Chapter 30 Nathan
Chapter Thirty
Nathan
Adrianna’s words echo long after she walks out of the kitchen and leaves me standing there alone.
And I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.
The truth is, for sixteen years I’ve been so fucking alone. And I don’t ever want to be that alone again.
I refuse to be.
“I don’t want you making promises right now. Not when we’re still under the spell of Vegas weddings and honeymoon nights. Okay?”
A spell. Jesus Christ.
If that’s what she thinks last night was—what we are—I’m in deeper shit than I realized.
I stand in the middle of the house I re-designed around her—this big, warm space meant to make her feel safe, cherished, home—and all I feel is a punch of helplessness I haven’t felt since fuck, I can’t even remember.
Fuck.
I run my fingers through my hair, then I slam my hands on the counter because, no. No, that’s not right.
I’ve only ever felt this helplessness once before.
On the day I left her to hitch a ride on that cursed goddamn rocket ship to fame and fortune.
Because that’s what I did.
I walked away.
Chasing music.
Chasing fame.
Chasing everything except the girl I swore I’d die for.
And now, when she looks at me, she’s looking like any second I’m going to vanish again.
The hurt is sharp, quick, and embarrassingly real—lodged under my ribs like a blade.
But underneath that?
There’s something else.
Determination.
Cold, solid determination.
Because she’s wrong.
This isn’t a spell.
This isn’t nostalgia.
This isn’t fake.
I knew the truth the second I saw her again in that damn hardware store—tight jeans, long hair, a woman grown and beautiful and so fucking strong.
This is love. The real fucking kind.
It’s always been love with Ad.
And I’ll tear it all fucking down before I let her think otherwise.
But first? I need to remove the threat trying to rip her life—and Bella’s—apart.
I pull out my phone.
Scroll through contacts.
Hit a number I’ve been carrying for months but never used because I know exactly what happens when I call it.
Remy Falco answers on the first ring.
“Well, well. Nathan Thorn,” he says, voice sharp and amused. “Thought you were done touring and didn’t need our services anymore.”
“Wasn’t kidding about quitting the tour life,” I mutter. “But, uh, I need help with something else. Something personal.”
Silence.
Then his tone drops, all business.
“What’s wrong?”
I pace the length of the room, fist tightening at my side.
“There’s a man named Giovanni Russo,” I say. “He showed up at my mother-in-law’s house—”
“Your what?”
“Long story,” I snap. “Focus.”
Remy chuckles once. “Alright, alright. Continue.”
“He claims to be the father of my niece. My wife’s late sister’s kid. This prick has a lawyer. Paperwork. He’s trying to get temporary custody.”
Remy exhales slowly. “And what do you want from me, Thorn? A background check? Pressure? Someone to pay him a visit and make him reconsider life choices?”
“Everything. All of it,” I bite out.
Then quieter, darker.
“I want this threat fucking gone.”
He’s silent for a beat, and when he speaks again, his voice is deadly calm.
“If this man is dangerous, we’ll neutralize the problem. But I need to know, what are you asking for? Protection? Surveillance? Or something a little more decisive?”
My pulse hammers.
Decisive.
I’d burn the world for her.
I’d level everything for Bella.
But I’m not stupid enough to say that out loud.
“Start with intel,” I say. “I want to know who he is. Where he comes from. Who he works for. His finances. His skeletons. Everything.”
“And after intel?”
“After intel, I want him nowhere near my wife or my niece. Ever.”
Remy lets out a low whistle. “Man, when you fall, you fucking plummet. From winning awards and making platinum records to married and making death threats in just a couple of days? Who even are you?”
I drag a hand over my face.
“Can you handle this or not?”
He sobers immediately.
“Consider it done. I’ll send a team. Russo won’t sneeze without us knowing.”
“Good.”
“And Thorn?” he adds, quieter. “Try telling your wife how you feel before you bulldoze the world for her. Women tend to like that shit.”
I hang up before he can say anything else.
Because he’s right.
And hearing it out loud pisses me off more than anything Giovanni Russo could ever do.
I pocket my phone.
Look around the room.
Our room.
My gaze lands on the new king-sized bed—our bed—where I plan to make love to her again. Soon.
Because this is my life now, and I want it more than anything.
I want this house. I want to build a life with her.
The future I didn’t know I wanted until she walked back into my orbit.
I inhale.
Exhale.
Resolve settles in my bones like steel.
Adrianna Thorn is mine.
Bella is ours.
And I’m done letting fear or hesitation dictate anything.
Time to prove it.