ALESSIO
Jesus fucking Christ. I've heard a lot of ugly stories in my life. I've done a lot of ugly things. But this? This is something else entirely.
Her own father—the man who was supposed to protect her, love her, keep her safe—lined them up like targets and executed his entire family in front of her.
Shot her mother while she was reading a fucking bedtime story.
Killed her siblings in cold blood. Left Beccs—fifteen years old—covered in their blood, not understanding what the hell was happening.
And then the guilt she's carried for years.
The way she blamed herself for surviving.
For not saving them. For not protecting Rachel.
For being the only one left breathing. Her question: I don't know why he didn't kill me.
If he thought the government was after all of us, didn't he care that they would take me?
Or did he realize what he'd done and decide to spare me?
How can a woman live with that? Much less a kid of fifteen.
The question guts me. I hold her tighter, one hand buried in her wet hair, the other stroking slow circles on her back as fresh sobs tear through her.
I can feel the weight of it, years of wondering why her own father chose death for everyone but her.
Wondering if she wasn't worth killing. If she wasn't worth taking with them.
If she was the one left behind because she wasn't enough.
How fucked up is that?
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in, trying to anchor her while she falls apart in my arms. I've spent my whole life believing people leave.
That love is temporary. That the only person you can count on is yourself.
My mother walked out. My father beat the lesson into me with his fists.
I helped build this empire on that belief, cold, detached, untouchable.
But holding Beccs right now, feeling the depth of her pain, the guilt she's carried alone for so long… something inside me cracks wide open.
This woman survived hell. She watched her family die and still kept going. Still fought for her sister. Still challenges me every single day like she's not carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I'm falling for her. Hard. Maybe I fell the moment I thought Mine in that bathroom. Maybe it happened the second I saw her on the side of that Idaho road with grease on her cheek and fire in her eyes.
I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be the man she deserves. But for her… I want to try.
I tilt her face up gently, thumbs wiping away her tears even as fresh ones fall.
"I've got you," I whisper, hearing emotion rough in my voice, one I don't have a name for. "You're not alone anymore, Beccs. Not ever again."
She looks at me with those big, tear-filled eyes, and something in my chest cracks even wider. Yeah. I'm fucked.
And for the first time in my life… I don't mind one bit.
I hold her tighter, letting her cry it out against my chest. My shirt is soaked, but I don't care. I'd let her drown me in her tears if it meant she finally let some of this poison out.
Her sobs eventually slow into shaky breaths. I keep stroking her wet hair, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her forehead, anywhere I can reach. I've never been good at comfort. Never wanted to be. But with her… I want to be whatever she needs.
The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just two broken people holding each other in the aftermath.
Then my phone rings. The sound slices through the moment like a blade. I tense instantly. Very few people have this number, and even fewer would call at this hour. I glance at the screen. Unknown.
My neck muscles stiffen automatically. I know who it is before I even answer.
I press the phone to my ear, keeping one arm locked around Beccs. "Yeah."
The Collector's oily, amused voice slithers through the line. "Alessio. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
Beccs lifts her head, eyes still red but sharpening with awareness. She can tell from my face that this is bad.
I keep my voice ice-cold. "What do you want?"
A low chuckle. "Just checking in. I hear you've been busy tonight. Rescuing damsels. Playing hero. How very unlike you."
My grip on Beccs tightens protectively. He knows too much. Always too much.
"Get to the point," I growl.
"Oh, I think you know the point," he replies smoothly. "The shipment tonight? Consider it a gift. A little test. A chance to see how well your new toy performs under pressure. And Alessio… if you don't decide to play for my team real soon, I might have to take something you care about."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen as rage and cold calculation war inside me.
Beccs watches me, voice quiet but steady. "The Collector?"
I nod, pulling her closer again, forehead resting against hers.
"He's watching us," I murmur. "And he just made this more personal."
The heavy emotional moment shatters, replaced by sharp focus and rising danger.
Apparently also just what Beccs needed, because she pulls herself up and rubs her eyes. The focus and determination I'm used to seeing in her gaze is back full force.
