Chapter 13
Gio
The booth at the back of the Penalty Box sits in a pocket of dim light, illuminated by a flickering lager sign and the wash from a television mounted above the bar.
It’s secluded enough that the noise from the front room—the laughter, clinking glasses, the low thrum of gossip—feels distant, like it’s happening underwater.
We’ve been here twenty minutes since the team cleared out.
Adrian and Declan were the first to go. Adrian checked his watch, muttered something about Clara expecting a report, and they were gone before I could call him out for the lie. Declan followed, citing Talia.
Then the excuses came from the other side of the table. Dante stood, stretching his arms over his head.
“Fraternity meeting,” he said. “Sigma Chi needs a quorum for something stupid.”
“I’m in,” Cole added, grabbing his jacket. He didn’t look at me or Zoe. He just moved, his usual volume dialed down to a hum that raised the hair on my arms. When Cole goes quiet, the stakes climb.
They leave first.
Now it’s just us.
Zoe traces the rim of her wine glass, fingertip moving in slow, methodical circles. Calm. Too calm. She looks like she’s waiting for a critique in a design studio, not sitting in a hockey bar surrounded by people who think I’m a felon.
I watch her. Can’t help it.
Sharp edges and clean lines cut her out of the blur of noise. Her tote rests on the bench beside her, a brick of leather and fabric holding her whole life. Still. Present. Just… existing.
And it gets under my skin.
I won the negotiation. I got the shield. Sitting here, watching the low light catch the curve of her jaw, makes one thing clear: I don’t control her. I don’t control anything. She’s here by choice, agency anchoring her in place. Choice weighs heavier than obedience.
“You’re staring,” she says, without looking up.
“I’m observing.”
“There’s a difference.”
“I know.” I lean forward, forearms on the sticky tabletop. “You’re relaxed. People are whispering ten feet away, and you’re acting like you’re waiting for a bus.”
“I’m ignoring them,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. Cool. Assessing. “It’s a skill.”
“I don’t ignore things.”
“Then what is this?” She gestures between us.
“This is where I decide what matters,” I say, letting the words sit. No polish. “And what doesn’t.”
Her mouth curves—not a smile. Recognition. “You really see everything as a battlefield.”
I let the truth stand. “Look around.”
My phone buzzes against the table. Once. Sharp.
I don’t glance, but my pulse shifts. Screenshots. Threads mutating. People deciding they know everything. Reputation damage. Containable.
Zoe’s gaze drops to the device. “You going to get that?”
“No.”
“It might matter.”
“Noise.”
The phone buzzes again. This one lands heavier, edged with administrative weight. Official messages don’t panic; they queue. Departments loop in. Names get CC’d.
This time, she watches my face instead of the screen. “That didn’t feel like noise.”
I don’t answer.
She reaches out, fingers hovering over the phone. “If we’re doing this—if I’m standing next to you—I need to know what’s turning.”
I move before she closes the distance, covering the phone with my hand. Our fingers brush. Her skin cool. Mine hot. The contact spikes through my restraint, sharp enough to lock my jaw.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
Because the next escalation won’t stay mine. Because institutions hunt pressure points. Because leverage fractures when it spreads sideways.
“This is the part I carry,” I say, voice even. Final. “You stay clear of it.”
“I’m built for this, Gio.”
“I know.” I hold her gaze, let her see it. “That’s why I keep it away from you.”
She draws her hand back slowly, recalibrating. “Convenient.”
“Necessary. Final.”
The phone buzzes a third time.
No need to look. Something just shifted—from rumor to consequence, from curiosity to action. A line drawn between who I am and who I’m sitting with.
Careful who you stand next to.
The warning isn’t for me.
I slide the phone into my pocket, silencing it, but the realization already sits under my ribs. If this keeps moving, it won’t stop at my name. It’ll circle hers. Her work. Her future. Doors she hasn’t opened yet.
Zoe lifts her glass and takes a measured sip. Calm, not careless. The calculation runs behind her eyes. Standing beside me when the room is full is theater. Standing beside me now—after the exits—is where reputations crack.
“You should finish that,” I say, nodding at her glass.
“I’m pacing myself.”
“We’re not staying long.”
“Where are we going?”
“My place. Close.”
She stills. Assessment sharpens her posture. “No.”
“I state it as a decision.”
“Then let me be clear.” She leans in, closing space I thought I held. “I agreed to public proximity. I agreed to visibility. The agreement stops at intimacy.”
Heat coils, tight and dangerous. “I asked for something else.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied privacy.”
“For what?”
“To talk.” My hand moves before I stop it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Controlled. Territorial. My thumb settles at the curve of her neck, where her pulse flutters.
She doesn’t pull away or lean in. She holds—steady, deliberate—letting me feel exactly what I’m risking.
“About what?” she asks quietly.
“The endgame.”
“The part where you clear your name and erase me?”
“The part where this stops being survivable and starts being permanent.”
Her breath catches. Just once. Enough.
I want to kiss her. Want to fracture that composure, see what breaks. Want to know what happens when calm gives way.
I stop. Pull my hand back. The absence hits harder than the contact.
“Finish your drink,” I say. “We’re leaving.”
She studies me, measuring the cost of belief. “Fine. But we’re taking my car.”
“We walked.”
“Then we’re walking to my dorm.” She rises, already moving. “You want the shield? You follow my lead. Tonight, that means we go somewhere I control.”
I stay seated a beat, the phone buzzing again in my pocket, insistent. The storm keeps building.
Then I stand and follow her anyway.
Because she’s right.
And if this turns lethal, it’ll be because she chose the line—and dared me to cross it.