Tone
Grief was never loud the way people thought it was.
It didn’t always come in screams or shattered glass or bodies collapsing under the weight of it.
Sometimes it was quiet. Sometimes silent. Breathless.
A slow, relentless thing that hollowed you out from the inside until there was nothing left but echoes.
It crept in when the world stilled. When the noise faded. When there was no one left to perform for.
That was when it struck hardest.
I sat on the love swing in the far corner of the garden, the soft creak of the chains the only sound as I stared out into nothing. The afternoon air wrapped around me, cool against overheated skin, but it didn’t touch the ache buried deep in my chest.
A tear slipped free. Just one. Tracing a quiet path down my cheek before falling into my lap.
I didn’t move to wipe it away. Nor did I chase the rest. Because they didn’t come.
The worst part was that I couldn’t cry for him. I couldn’t mourn him the way he deserved.
Because crying—really crying—meant admitting the loss. Admitting that Alessio was gone. That he wasn’t coming back. That the space he’d left behind wasn’t temporary. It was permanent. And I couldn’t face that.
So I held it in. Every ounce of it. Locked it down so tight it barely had room to breathe. Pain, unclaimed. Unspoken. But not unfelt.
Gianni’s words replayed in my head, sharp and unforgiving.
You didn’t even cry.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of the swing.
He was right. That was the problem. Gianni knew me better than anyone. Because it had always been the three of us.
Him. Alessio. Me.
Tight as thieves.
We’d grown up together, moved together, fought together.
Where one went, the others followed. It didn’t matter that I was the only girl—I’d never been treated like I didn’t belong.
Even when they tried to soften things for me.
Even when they held back, thinking I couldn’t handle it.
I’d forced my way in anyway. Refused to be anything less than an equal.
I was one of them. Always had been. And I’d spent my entire life making sure they were safe. Fixing them when they broke. Holding them together when everything else threatened to pull them apart.
That was my role. That was my purpose. And I’d done it.
Even when it cost me everything. Especially when it cost me everything.
But losing Alessio—that hadn’t just hurt.
It had carved something out of me I didn’t know how to replace.
And the truth was—I didn’t know if I could survive losing another one of them.
I couldn’t. I knew it. Felt it deep in my bones. Another loss like that would destroy me. Completely. Irrevocably. Which was why I needed to leave.
France wasn’t about running. It was about distance. If I wasn’t here—if I wasn’t so close—maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much if something went wrong again. Maybe the blow wouldn’t land as hard. Maybe I wouldn’t have to watch it happen… then suffer the consequences of my grief.
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, another tear slipping free despite my best efforts.
Coward.
The word sat heavy in my chest. But I didn’t argue with it. Because maybe I was.
“Tone.”
Atlas’s voice cut gently through the quiet.
I didn’t turn.
I heard his footsteps approach, measured and calm as always.
“Do you want me to get Neve?” he asked, stopping just behind me. “She can sit with you.”
I shook my head.
“I just want to be alone.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then the swing dipped slightly as he sat beside me anyway, the chains creaking softly as he pushed off with his foot, setting us into a slow, steady rhythm.
He didn’t speak straight away. Instead, he just sat there with me. Like he understood that silence didn’t always need to be filled.
“I used to think it would look different,” he said eventually.
His voice was quiet. Reflective. I glanced at him then, just briefly.
“What would?” I asked.
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the house, the family, everything beyond the garden walls. “Us.”
I huffed out a faint breath.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “When we were kids… I thought we’d grow up, take over, build something bigger than what came before us. Stronger. Smarter.” A small pause. “Safer.”
The word didn’t move. It stayed where it landed, settling around us like something no one wanted to touch.
Atlas leaned back in his seat, but there was nothing relaxed about him. His fingers tapped once against the armrest before going still, like even that small movement was too painful.
“But life,” he said, his voice quiet, “has a habit of reminding you you’re not in control of everything.”
The tension sat in his shoulders, in the way his jaw locked and unlocked like he was chewing on words he’d never say out loud.
“Sometimes,” I said, softer now, “letting go of that control is the only thing that keeps you standing.”
Alessio wasn’t the loudest presence in the room when he’d been alive. He had this way about him. Quiet, but never weak. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did, people paid attention. Not because he demanded it—because they wanted to.
He noticed things no one else did. The small shifts. The cracks before they split open. He’d catch you on your worst day without making you feel like you were being seen too closely.
And then he’d hand you something simple. Grounding.
A drink. A distraction. A reason to breathe. With no expectations attached.
He just… stayed. Showed up. Over and over again, until one day, it felt like he’d always been there. Like we’d always needed him.
Atlas dragged a hand down his face, slow, like he was trying to pull himself back into the present. But the past had its hooks in him, same as it did in me.
“He shouldn’t have been there,” Atlas muttered, more to himself than to me. “That day—he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near it.”
