Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dread fills me as I make my way up the driveway of the Bianchi estate.
I’ve been to this house countless times when I was a child.
I know it the same as I know my own. But I haven’t been back here since the night I picked Jazzy up for prom.
I couldn’t not come, though. Especially when her father messaged to tell me they were shot at today.
A shooting on the Strip would usually be breaking news on every station, but it’s been radio silence—The Court’s doing no doubt. They don’t like to advertise their failures.
I park the car, jump out, and make my way up to the front door, fully expecting Carlo to tell me to fuck off.
I am, after all, the reason she was fucking shot at today.
I’ve been torn about coming here. I know I’m being watched, but I also told her I wouldn’t leave her again.
If I don’t show up, it’s not a good look.
And I really want to be worthy of this woman.
I doubt I ever will be.
Before my fist can hit the wood, the door is swinging open. Antonia greets me with a warm smile. “Jacob, come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bianchi.”
“Antonia,” she says. “It’s been a long time. I’m glad you’re finally back.” She hugs me quickly and then steps aside. “But if you break my little girl’s heart again, my husband won’t be the one you’ll have to hide from.”
I have no doubt this woman won’t hesitate when it comes to killing me if I hurt Jazzy again. Antonia has always been fiercely protective of her. Which I’m thankful for. I’m glad Jazzy has so many people in her life that she loves.
“I never wanted to break her heart in the first place,” I say.
“But you did,” Antonia counters.
I’m well aware of that. I also broke my own fucking heart when I left Jazzy.
I don’t mention that, because there’s no point.
No one will ever understand the position I was in.
And I was a fucking kid. I might have had money, connections, but I didn’t know how to best protect Jazzy back then.
The only thing I could do was stay away from her.
“She’s in her room. You remember where it is?” Antonia asks.
“I remember.” I look to the stairs. “You sure I can go up there?” I think we were around twelve when Jazzy’s father forbade me from going up to her bedroom with her.
“You guys are not horny teenagers anymore.” Antonia laughs.
No, now we’re horny adults with no one to tell us what we’re doing is wrong. Horny adults who have a decade of absence to make up for. I fight my smile at the thought, but I’m pretty sure Antonia catches it because she shakes her head and walks away, leaving me standing in the foyer.
Everything in me wants to run up those stairs. I don’t do that. Instead, I take my time, the bottom of my dress shoes making loud fucking noises against the marble with each step. When I reach the landing, I turn towards Jazzy’s room. The door opens and her head peeks out.
“Finally,” she says, running up to me. She jumps and I catch her. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ll always come when you need me, Jaz.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. I know she doesn’t believe me. I need to earn that trust back. “Are you okay? Did anything happen?”
“No,” I tell her.
They’re not going to come after me directly, not yet anyway. They’re after her, because they know she’s my weakness. And I’m putting all my money on Bradley being the one who fucking fed them that little tidbit of information.
I walk into her bedroom, stopping in the middle. Jazzy untangles herself from me, taking one step back. I look around the space. “It’s changed.”
“Well, yeah. I grew up,” she says.
“Yeah, you did.” I let my eyes roam up and down her body. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says.
“Don’t lie to me, Jazzy.”
She blinks at me. I know she tells everyone she’s fine because she doesn’t want to worry them.
She has always done that. Always thinking of others before herself.
I want her to start putting her own needs first. I don’t want to change her, because she’s fucking perfect, but I do want her to think about herself as much as she does others.
“I was scared and I can’t get the image out of my head—the image of my dad shooting that guy that was driving the car.
I also can’t stop thinking about what could have happened if my dad hadn’t gotten in the front of that car, if he couldn’t tell that the driver wasn’t one of his men.
I’m not na?ve, Jake. I know what happens to women in this life, and I really would like to avoid that happening to me.
I’m not strong enough to survive everything,” she says quietly.
“Baby, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You are a survivor, and you will survive whatever life throws at you. And I’ll be right there alongside you to help with anything you need,” I tell her. “We’re not going to let them win. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I don’t tell her that I spent the afternoon interviewing personal bodyguards. Ex-special forces operatives who have gone private. I know that her father and uncles have capable men on their payroll, but it’s not enough for me.
I want professionals. I want to know that she’s always protected by the best of the best.
“You have more faith in me than I have in myself.” Jazzy sighs.
