Chapter 15
LEIF WOKE to a city that pretended nothing had happened.
Dallas glittered like a lie, glass catching sun as if yesterday hadn’t tried to cut his life in half.
The Trinity ran dark through the grid, calm on the surface, moving hard underneath.
His penthouse sat above it all, quiet as a sealed vault. It should’ve felt safe. It didn’t.
He’d been up before dawn. He’d watched the river turn from iron to pewter to a slice of light, and he’d listened to the building breathe. Coffee went cold beside untouched breakfast. Alaric checked in twice. Magnus once, voice flat and dangerous, every syllable filed to an edge.
Men needed a name to pin the blast on, and they’d chosen the easiest one: Rocco. Hothead. Humiliated. The kind of man who’d bring a gun to a knife fight, reckless and showy. Pointing a finger at him was clean, simple, satisfying.
Convenient.
Leif stood at the wall of glass with his hands in his pockets and watched a freight barge slide under a bridge. “Too clean,” he said to the glass.
Behind him, the elevator whispered and the private door opened.
It wasn’t a guard. He knew the sound of his men.
This was softer, lighter, like breath before a confession.
Mariah crossed the threshold in a dress he hadn’t seen and a jacket that belonged to him.
She’d rolled the sleeves. His Brand warmed the instant she entered the room, heat moving along his palm like a storm line.
She paused by his coffeemaker. “Your coffee’s cold,” she said.
“I’ve noticed,” he answered without looking away from the river.
She came to stand beside him, not quite touching.
Their reflections stood shoulder to shoulder in the glass, his shoulders squared, her chin up, both of them pretending they weren’t thinking about the scorch on their palms. City noise rose thinly, the penthouse dampening most of it, the rest slipping through like a faint hum.
She lingered beside him in silence, both of them staring out at the sprawl of the city as if it held answers. The consequence of last night pressed between them, heavy and unfinished.
Leif broke first, his voice edged and low, making clear it had been on his mind since dawn. “You left my bed.”
Mariah stiffened. “I did.”
He turned to face her fully now, eyes hard. “I let it go last night. I told myself you needed the space. But don’t mistake that for permission. Next time, I won’t let you walk out.”
“Permission? Now I need permission?” Her chin lifted. “What, are you going to chain me there?”
“I’d rather you stayed because you wanted to. But if you think I’ll let you keep running from what’s between us, you’re wrong.”
She drew a sharp breath. “Don’t you want to know why I left?”
“If it’s the truth,” he said flatly.
She shook her head, defiance sparking through the tremor in her voice.
“It’s not that I don’t want you. Don’t twist this into indifference.
I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
But lying in your bed last night, I felt like I was dissolving into you.
Like every breath, every thought, was yours instead of mine.
I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you.
I left because I needed to see if I still existed outside of you. ”
He caught her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes back to his. “You do. And you’ll exist in my bed too. I let you go once, because I told myself you needed space. Next time, I won’t. Next time you’ll stay and face me until you understand that leaving doesn’t save you from me, it only hurts us both.”
Her breath shuddered. “And if I can’t face that? If staying means losing myself?”
“Then we fight it out,” he said, insistent. “But we do it together, in the same bed, in the same room. I won’t wake up to cold sheets again.”
She blinked hard, then whispered, “It’s that fear of being swallowed whole that keeps me on edge, Leif. It’s what I’ve experienced my entire life. That’s why I walked out.”
He didn’t release her chin. “You think running down the hall to another room changes that? You think leaving me in a bed that should never be cold teaches me a damn thing except how much I hate waking up alone?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I needed to know I was still myself. That I could walk out and breathe without you.”
“And I needed to know you’d be there when I reached for you in the dark,” he said, voice gravelly with something deeper than anger. “I gave you that space once. Next time, I’ll come after you. I won’t let you vanish.”
Her throat worked. “And if I tell you I can’t promise to always stay?”
“Then I’ll fight you in my bed instead of out of it. But we’ll fight there. Together. Not from down the hall.”
