27. Adriano
By the time I get home that evening, I know something is wrong immediately. Not because the house is quiet. Quiet in the brownstone is rare but not impossible. It’s the kind of quiet this is that triggers my internal radar.
Tense. Not a peaceful quiet, but the eerie one that warns something has happened. Coupled with the unanswered texts from Casey, I know something has happened. I saw her in the house on the cameras, so I also know she’s physically safe, but that’s all I do know.
The second I step through the front door, Elena looks up from the living room with an expression that tells me everything before she even speaks.
“Casey’s in her rooms.”
Every muscle in my body tightens instinctively. “What happened?”
Elena hesitates.
That alone is enough to make something cold move sharply through my chest. “Elena.”
“She ran into Jasper.”
Rage hits instantly. Hot and violent. That piece of shit approached her. He’s a fucking dead man walking.
I set my keys down too carefully on the hallway table because suddenly I’m aware that if I don’t control myself for the next thirty seconds, I may genuinely put my fist through the wall. “Where?”
“Near the deli on the corner.”
“Did he touch her?”
Elena’s expression answers before her words do.
My vision turns blood red.
“She’s okay,” Elena says quickly. “He grabbed her wrist. Shoved her. Nothing worse than a twisted ankle.”
Nothing worse. The fact I’m supposed to find comfort in that nearly makes me laugh.
Instead, I stand there trying to breathe through the overwhelming instinct to hunt him down immediately and break every bone in his body with my bare hands.
“She’s angry. He said some things,” Elena adds quietly.
That cuts through the rage just enough to make my chest ache with regret.
Of course she is. Because Casey doesn’t care about power or money or even violence.
She cares about trust.
And I lied to her.
Maybe not directly, and maybe for good reasons, but I kept something from her.
I drag a hand slowly down my face before loosening my tie with rough jerking movements. “Where’s Letty?”
“Asleep.”
Good. At least one thing in this house is still safe tonight. The last thing I want is my child witnessing this or feeling the tension.
“You should talk to her,” Elena says gently.
I nod once. “Thanks, Elena. You can head out now. I’ve got this.”
“Be gentle with her, Adriano.”
“I will,” I say, a little hurt that she felt the need to say that.
I watch as Elena lets herself out and head to the annex. I’m so grateful for Isabella’s mother in our lives. That she was here for Casey today, when I was stuck in a stupid meeting and had no idea what was happening.
The hallway outside the annex feels too long tonight. Every step heavier than it should be. Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being about protecting Casey and became something far worse. Something capable of destroying me, of destroying us.
The light beneath her door is still on when I knock quietly.
No answer.
I open it anyway, wondering if I’m going to get a stray shoe thrown at my head.
Casey is sitting curled against the headboard in her room, wearing one of my sweaters, laptop open but untouched in front of her while her gaze stays fixed on the window beside the bed. She looks beautiful; she looks like mine, and I’ll do anything to fix this because I can’t lose her.
The second she looks up at me, I know.
She knows everything, or at least enough to shake her trust in me.
My chest tightens painfully at the distance already sitting in her expression. “Hi,” I say quietly.
The word sounds wrong in the room somehow.
Her eyes move over me carefully.
Searching for something.
Honesty maybe. Or proof I’m exactly who she feared.
“Did you do it?” she asks softly.
Straight to the point. That’s my Casey. She doesn’t play games or show any kind of fear; she just comes out with it.
I close the bedroom door behind me slowly and step closer, my gaze running over her, looking for any signs that he hurt her but I can’t see anything obvious. That doesn’t make me feel better. I know some wounds are invisible, and they’re often the worst ones.
“What did he tell you?”
Something flashes across her face instantly—hurt.
“Enough that you answering my question with another question feels pretty shitty.”
Christ, what the fuck have I done?
I exhale slowly through my nose before crossing the room carefully, like approaching something wounded, and I guess I am. But knowing I caused this wound cuts deeper than I ever expected.
Casey watches every movement. “I asked you not to interfere,” she says quietly. “You promised me.”
“I promised I wouldn’t hurt him.”
Her laugh is soft and entirely without humor. “Oh, is that what we’re doing? Using semantics to excuse going against my wishes?”
I could tell her how Jasper came after ISM but that’s not an excuse and would only make her feel worse for bringing him to our door, and I don’t want that.
She has enough to deal with, so I keep quiet.
I stop at the edge of the bed. Close enough to touch her, and yet the look in her eyes tells me I’m a million miles from that right now.
I won’t disrespect her or risk hurting her by pushing it, even though I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her. It’s then I spot the angry purple bruises low on her left arm. “He hurt you.”
