Chapter 30
Zoe
The adrenaline is still a jagged spike in my bloodstream, but my hands are steady.
That’s what matters. I pull my phone from my pocket, the screen lighting up the dim space between Gio and me.
He’s watching me like I’m the only real thing in the room, but there’s no time to be his anchor right now. This is a general’s moment.
I open the “Inner Circle” chat. The last message is a meme from Dante about beer pong.
Clear the party. Get everyone to the living room. Now.
The message goes out. No pleasantries. No explanations.
“Who are you texting?” Gio asks, his voice rough.
“The cavalry,” I say.
Downstairs, the bass dies. It’s an execution.
The thumping beat that’s been vibrating through the floorboards cuts off with a screech of feedback, followed immediately by the confused roar of a hundred drunk students.
Then shouting. The kind that happens when authority steps in.
I hear Adrian’s voice booming over the crowd, barking orders.
“Out. Everyone out. Elm House is closed.”
Gio pushes off the door, listening. “They’re listening to you.”
“They’re listening to authority,” I correct. “I just provided the direction.”
Heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs. The lock on the bedroom door feels like a containment unit about to be breached.
“We’re moving,” I say, the phone already back in my pocket.
“Zoe, wait,” Gio says, stepping in front of me. “You don’t know what you’re walking into. If they think I’m a killer—”
“They’re waiting for orders,” I cut in, looking him dead in the eye. “And I just gave them one.”
I reach past him and flip the deadbolt. The metal click is loud in the sudden quiet. Gio shifts, just enough. I hook my fingers around the knob and pull. The hallway is empty, the chaos downstairs already muted to a dull, rhythmic thud of boots on hardwood.
Gio moves behind me, a shadow radiating heat, but hesitation isn’t an option. The stairs take me fast.
The living room is packed, but the air is different. It’s sharp. Electric.
Adrian is by the fireplace, his knuckles white on the mantle.
Declan paces the length of the sofa, vibrating with a kinetic energy that looks ready to snap.
Dante and Cole flank the entrance, arms crossed, blocking out the world.
Clara and Talia sit on the edge of the couch, spines straight, eyes locked on the doorway.
Maya and Genny stand near the window, a silent unit of cold calculation.
They all freeze when I appear. Then their eyes shift past me, to the wreckage standing in the hall.
Gio steps into my peripheral vision. He looks like he’s been through a blender—hair wild, jacket torn, eyes haunted—but he squares his shoulders.
“Zoe,” Adrian starts, pushing off the mantle. “What the hell is going on? The Whisper just dropped a nuke on—”
“Sit down,” I say.
The command hits the room like a slap. Adrian blinks, his mouth half-open. Declan stops pacing.
“Zoe,” Gio murmurs, a low warning in my ear. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m talking to you,” I say, cutting him off without looking back.
I turn to face him, lowering my voice so only he hears. “You wanted to burn the house down? This is your strike team. Step up.”
Gio stares at me, his chest heaving. He looks at the room—at the faces waiting for him to break or explode. He takes a shuddering breath, then walks past me into the center of the circle.
"I didn't do it," Gio says, his voice raspy but steady. "I wasn't driving. Rylan Vance is my cousin. My father's sister married a Vance. We don't advertise it. Keeps the scandals separate."
He scrubs a hand over his face, the exhaustion dragging at his features. "He came to me about a month ago. He wanted back on the team. He asked me to put in a good word with Coach."
Gio looks at Declan, the apology heavy in his eyes. "I told him no. His record, his comments about Talia. I told him I wouldn't play alongside a guy who talks about women like that."
The air in the room turns frigid. Gio stares at his boots.
"That's what set him off," Gio says quietly. "I insulted the heir. So he decided to blow up my life in return."
I watch the girls. Clara's hand tightens around Talia's forearm, a silent, grounding pressure.
Talia stares at Gio with a look of fierce validation, the kind that comes from years of swallowing garbage and finally having someone spit it back.
Genny and Maya exchange a glance over by the window—a sharp, knowing look.
They've all felt the slime off Rylan. They've all known something was rotting underneath the polo shirts and the charm.
Now, they have the body.
"Then he's a coward who hides behind his daddy's money," Adrian says, his voice low.
"He's dead," Declan says.
The room goes still. Declan isn't looking at Gio anymore. He's looking at the door, his vision fixed on a point in the distance.
"Declan," Gio starts.
"No," Declan cuts in, his tone final. "I care about what he did to Talia. We're ending him."
"Rage is a fuel source," I say, stepping into the silence Declan left behind. "But it doesn't build a weapon. We need a plan."
