Chapter 36 JENNA
My head rests on his chest, right over his heart.
I listen to its slow, steady, settling beat until it finds that familiar rhythm I remember from years ago.
Strong. Sure. Alive. The sound wraps around me like something I thought I'd lost forever.
It's the same. And it's not. Old and yet new, like a song you loved once and forgot how much until you hear it again and realize it never really left you.
Massimo's arm tightens around me slightly, an unconscious gesture, protective even in rest. His fingers trace idle patterns against my shoulder, like he's reassuring himself I'm still here.
"I used to fall asleep like this," I murmur, my voice barely louder than the hum of the city outside. "Counting your heartbeats. It made everything else quiet."
He exhales softly, his chest rising beneath my cheek. "You always did that," he agrees. "Like you were memorizing me."
"I was," I admit. "In case I needed to remember."
His hand stills for a moment, then resumes, gentler now. "I never forgot you," he reveals, roughness creeps into his voice despite how calm he's trying to sound. "Not once."
I lift my head just enough to look at him. His eyes are half-closed, dark lashes cast shadows, and his face is stripped of armor in a way I've never seen before. Not even back then. He presses his lips to my hair, not rushed, not claiming, just there. Present.
"I don't want to sleep," I whisper. "I'm afraid I'll wake up, and this will feel like a dream."
His arm tightens again, unmistakably solid. "Then don't sleep," he murmurs. "Stay right here. I'm not going anywhere."
The words settle into me, deep and warm. I nestle closer, my body fitting itself against him as if no time has passed. Outside, Vegas glows and pulses, loud and merciless. In here, everything is quiet.
I trace one of his scars with my fingertips, slow and reverent, like I'm reading a language my body understands even if my mind doesn't. The skin there is different, tight, unyielding, earned.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.
"No." His breath leaves him in a long sigh, the kind that carries weight. "But you should know."
I still.
"My uncle hired someone," his voice doesn't give away the betrayal he must have felt. "Ran me over with a car. Made it look like an accident."
"Your uncle?" I frown, the word snagging. "Why?"
A muscle in his jaw tightens. "I guess he finally gave in to my cousins' whining about me trying to take over."
"Were you?" I ask carefully. "Trying to take over?"
He lets out a humorless breath. "They were fools. They always were. My uncle knew it. So did I."
Something inside me pauses, listening. He feels it. I know he does, because his chest stills beneath my cheek. "What?"
"I don't know," I lift my head to look at him. The words feel fragile in my mouth. "I don't know if it means anything. Or if it's just… timing."
"Just say it," he nudges. "No more secrets between us ever again, Jenna. Nothing kept back. No matter how small." His hand comes up, steady, anchoring. "Nobody will ever come between us again."
The promise lands heavy. Comforting. Terrifying.
My mind flickers, news headlines from years ago, read with shaking hands.
The deaths. His uncle. His cousins. The quiet certainty that followed when Massimo took over.
The world had called it inevitable. Clean.
A succession. I swallow. The question rises anyway, sharp and undeniable. Did you do that?
I don't ask it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the way truths change you the moment they're spoken aloud. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet that version of him yet. Or the version of myself who might not flinch from it.
I rest my cheek back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady, unrepentant, alive.
"I read about what happened," I say instead. It's not a question. It's an acknowledgment.
"Yeah, you probably did," he replies.
We lie there, the silence not empty but full—of what we've survived, of what we've done, of what we might still do to protect what's ours. I realize something then, quietly, without judgment: the dark doesn't scare me the way it used to. Not when I recognize its shape in myself, too.
He shifts slightly beneath me, like he feels the hesitation building before I even speak.
"What is it you want to tell me?" he asks quietly.
I draw a breath and lift myself just enough to look at him. His face is calm now, unreadable in that way that has always meant he's bracing for impact.
"I found something," I begin, keeping my voice low, aware there will be no taking back the words I'm about to say, and afraid they might rearrange the entire board.
"I'm not sure if it means anything or if I am forcing connections that aren't there.
" He doesn't interrupt. "There was a ledger entry," I continue.
"From years ago. Before Amauri. Before everything fell apart. " My throat tightens.
His body goes still.
"A payment," I continue. "From my father. To Sean's company. Northstar Advisory Group." His eyes don't leave mine now. "The date," I whisper, because this is the part that still makes my stomach turn, "was the day before you were hit."
Silence spreads between us, vast and cold.
"It's labeled as something harmless. Administrative.
I told myself it was nothing." He exhales slowly through his nose.
Controlled. Measured. "Today," I go on, "Amauri said something.
About Sean and Marianne arguing. About being compensated.
And suddenly—I saw it. All of it." I swallow.
"My father paid Sean," I conclude. "And Sean…
Sean was connected to Northstar. And Northstar—" My voice wobbles.
"Northstar isn't clean, Massimo. I looked.
They fix problems. They make things disappear. "
I don't say the rest. I don't have to. He closes his eyes for a brief second.