The words leave me rougher than intended, but as controlled as I can make them, when I’m feeling so homicidal. Because now all I can think about is his hands on her. Rage moves violently beneath my skin again.
Casey notices.
Of course she notices. She never misses anything. “That doesn’t give you the right to destroy someone’s life.”
Her words are angry and rushed. She’s somehow defending him even after everything he did to her. Part of that makes me furious and part of it makes me love her more.
“I’m not destroying his life. He did that on his own.”
“But you helped.”
“I accelerated things,” I admit finally. “I pushed investors away. I closed doors. I pointed the Feds in the right direction.”
Her expression tightens into a frown. “Adriano…”
“He’s been investigated before,” I continue evenly. “The difference this time is that people stopped protecting him.”
“You don’t get to decide who deserves ruin.”
“And he does?” I ask, throwing my hand up in annoyance.
Casey crosses her legs and tucks her hands in the sleeves of the sweater with a sigh before looking at me with a sadness that breaks my heart. “He doesn’t either. Nobody should. You’re meant to be better than him, Adi.”
The words twist in my gut harder than they should.
Because the terrifying thing is—I genuinely believed I did have the right to ruin him.
I still do.
At least where she’s concerned.
“He grabbed you,” I say quietly.
The bruise on her wrist flashes through my mind again even though it’s hidden away now.
“Yes, he did.”
“He threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“He’s desperate, Casey. I can’t lose you.”
My voice breaks slightly on the last word.
Casey goes still, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glossy, and I hate knowing I did that to her. He caused her pain, but so did I.
And suddenly, all the anger in the room shifts slightly beneath something heavier.
Emotion.
“I was scared,” she admits quietly after a long silence.
The confession tears straight through me, making me clench my fists.
I sit on the edge of the bed before I can stop myself, elbows braced against my knees while I stare down at my hands, trying to hold onto my restraint by a thread. “I should’ve handled it faster.”
Her breath catches softly. “That’s your takeaway from this?”
“He should never have gotten near you.”
“Adriano—”
“I buried him too slowly.”
The honesty of it hangs ugly and enormous between us.
Because I mean every word. Silence settles heavily through the room, only the sound of our breathing breaking it up.
Outside the windows, Manhattan continues its undisturbed rhythm while the space between us feels wider than it has in weeks.
Finally, Casey speaks again. “You lied to me.”
I lift my head slowly. “I know.”
I don’t make excuses or offer any justification.
Because none of them matter now.
“You looked me in the face,” she whispers, eyes shining slightly now, “and acted like none of this was happening.”
The hurt in her voice hits harder than anger ever could, and it tears me up inside. I love this woman and I hurt her. I’m not a good man. I’ve never pretended to be one, but for her, I wanted to be. “I didn’t want you carrying it.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
No, it wasn’t.
But somewhere along the way, loving her started feeling dangerously close to obsession, and the line between protection and control blurred before I realized I’d crossed it. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
The words feel insufficient, but they’re all I have.
Casey looks down at her hands for a second before laughing softly to herself. “I think the worst part is that some really awful part of me isn’t even shocked you did it.”
My chest tightens painfully. “Casey—”
“You love like a natural disaster,” she says quietly, meeting my eyes again. “Do you know that? It’s wild and beautiful, but also terrifying in its intensity because you consume everything.”
The words settle somewhere deep in my gut, and it feels like a hand is twisting my insides in a fist.
Because she’s right. And God help me, I don’t know how to love her any other way.
“You don’t get to decide who burns for hurting me,” she whispers.
I hold her gaze. “No,” I say honestly. “But I’d do it anyway.”
Then Casey finally closes her laptop softly and sets it aside before pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
Not shutting me out entirely but not letting me close either. “I’m tired.”
The dismissal is firm, but gentle.
That somehow makes it worse.
I stand slowly from the bed, every instinct in me fighting the distance now sitting between us.
At the door, I stop.
Because there’s one thing she still doesn’t know.
One thing I can’t quite force myself to say aloud yet.
I love you.
The unsaid declaration sits with terrifying clarity, standing there in the half-dark, and yet I can’t tell her now. She’ll see it as manipulation and I wouldn’t blame her. I should have told her weeks ago how hopelessly I’d fallen in love with her but I was a coward.
When I look back, Casey is watching me quietly from the bed.
Her eyes are red and hold all the hurt I put there.
I want to go to her, to kiss away her pain, to tell her she’s mine in every way that matters to me.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Because I think I’d burn the world down before I let anything take her from me.
Even if she ends up hating me for the ashes afterward.
So I do the only thing I can, I give her the space she needs, even if it almost kills me.