Chapter 14 Giovanni
GIOVANNI
She comes apart in my arms.
It’s neither quiet nor graceful. It’s grief stripped down to muscle and breath, to sobs that tear out of her chest like something feral. She clutches at me and shakes, words tumbling over each other, barely coherent.
“She didn’t run,” Amber keeps saying. “She wouldn’t have run. I knew it. I knew it.”
Her voice breaks completely on the last word.
Coral.
The name is all over her, in every shuddering breath, in the way her fingers dig into my coat like she’s afraid the world will pull her under if she lets go. This isn’t fear anymore. This is confirmation. Proof made of broken furniture and red paint.
I hold her tighter, one arm firm around her back, the other cradling her head against my chest. I keep my stance wide, solid, the way I’ve learned to do when things get violent. When something needs containing.
“You were right,” she sobs. “Someone took her. They took her and no one listened to me. No one ever listens.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
This is exactly why I didn’t want her digging into anything dangerous. Exactly why I warned her not to go looking herself.
But the damage is done. And before she even had the chance to disobey my orders.
Which means Matteo was right to keep Rose’s location under wraps.
Someone is watching Amber. Someone other than myself. And while it might not be connected to Rose’s situation at all, the signs here are clear.
Whoever did this is the man who took Coral.
I open my eyes and reach for my phone with my free hand.
“Get here,” I say quietly when my man answers. “Now. Lock the building down. Sweep every apartment above and below. I want eyes on the docks too.”
I hang up before he can ask questions.
Amber is still crying, her face buried against me. I can feel the tremor in her body start to edge toward something worse. Shock. Collapse.
I can’t let her stay here.
I slide an arm under her knees and lift her cleanly off the floor. She gasps in protest, instinct flaring even through the grief.
“No,” she says hoarsely. “I don’t want to leave. I can’t—this is her room.”
“It’s not safe,” I tell her. “Not anymore.”
She twists weakly in my arms, hands fisting in my coat again. “You can’t make me.”
I stop.
The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be.
“Amber,” I say, holding her still against me, “you have two options.”
She goes very still.
Knowing she’s listening, I say to her, “You can come with me willingly.” My voice is even, controlled, “Or, I can have you bound, gagged, and sedated. Either way, you’re leaving this apartment tonight.”
Her head jerks back so she can stare at me.
Shock flashes across her face. Real, sharp, cutting through the hysteria like cold water.
“You’re—” she swallows. “You’re an asshole.”
There’s no heat in it. No bite. Just disbelief and exhaustion.
I nod once. “Just so you know, that’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.”
Her eyes search my face, wild and red-rimmed, looking for a crack. For cruelty. For doubt.
She doesn’t find it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say more quietly. “I’m going to keep you alive. But you have to let me, Amber. Or I’ll have to do it the hard way.”
She laughs weakly, a broken sound. “You have a funny way of reassuring people.”
“I have never been accused of being reassuring.”
The hallway fills with distant footsteps. My men are arriving.
Amber hears them too. Her body tenses again, instinct screaming.
I lower my voice. “Those are my people. They’ll guard the place while you stay with me. But if you don’t want them to see you—”
“I don’t,” she whispers.
“Then we’d better go.”
She hesitates.
For a moment, I think she’s going to fight me again.
Then her shoulders sag.
“Okay,” she whispers.
The word feels like a surrender.
“Okay,” she repeats, louder this time. “I’ll come.”
I don’t comment on it. I just turn and carry her out of the room before she can change her mind.
Outside, my car is already waiting at the curb, engine idling. My driver stands by the open door, eyes flicking briefly over Amber before snapping back to the street.
I settle her into the backseat, guiding her carefully like she’s made of glass. Neri’s words come to mind: “Precious things are fragile.”
But my Amber isn’t fragile. She’s strong. Harder than goddamn diamond.
She just needs to take a breath and rest.
I pull the door shut and slide in beside her, close enough that she can lean into me if she needs to.
She does.
Her head finds my shoulder almost immediately, her breathing still uneven but slowing.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“My place,” I say.
She doesn’t argue.
“Take us home,” I tell the driver.
The car pulls away from the curb, leaving the docks and the ruined apartment behind.
Amber curls slightly toward me as the city lights blur past the window. I rest my hand over hers, just enough pressure to remind her she’s not alone.
She doesn’t pull away.
I look straight ahead, jaw tight, already running through contingencies, security rotations, names.
They crossed a line tonight.
And they’re going to learn exactly what that costs.