"And there was something else. I never told my father who got me pregnant.
But he knew. When we argued after the kidnapping, he called Amauri your son.
" I leave the bastard part out. I can't say the word.
"When you were hit," I finish softly, "I don't think it was just your family trying to stop you. "
His gaze sharpens when he looks back at me. Dangerous now. Focused.
"You think your father ordered the hit," he summarizes.
I nod miserably. "If he knew about us… he wouldn't have been happy about it.
He always wanted Carter to be his son-in-law.
Even more after the accident. Even after I told him what Carter did.
" His arm tightens around me, his fingers brush over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Reassuring, there. But my mind goes to the connections I made and hadn't fully been able to admit to myself yet.
Saying it out loud… it feels like a verdict.
I know what I'm saying. I know to whom I am saying it.
And I am fully aware of the consequences.
"I never thought he would be capable of this… but I found other things… he's not the man I thought him to be and yet," I shudder, admitting the truth to myself, "he's exactly the man I always knew he was. Deep down."
The words hang there, poisonous and undeniable. For a moment, I'm afraid he'll pull away. That the darkness of it—my blood tied to his near-death—will finally be too much. Instead, his hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck, grounding, certain.
"You didn't do this," he says firmly.
Tears burn behind my eyes anyway. "But he did."
"If he did, I'll find out." He promises.
I swallow, "And then?"
"Then your father will answer to me."
I rest my forehead against his chest again, shaking now, grief and fury tangling together.
"I don't know what that makes me," I whisper.
His arm tightens around me, protective in a way that feels absolute.
"It makes you honest. And brave enough to tell me."
I listen to his heartbeat, steady, but faster now. Calculating. And somewhere deep inside me, I know with terrifying certainty: This wasn't the end of the past catching up to us, but it was the moment it finally stepped fully into the light.
I don't know how, but eventually I relax to the sound of Massimo's heart and his breathing. I know he's awake, thinking, plotting, calculating, but sleep claims me. In his bed. In his arms. And it feels right.
Time feels suspended, but Amauri's shrill scream rips me from deep sleep. With a mother's instinct, I'm already out of bed, only to hit a brick wall by the entrance to the bedroom. Massimo. Naked. Gun in hand.
"Stay here." He orders in a deadly voice that doesn't leave room for argument.
My heart beats a hundred miles an hour; every instinct in me calls me forward to the sound of my son's voice, but I force myself to stay behind Massimo, at least long enough to grab his shirt off the floor and fling it over myself.
I catch up with him in the living area, where he's conducting a fast, measured scan of the surroundings.
The front door is open, and my heart races even faster.
Max and two of the guards are already inside when I register what's happening.
My heart slams into my throat. Guns are up.
Movement everywhere. Dark shapes cut through the low light like something out of a nightmare.
Déjà vu hits me like a cement truck. Fear doesn't stand a chance against the rush of adrenaline pulsing through me, though.
Not again, is all I can think. I'll die before I let anything happen to Amauri again.
"Stop," Max says sharply, holding up a hand as he reaches the guest bedroom door. His voice drops immediately. "He's having a nightmare."
Everything pauses. The guards lower their weapons in one smooth, practiced motion. Massimo's hand presses lightly between my shoulder blades. "Go," he murmurs.
I don't hesitate. I rush to Amauri's side just as he jerks awake, tangled in sheets, eyes wild with terror. He latches onto me the second he sees my face.
"Mummy," he sobs, fists clutching my shirt. "Mummy."
"I'm here, baby," I whisper, crawling onto the bed and pulling him into my arms. "It's okay. You're safe. I've got you."
I don't notice the guards filtering out.
I don't even notice Massimo leaving the room.
All that exists is my son shaking against me, his breath hitching, his fingers digging in like he's afraid I'll disappear.
I kiss his face over and over, murmuring nonsense and promises. "It's okay. It's okay. Mummy's here."
When I finally look up, Massimo is back. He's donned joggers, but is still barefoot, making his movements quiet. The gun is nowhere to be seen. He stops a few feet away, watching us with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
"And Massimo," I add softly, smoothing Amauri's hair, "see? He won't let anything happen to you."
Amauri peeks out from my shoulder. Then, without warning, he stretches his arms toward Massimo. My heart leaps into my throat. Massimo doesn't hesitate. He steps forward and lifts Amauri effortlessly, settling him against his chest like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"It's okay, champ." His voice is low and rough with emotion. "I've got you." Amauri buries his face in Massimo's shoulder. "Nobody will ever hurt you again," Massimo continues quietly. "I swear it. They'll have to come through me first."
The honesty in his words—and in his voice—is impossible to miss.
It brings tears to my eyes. I still have no idea how to untangle all the strings holding the three of us back, threatening to pull us under.
But I know this much: Massimo will find a way.
With precision. With patience. With brutal force, if necessary.
And God help me; I'll be right there with him.
"And me," I add for good measure. Looking at Massimo. "I'll be right there with you. By your side."