Gio looks at me, the wildness in his eyes settling into something sharper.
"The report," Gio says. "The fake one is everywhere. The real one is a blurry piece of shit on my phone."
"It's data," Genny says. She pushes off the window frame, walking into the center of the room with her phone in hand. "The Whisper posted a PDF. That means there's a digital footprint. Metadata. Timestamps. If the sheriff altered the file, he left a trail."
She looks up, her eyes hard. "I can get the original. Or at least enough of the server logs to prove the one they posted is a fabrication."
"I can print it," Maya says, stepping up beside her. "The Chronicle has been looking for a follow-up to the admissions scandal. We run this as an exposé on municipal corruption, not just gossip about a hockey player."
"We shift the narrative from 'Gio is a killer' to 'The Sheriff's department is covering for a wealthy heir.'"
Gio stares at them. "You can do that?"
"We can do whatever the fuck we want," Maya says, her voice cool. "You aren't the only one who's tired of cleaning up their messes."
The tension in the room shifts. These aren't just friends standing by him; they're assets.
"Coach," Gio says suddenly. He looks at Adrian, then back to me. "Addison. He needs to know. If this blows up, the program takes the hit. He needs to be ready to manage the fallout."
"He needs to protect the roster," Genny says. Her voice drops an octave. "If Rylan is the one who actually drove, he's a loose end who almost torpedoed the program. Coach needs to know he let a felon walk away."
She looks at Gio. "I'll talk to him."
"Okay," Gio says. "We hit him from all sides. The legal angle, the press angle, and the program. We don't leave any ground for him to stand on."
"Exactly," I say. "We attack him."
"Then it's settled," Adrian says, his voice cutting through the heavy air.
He turns to Clara, offering his hand. She takes it, standing up, and the moment their fingers link, the rigid set of his shoulders softens.
Declan reaches for Talia, pulling her up from the couch and into his side.
She leans into him, her head fitting perfectly under his chin, the violence in his eyes settling into something protective.
"We move at dawn," Adrian says, looking at Gio. "Get some sleep. You're going to need it."
Adrian and Clara leave first, the front door clicking shut with finality. Declan follows, guiding Talia out with a hand at the small of her back. Dante and Cole don't move. They stand by the entrance, silent sentinels watching the room empty out.
Maya turns to go, but Dante shifts his weight, blocking the path just enough to make her pause.
"Stay," Dante says. It's a command.
Maya looks up at him, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"
"The Chronicle angle," Dante says, his voice flat. "Do it here. We have the bandwidth."
Cole glances at Dante, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he steps in. "He's right. The Wi-Fi here is encrypted. Use the den."
Maya stares at them, then at Genny. A slow, calculating smile spreads across her face.
"Fine. But if you get in my way, I'm burning the house down."
"Wouldn't expect anything less," Cole mutters.
They head toward the back hallway, Genny throwing a glance over her shoulder at Gio before disappearing. Dante and Cole watch them go, then turn back to Gio, offering a sharp, silent nod before retreating upstairs.
Then it's just us.
The living room feels huge without them, the silence rushing back in to fill the void. Gio exhales, a long, ragged sound that seems to deflate him. He runs a hand through his hair, ruining it even more.
"I thought..." He stops, shaking his head. "I thought they'd walk away."
"They're your team," I say. "That's how this works."
He looks at me, really looks at me, and the gratitude in his eyes is almost too much to bear. He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and wraps an arm around my shoulders. It's heavy, warm, and possessive. A claim made on instinct.
He pulls me into his side like the room might decide to take me from him next, like proximity is the only thing keeping his ribs from cracking open. His grip tightens once, deliberate, and my pulse answers like my body recognizes the language.
I stiffen for a split second, my body reacting to the contact before my brain catches up. Then I breathe him in—whiskey, sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline.
"You're coming with me," he mumbles against my neck.
"I'm driving you," I correct, pulling back slightly so I can see his face. "You're still drunk. And you smell like cheap vanilla and desperation."
He blinks, confused for a second, then the memory crashes into him. The blonde at the party. The distraction.
"Fuck," he says, his face twisting. "Zoe, that was—"
"A tactical error," I finish for him. "And a sensory violation. You're scrubbing that jacket before you wear it again."
He lets out a huff of laughter, the sound rusty and unused. "Yes, ma'am."
"Come on," I say, steering him toward the door. "Let's get you home before you do something else stupid."
He leans his weight on me as we walk out into the cold night air, his arm tightening around my shoulders like he's afraid I'll disappear.
The war starts tonight, but for right now, I just need to get him home.