Chapter 12
The night’s gone to hell.
It’s past ten when I finally step out of the car, the weight of the day still clinging to my skin like smoke.
The warehouse was a disaster—late delivery, missing product, and a man who thought he could skim off the top without me noticing.
He’s lucky I didn’t end his career—or his breathing—tonight.
I should be thinking about numbers. Repercussions. What to do next.
But instead, my mind keeps circling back to her.
Isabella.
The way she looked this morning, sunlight catching her hair as she sipped coffee in my kitchen like she’d been doing it all her life. The way she told me to be careful, like she meant it.
I hate that she’s in my head.
Hate it more that I don’t want her out of it.
Nicole kept me updated all day—every text clipped and efficient. She’s fine. She called her family. She’s helping Sofia with homework.
I should’ve been angry that she used her phone.
I wasn’t.
I smiled, of all damn things.
Because of course she did.
Of course, she’d defy me the first chance she got.
She’s trouble in its purest form.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.
When I finally make it upstairs, the penthouse is quiet. Too quiet.
The lights are low. Nicole’s jacket is gone from the hook—she’s already left for the night.
I start down the hall toward my room, exhaustion dragging at my bones. Then I stop.
Her door’s open.
Empty.
My pulse spikes instantly.
The silence turns into a scream in my head.
“Isabella?”
No answer.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I think she’s gone. That she found a way out. That she’s out there, alone, unprotected, and I’ll never—
Then I hear it.
Her voice. Soft. Gentle. From farther down the hall.
I follow the sound, every muscle still tight, until I reach Sofia’s door.
It’s cracked open, just enough for the light to spill through.
I step closer—and freeze.
Isabella’s sitting on the edge of Sofia’s bed, the little one curled against her side, tiny fingers tangled in the hem of her sweater. She’s whispering something, her voice low and careful.
“Are you staying with us forever?” My breath stops when Sofia asks Isabella the question. Like I am waiting for her answer to breathe again, but I can’t hear her low answer.
“Papà smiles more now. He doesn’t yell as much. I think he’s happier since you came.” My throat feels like it is going to close up. I never meant Sofia to see that side of me. I try my hardest to give her only my best side, but my little girl has always seen more than she should.
Sofia mumbles something about queens and crowns, and Isabella smiles softly, smoothing her hair.
“I’ll still help him anyway I can. And I’ll always be your friend, okay? Always,” she’s saying, and leans in and kisses my girl.
The sight hits harder than any bullet ever could.
My throat tightens, the breath leaving me all at once.
Because it’s not just kindness.
It’s belonging.
Sofia’s never let anyone that close since her mother died. Not even Nicole. But she’s wrapped around Isabella like she’s been waiting for her all along.
And Isabella—this stubborn, infuriating woman who has fought me at every turn—is holding my daughter like she was made to.
I lean against the doorframe, unseen. Watching.
She presses a kiss to Sofia’s forehead, whispering something I can’t quite hear. The kind of words I used to hear from my wife’s lips before everything turned to ash.
I swallow hard, my hand curling into a fist to keep from reaching for her.
She looks up then, maybe sensing me, and our eyes meet across the room.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The only sound is Sofia’s soft breathing between us.
There’s no anger left in me. Just the sharp, unbearable ache of everything I’ve tried not to feel.
She’s not supposed to be here—in my home, in my life, in my heart.
But she is.
And I know, standing in that doorway, that I’m already lost.
I wait until Sofia’s fully asleep before I step inside. Isabella doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, she just watches me quietly as I tuck the blanket tighter around my daughter.
When I straighten, she stands and whispers, “She had a nightmare. I just… stayed with her until she calmed down.”
I nod, voice rough. “Thank you.”
“She’s incredible,” Isabella says softly. “You’ve done a good job with her.”
I can’t look at her when I answer. “Her mother helped.”
There’s a pause. Then, quietly, “She’d be proud of you.”
The words sink deep, hitting the part of me I keep buried under concrete and control.
“Get some sleep,” I tell her finally. “It’s late.”
She hesitates, her eyes searching mine for something I can’t give her. Then she nods and slips out past me, her scent—warm and sweet—lingering in her wake.
When she’s gone, I sit on the edge of Sofia’s bed for a moment longer, staring at the door.
Because I know the truth now, the one I’ve been trying not to face.
Isabella DeLaurentis isn’t my prisoner anymore.
She’s my weakness.
And that’s more dangerous than anything waiting outside these walls.
The house is silent again.
Sofia’s asleep. The city hums far below, but up here, there’s nothing left but ghosts and exhaustion.
I stand under the shower until the water runs cold, watching the red swirl from my knuckles down the drain. Not blood this time—just skin rubbed raw, a habit I never outgrew. I tell myself I’m washing the night off. I know better. Some things don’t rinse away.
When I finally step out, I pull a towel through my hair and catch my reflection in the mirror.
A stranger stares back.
One who looks too tired.
Too lonely.
Too aware of what he wants and can’t have.
I grab a shirt from the chair by the door, but don’t bother buttoning it all the way. The wound at my shoulder aches, a dull reminder of what happens when I let my guard down.
And yet, here I am, already walking down the hall toward the one thing I can’t protect myself from.
Her.
Her door is cracked open. A line of soft light spills across the floor from the city beyond the windows.
She’s curled on her side, tangled in the blanket, the notebook Sofia gave her resting against her chest. The sight stops me in my tracks.
Every part of me says to turn around. To go back to my room. To keep the distance I’ve been fighting to maintain.
But my feet don’t listen.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and… watch.
She sleeps like she fights—with all of herself. Brow furrowed, mouth soft but determined, one hand clutching the edge of the pillow like it’s the only thing anchoring her.
The moonlight catches her hair, turns it silver at the edges. I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t want to notice.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
I tell myself I’m here because I need to make sure she’s safe. That’s the lie I cling to every time I find an excuse to come near her.
Truth is, I just needed to see her.
To prove she’s still here.
Still breathing.
Still mine to protect, even if I have no right to think of her that way.
She shifts in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath. My name, maybe. Or maybe I want it to be.
The sound pulls a sharp ache through my chest.
I push a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. My heart shouldn’t be doing this. Beating like it had forgotten what kind of man it belonged to.
I should leave.
But instead, I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor just outside her room, head tipped back against the doorframe.
From here, I can see the outline of her through the crack of light. Hear the faint rhythm of her breathing. It’s steady. Calming in a way I haven’t felt in years.
Sofia’s words echo in my head—Papà needs a Queen to help him carry the crown.
I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, a low curse slipping out.
That child sees too much.
And she’s right.
I’ve carried this life too long alone.
Too many bodies. Too many secrets. Too much silence.
And now there’s a woman asleep in the next room who makes me want things I swore I buried with my wife.
Peace.
Laughter.
A home that feels alive again.
I lean my head back and let the thought hit me, unflinching.
If I believed in mercy, I’d pray she never finds out how deep this goes.
Because the truth is simple, cruel, and already written:
I can protect Isabella from the world.
But I can’t protect her from me.