"People weaponize details," I said.
Riley looked at me. "Then we give them only the ones that protect you."
The word protect sat wrong.
I crossed my arms. "I'm not the one who needs protecting."
Her gaze held mine. "You're allowed to need it too."
Donny cleared his throat loudly and scribbled something on the pad. "Second point. No live interview. Recorded only. Questions approved."
"There won't be an interview."
"Luca," he said, "silence leaves room for Jax, Victor, and every washed-up commentator with a microphone."
"Let them talk."
"They already are," Riley said. "And they're turning your restraint into a debate because you're giving them nothing else."
She rotated the laptop toward me. The draft was spare. No spin. No mention of Ava. No excuse for what I'd almost done. At the bottom, she had added one line:
Protecting someone should never be confused with losing control.
My chest tightened.
"That sounds like a slogan."
"It sounds like the truth."
Outside, another burst of shouting rose beyond the windows. Ava's shoulders went rigid. I was beside her before I thought about moving. She leaned into my side, and I rested my hand over her headphones.
The noise dulled beneath my palm.
Behind me, Riley said softly, "This is why we need to control what happens next."
I looked at Ava, then at the statement waiting on the screen. Every spotlight found a way to burn. I just didn't know whether stepping into it was the only way to keep it off her.
My phone chimed from the dining table.
I almost ignored it.
Ava had fallen asleep against my side, one cheek pressed to my ribs, her headphones crooked around her neck.
Riley sat on the floor near the coffee table, revising the statement with Donny in a low voice.
For the first time all morning, the suite had gone quiet enough to hear the air-conditioning hum.
Then my phone chimed again.
Donny glanced toward it. "That's not your usual tone."
"It's email."
"Congratulations on understanding technology."
I shifted carefully, easing a pillow beneath Ava's head before standing. She stirred but didn't wake.
The screen lit beneath my hand.
$10-MILLION EXHIBITION OFFER — RESPONSE REQUIRED 24 HRS
For a second, I just stared.
Donny was beside me before I opened it. "Well. Victor moves fast."
"You think this came from him?"
"I think ten million dollars doesn't materialize before breakfast unless somebody has been waiting for the right headline."
Riley rose from the floor. "Who sent it?"
"Northstar Combat Promotions." I scrolled past the opening paragraph: guaranteed purse, international streaming rights, one-night exhibition in Las Vegas. Full medical clearance required. Opponent to be announced upon acceptance.
The number sat in the middle of the screen like bait under glass.
Ten million dollars.
Enough to secure Ava's future twice over. Enough to fund every therapy, every specialist, every quiet life I wanted for her. Enough to make sure not everything we had was riding on this resort's success. Enough to put me back beneath lights bright enough to destroy all of it.
"No," I said.
Donny held out his hand. "Let me see."
"You heard me."
"I did. I'm checking who wants the answer."
I passed him the phone.
His expression changed halfway down the page.
"What?"
He zoomed in on the legal footer, then grabbed one of the laptops and started typing.
Riley stepped closer to me. "Luca?"
Donny's fingers moved faster. "Northstar's outside counsel is Halpern, Weiss and Cole."
The name meant nothing to me.
He turned the laptop around. A list of corporate filings filled the screen, linked by arrows and subsidiary names.
"Victor's investment group used the same firm on the resort acquisition," he said. "Same managing partner. Same registered agent on two shell companies."
The room seemed to narrow.
"You're saying Victor arranged this?"
"I'm saying the promoter's legal contact sits inside Victor's network."
My phone buzzed in Donny's hand. A new message appeared beneath the offer.
Clock is running.
Donny looked up at me.
This wasn't an opportunity. It was pressure with a price tag, wrapped in enough money to make refusal look irresponsible.
But Victor wasn't only asking me to fight.
He was offering to resurrect the South Beach Wolf—the sold-out arenas, the penthouse parties, the women whose names I never learned, the smashed cameras and morning-after headlines.
The version of me who had mistaken being watched for being wanted and didn't care whether people loved me or hated me as long as they never looked away.
Ten million dollars to let that man back through the door.
Riley had only just started believing he was gone.