I walk around the room, looking at everything. Taking in all the changes she’s made over the years. There’s a photo stuck on her vanity mirror. A picture of her and me on prom night. The best and worst night of my life.
“I couldn’t throw it away. Antonia tried to take it down after I stuck it there but I made her leave it,” Jazzy says, watching me stare at the picture.
I don’t say anything. What can I say? I fucked up. We both know that, and nothing I do can change that night. Moving along, I look at the trinkets that are lined up on a shelf. I pick up a little crystal Disney princess I gifted her for her tenth birthday. “I can’t believe you still have this.”
“I have everything you ever gave me, Jake,” she says.
I smile. “You always were sentimental.”
“And you were always giving me gifts.” She smiles back at me.
“I wanted you to like me,” I admit.
“And you thought I’d like you more if you gave me things?”
“It’s how it works in the world I grew up in. The more money I saw men throwing at women, the happier the women were.”
“I don’t want or need your money,” Jazzy says.
“I know.” I shrug. “But I also like seeing a smile on your face, and you were always happy when I gave you a gift.”
“Because it’d be rude not to be,” she huffs. “But I did like that you thought about me often enough to see something and want to buy it for me.”
“I bought you something today.”
“You did?” Her eyes light up a little. “What’d you buy me?”
“A bodyguard,” I tell her. “An ex-special forces bodyguard. There’re two of them actually, and they’re starting in the morning.”
“What?” Jazzy’s mouth drops open. “I don’t need any more security, Jake.”
“Yes, you do. You were shot at today because of me. I can’t just sit around and do nothing,”
Jazzy moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “You aren’t doing nothing. You have a plan, right? To end The Court’s craziness?”
“I can’t end The Court altogether, Jaz, but I can end the people who are targeting you. And I will,” I explain. “That I have a plan for.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you going to be safe? I can’t lose you, Jake. I can’t survive that kind of loss,” she says.
“You’re not going to lose me. I promise, no matter what happens, I will always find my way back to you.”
Jazzy’s brows draw down. “What do you mean back? Where do you plan on going?”
I press my lips against hers, silencing the questions that I can’t answer.
I’m sitting on the floor in Jazzy’s bedroom. She fell asleep about an hour ago and I slid out of her bed. I’ve written a note, praying she won’t fucking hate me when she reads it. I got as far as the other side of the room and fell to the ground. I’m willing myself to get up and walk away.
Memories of prom night hit me like a damn freight train, and it’s as if I’m a sixteen-year-old kid again with no idea what I should be doing. Except I’m not. I know what I need to do. I just don’t want to.
Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes, opening them when I feel a presence watching me. Carlo Bianchi walks in, looks at the bed, and then sits down right next to me.
“Is there a reason you’re sitting in my daughter’s room while she’s sleeping, Jacob?” he asks.
“I was leaving,” I admit. “But then, I just… couldn’t.” I shrug like it’s not a big deal. It’s a huge fucking deal. I need to walk away. At least for a little while.
“When she first came to me, I used to have to sit on her floor all night because she’d wake up with nightmares,” he says. “They stopped when she was about thirteen, and now they’re back.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But they’re not the same ones.”
“She’s told you about them?”
“She tells me everything. But I’m not surprised she’s having a hard time with killing her ex. She’s always been a lover, not a fighter. Cares way too much about other people’s feelings,” I grunt.
Carlo’s head snaps to me. “What did you say?”
“She cares too much about other people’s feelings,” I repeat.
“Not that. She killed her ex?”
“You didn’t know.” Fuck… I groan. Why the hell didn’t she tell me her father didn’t know about that? “It was self-defense. The asshole hit her.”
“I know. I saw her face when she came home,” Carlo says. “I would have liked to kill him myself.”
“Who did she tell you killed him?” I ask, curious.
“Emmanuel,” he grunts. “Asshole always helps her hide shit she shouldn’t need to hide.”
“I don’t think she’d hide it from you if she didn’t have a reason.” I have no idea what the reason is, but I’m betting it has something to do with not wanting to upset him. Not wanting to disappoint her father.
“You can stay in one of the guestrooms.” Carlo pushes to his feet.
“I’m going home,” I tell him.
With a nod of his head, he walks out, closing the door behind him. Leaving me inside his daughter’s room. I’m shocked he didn’t kick me out, honestly. I don’t know where this change of attitude came from, but I’m not stupid enough to question it.