I didn’t answer straight away. Because we’d had this conversation before. Different words. Same ending.
“If anyone should’ve taken it,” he went on, his voice tightening, “it should’ve been me.”
“There it is,” I said quietly.
His gaze snapped to mine. Sharp. Warning. But I didn’t look away.
“You don’t get to rewrite it,” I continued. “You don’t get to trade places with him just because it would make more sense in your head.”
“It does make sense.”
“No,” I said, firm. “It just hurts less that way.”
I saw the way his shoulders went rigid. The flicker of something raw that slipped through before he locked it down again.
“You barely made it as it is,” I added, quieter now. “Guilt will get you nowhere, Atlas.”
I let the silence sit for a moment before I spoke again.
“He made a choice,” I said. “That was who he was. You know that.”
Atlas looked away, jaw clenched hard. Of course he knew.
Alessio didn’t hesitate when it came to us. He never had. He didn’t weigh the risks or calculate the odds. If one of us was in the line of fire, he stepped into it without thinking twice.
Not reckless. Certain. Like it wasn’t even a question.
“He didn’t die because you failed,” I said. “He died because he refused to let you.”
His throat worked once, like he was trying to swallow something that wouldn’t go down.
We didn’t talk about him like this often. It was easier to carry him in pieces. In habits. In the way we moved, the decisions we made.
But every now and then, he came back like this. Not as a memory. As a presence.
Atlas exhaled slowly, the tension in him easing just enough to be noticeable.
“He would’ve hated this,” he muttered.
“What?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely between us. “All this… reflection.”
I huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. He would’ve told us to shut up and do something useful.”
A faint ghost of a smile touched Atlas’s mouth. It didn’t last, but it was there.
“He’d probably tell you to stop talking altogether,” Atlas added.
“Careful,” I murmured. “You’re getting sentimental.”
I swallowed, my gaze drifting back out into the distance.
“I owe you the truth,” he said then.
I turned fully toward him now, narrowing my eyes slightly.
“About what?”
“Archie.”
The name alone was enough to pull a fresh wave of irritation through me.
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t like him,” Atlas cut in. “That’s not what this is about.”
I folded my arms, leaning back slightly.
“Then what is it about?”
He exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“I know you’re projecting when you see him. You can’t blame him for what happened to Alessio.”
“We don’t associate with Russians, Atlas. That’s always been the case. Why now? Why Archie?”
“I know you loved him fiercely,” Atlas whispered. “But Archie’s been helping us. More than you realize.”
My expression didn’t change.
“He’s Russian,” I said again, my voice flat.
“I’m aware.”
“Then you should also be aware that he can turn on us at any time.”
Atlas’s gaze held mine, steady.
“He hasn’t,” he reminded me.
“Yet.”
“He’s had every opportunity.”
I scoffed softly, shaking my head.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me,” he said.
I stilled slightly. Because Atlas didn’t trust easily, nor did he say things like that lightly.
“Archie is what’s standing between us and total ruin, Tone. I didn’t want to verbalize it, but maybe I need to with you. So you’re aware. He’s not the enemy.”
“It sounds like you’ve put a lot of faith in him,” I said, my voice bitter even to my own ears.
“He’s been very instrumental in cleaning up what’s left of the Russian faction trying to move in on our territory,” he continued. “The ones who don’t respect the line we’ve drawn.”
My jaw tightened.
“And now,” he added, “someone’s put a contract on his head.”
That I hadn’t expected. My eyes flicked to his, searching.
“He didn’t even know at first,” Atlas said. “Gianni found out before he did.”
Something shifted in my chest. Small. Unwelcome.
“And you feel like you owe him,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
Atlas nodded once.
“I do.”
I let out a breath, sharp and disbelieving.
“We owe him nothing,” I said. “He’s Russian. That alone makes him a liability.”
Atlas didn’t react. Instead, he watched me carefully.
“Do you remember the night your brother’s home was stormed and you and Izzy were there?” he asked.
My stomach tightened. Of course I remembered. I’d never forget the night we almost died at the hands of the Russians.
“He didn’t have to step in,” Atlas said quietly. “He could have walked away. Saved himself.”
But he hadn’t.
“He risked his life to protect you,” Atlas reminded me. “To ensure your safety.”
My fingers curled slightly against my arms.
Silence settled between us again. Thicker this time.
“He’s proven himself,” Atlas said finally. “Time and time again. Not just in that moment—but in everything that’s come after.”
I looked away. Because I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to admit he was right.
“You don’t have to like him,” Atlas said, his tone softening just slightly. “I’m not asking you to.”
Good. Because that wasn’t happening.
“But when things go wrong—” he paused, his gaze steady on me “—and they will… Archie is the man you want in your corner.”
The words settled deep. Uncomfortable. Unavoidable.
I stared out into the dark again, the swing still moving gently beneath us. And for the first time—words failed me.