Chapter 22 Nita
Nita
The fallout came fast.
It always does when men like that realize they failed.
By the time I was medically cleared, my phone was already lighting up—voicemails from my supervisor, encrypted emails marked urgent, texts from colleagues who knew better than to ask questions outright but needed reassurance that I was still standing.
The resignation letter I never meant to write had already been intercepted.
Pulled before it could do real damage.
But not before it rattled cages.
They called it an “administrative anomaly.” A “coercion attempt by a third party.” The official language scrubbed the terror clean, like bleach over blood.
The fixer’s death was under investigation, but would be written off as self-defense at some point officially.
My name was whispered in rooms I wasn’t invited into.
The senator’s name stopped being spoken out loud.
Instead, it was the matter at hand spoken in hushed tones.
The case stalled. Not dead, never that clean, but suspended in that gray space where justice waits for the political climate to change. I wasn’t na?ve enough to think my survival meant victory.
It meant delay.
It meant pressure.
And it meant eyes on me.
I returned to work two weeks later, spine straight, shoulders squared, daring anyone to look at me like I was fragile. I wasn’t. I had been chained to a concrete floor and come back breathing. Paperwork didn’t scare me.
What scared me was Dante packing his bag.
He never said it outright. Never announced a timeline. But I could feel the weight of it between us every time his phone buzzed with club business. Every time he checked the news out of North Carolina. Every time he went quiet in that way that meant he was already preparing to leave.
One night, after dinner had gone cold between us, I finally said it. “You’re going back.”
He didn’t deny it. “My life’s there,” he reminded carefully. “The club. Responsibilities. People who depend on me.”
“And me?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
He reached for me immediately, hands warm, grounding. “You’re my life too.”
But that wasn’t an answer. I didn’t want him choosing between worlds. I didn’t want him resenting me. I just didn’t want to be the place he passed through.
I needed to know where I belonged. I didn’t ask for more. I wasn’t sure I could take him telling me a deadline.
Needing clarity, I went to the one person who always gave it to me straight. Char’s place smelled like cinnamon and laundry detergent and the faint sweetness of the girls’ shampoo. Normal. Safe. The kind of domestic peace that still felt borrowed when I stepped into it.
She hugged me carefully, like she knew I was healing in places that didn’t bruise.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I feel undecided,” I admitted.
The girls were coloring at the table, arguing over markers. Life kept moving. It always does.
Char made tea and sat across from me, eyes sharp in that sister way that meant she already knew more than I’d said.
“He’s going to leave,” she said what was clearly written on my face.
“He’s going back to North Carolina,” I corrected. “Which feels like the same thing.”
She leaned back, studying me. “Is it?”
“He has a whole life there,” I answered. “A club. History. A town that knows him. I have a job that nearly got me killed.”
“You have a career you worked your ass off for,” she corrected gently. “Don’t shrink it because it scared you.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug. “I don’t want to lose him.”
Char’s voice softened. “Then don’t.”
I laughed humorlessly. “It’s not that simple.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it’s not impossible either.”
She took a breath, choosing her words. “You can work remotely.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re federal. Half your job is analysis, strategy, coordination. You’ve done remote assignments before. You’re close enough to retirement that they’d rather keep you than push you out. You could request a temporary relocation. North Carolina. Six months. A year.”
The idea landed hard.
“I’d be giving up visibility,” I said automatically. “Momentum.”
“You’d be choosing yourself,” she countered. “And him.”
I stared at the steam curling from my tea.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked quietly.
Char didn’t hesitate. “Then you come back. But if you don’t try, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been.”
I swallowed thickly. “What if he feels like I’m sacrificing too much?”
She smiled softly. “Then you remind him that love isn’t about sacrifice. It’s about alignment.”
Her words settled deep in my belly. She was right. When did my baby sister get so smart?
That night, back at Dante’s place, I found him on the balcony, staring out at nothing. “I talked to Char,” I explained.
He turned, alert immediately. “You okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” I replied. “I’m thinking.”
That got his attention. “I don’t want you leaving like this is temporary,” I opened up. “Like I’m a detour.”
“You’re not,” he replied fiercely.
“Then don’t make decisions without me,” I stated. “And don’t decide that North Carolina and me are something to choose between. Don’t make it me or the Saints because Dante you are a Saint’s Outlaw and I wouldn’t change that about you.”
He went still.
“I could work remotely,” I continued. “At least for a while. Transition. See where this goes without a countdown clock hanging over us.”
Hope flickered in his eyes and fear. It was a genuine reaction.
“You don’t have to give this up for me.”
“I want to,” I said. “But I need to know you’re not already half gone.”
He crossed the space between us and cupped my face, forehead resting against mine. “I was trying to protect you,” he admitted. “From my world. From the mess that comes with it.”
“I was chained in a basement because of my world,” I reminded softly. “Danger doesn’t belong to one zip code or one lifestyle.”
He exhaled a shaky laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’m not asking for forever tonight,” I said. “I’m asking for honesty. And the chance to build something without fear making the decisions.”
His arms wrapped around me, tight and grounding. “Then,” he said quietly. “Come with me. Let’s figure it out together.”
I held on like it was a promise.
Because this time, I wasn’t running from fear.
I was choosing love—with my eyes open.