For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then he exhaled sharply, released her, and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on. Not here. We’ll talk in my office.”
They took the private elevator down together, silence coiled tight between them, the kind that spoke louder than words. He led her into the stark space lined with glass and steel. It was his domain, and he wanted her to see exactly what he was offering. And what he refused to give up.
Only when the door sealed behind them did she draw herself straighter, her voice sharpening again. “They’re saying it’s Rocco,” she said.
“They are.” He shook his head. “They like how it sounds.”
“And you?”
He finally looked at her. The light painted a blade along her cheekbone. Her mouth was set in a line he’d learned meant resolve. “I like truth,” he said.
“Then you hate this.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence between them said it.
She took a breath, steadying herself, then began with a calm that made his skin prickle.
“The car bomb last night was crude. If it had gone off, it would have been loud, obvious, meant to scare me into obedience and rattle you. That’s Rocco.
Obvious. The conference room was different.
It was placed, not tossed. It waited, didn’t announce itself.
It took someone with access and patience, someone who could move inside your building without raising a flag.
That’s not Rocco. He isn’t patient. He likes to be seen. ”
Leif’s gaze flicked to her hand where the Brand pulsed faintly like a heartbeat visible through skin. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She gave a small huff that wasn’t a laugh.
“You told me not to run. I didn’t. I lay there and counted the seconds instead.
” She turned to face him fully. “It doesn’t fit, Leif.
And if you pretend it does because it keeps the families quiet, that’s not protection. That’s surrender.”
His displeasure lifted its head. “Careful.”
She didn’t back away. “I’m not afraid of your temper.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the heat off her skin slid under his. “You should be afraid of the men who want you gone. My temper keeps them alive long enough to wish they weren’t.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then point it at the right target.”
“My target is the man who tried to kill you and me in my house.”
“Good,” she said, voice sharpening. “Then stop pretending the most convenient story is enough.”
“Enough to keep a lid on a war,” he snapped. He didn’t raise his voice often. He didn’t need to. But something about the calm certainty in hers needled him past collected. “Enough to keep half the city from lighting up because someone wants to watch my house burn.”
“The city will burn anyway if you shoot the wrong man and call it justice.”
He laughed once, without humor. “You think I don’t know the price of a wrong trigger? I count costs before most men know they’re in debt.” He held her gaze. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Because I don’t like lies any more than you do.” Her mouth firmed. “Because if we build on a lie, it collapses. And because I’m tired of you acting like the Brand is some holy writ that excuses you from listening.”
There it was. The real blade. It sank under his ribs. “The Brand is not an excuse.”
“Isn’t it?” She took another step and the room seemed to tilt. “You say it defines us. You say it’s proof. But when I tell you we’re wrong about Rocco, you stare at my mouth and don’t listen to my words.”
His hand shot out before he thought, fingers closing around her wrist. He lifted their palms and pressed them together. Heat rushed like blood. The lion burned. “Tell me this is a lie.”
Her breath hitched, not with fear but with that basic response he bore in his own bones.
Her pupils widened. He wanted to kiss her, to take the argument out of both their mouths and replace it with something he knew how to speak.
She held his gaze steady. “I won’t call it a lie.
I’ll call it a force. Forces can be wrong if you treat them like gods. ”
“Fate is not wrong.”
“Men are.”
Silence stretched. Far below, the city kept moving. The two of them didn’t.
“You want me to lock down the building,” she said softly. “Double guards. Triple checks. Move me into your shadow and leave me there.”
“I want you breathing.”
“That’s not the same as living.” She eased her hand out of his. He let her. She rubbed her wrist where he’d held her like the heat had soaked deeper than skin. “Let me help you find the right enemy.”
He stared at her. “You don’t need to be bait.”
“I’m not offering to be bait. I’m offering a brain.” She tilted her head toward the desk. “Walk me through the logs again. Walk me through who had badges, who swapped shifts, who signed for deliveries after inspection. A florist cart showed up in the records that shouldn’t have been there at all.”
He stilled. “You noticed that.”
“I notice everything.”