"That bastard," she declares fiercely. "Let's go get him."
She starts to get up, moving like she's ready to storm out into the night and burn the world down. I smile despite myself, a soft, almost fond curve of my lips. God, this woman. Even broken and exhausted, she's still ready to fight.
I catch her wrist gently and pull her back down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her again.
"Not tonight, babe," I murmur against her hair. "Let's go to sleep. In the morning we can kill all the devils you want, but right now we need rest."
She looks like she wants to argue. I can see the fight still simmering in her eyes. But the exhaustion is winning. Her eyes are swollen, her nose red, her whole body heavy and wrung out. She looks like a beautiful mess.
And she's never been more precious to me.
I stand up, lifting her with me like she weighs nothing, and carry her toward the bedroom.
By the way she doesn't fight it, I know she's tired.
She curls into my chest, trusting me to hold her.
I lay her down on the massive bed and climb in beside her, pulling her against me.
My arms wrap around her like a shield, one hand stroking slowly up and down her back.
"Sleep, Beccs," I whisper against her hair. "I've got you."
She lets out a soft sigh, and her body melts into mine. For the first time since I've known her, she doesn't fight. She just lets me hold her. Her breathing evens out quickly, deep and steady. She's out.
I stay awake for a long time, listening to her breathe, feeling the warmth of her against me. This woman has me completely. And I'm not sure I'll ever be the same again.
The next morning…
My phone vibrates against the nightstand. I reach for it before the second buzz, careful not to wake Beccs, who’s still curled against my chest. It's Rossi. I slide out from under Beccs as gently as possible and answer in the hallway.
"Rossi."
"I finished my talk with Lu."
I have a pretty good memory for faces and names, but that one doesn't mean shit to me. "Lu? Who the fuck is Lu?"
"The package guy?" Rossi reminds me.
Ah, now I'm starting to remember. The guy who handed me the envelope from the Collector. Rossi has been at him for a few days.
"What’d he have to say?"
The long sigh warns me that there won't be anything new for me.
"Same old bullshit. He's scared to death of the Collector.
Has no clue who he is, where he is, has never actually met him.
" Rossi sounds exasperated. If there is one thing he hates, it’s when his interrogations don't go the way he wants them to.
He has cracked as many difficult cases as I, but the thing with the Collector is that people would rather die than divulge anything.
"He gave us one name,” Rossi fills me in. “Manuel. That’s what the man who called with the delivery instructions told him to use.”
“Last name?”
“No. Probably not his real first name either. The number belonged to an unregistered prepaid, paid for in cash and dead before Lu left the Consulate.”
“So we have a name that might not be a name and a number no one uses.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Keep both. And keep Lu breathing we might still need him.”
I look at the envelope El Recaudador sent me. “Men like him always believe they’re too smart to repeat themselves.”
"Also, we cleaned out the warehouse. Boss… I think you need to see this."
Every trace of sleep leaves me. "What did you find?"
"Records. Photos. Names. Not all recent. Looks like they're related to the trafficking."
My blood chills. Rachel. I look back toward the bedroom. Beccs is still asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek, dark hair spilled across my pillow. After everything she told me last night, after the way she broke apart in my arms, every instinct I have tells me to let her sleep.
Go alone. Handle it. Bring back only what she needs to know. Clean. Controlled. Efficient.
Wrong.
The word lands like a blade. I close my eyes. Don't fucking shut me out. Her voice comes back clear as a gunshot. This is my life. My decisions. Don't you dare make them for me.
Fuck. Nobody told me how inconvenient growth is. If that's what this is. I run a hand down my face.
"I'll be there in an hour," I tell Rossi. Because there is no way I'm taking Beccs out of here without feeding her first.
I hang up and stand there for another second, staring at the woman in my bed. I could leave. She'd be furious. She'd also be right to be.
With a sigh, I walk back into the bedroom and sit carefully on the edge of the mattress. "Beccs."
She doesn't move. Of course not. Of course she has to make this difficult, too. I smile and brush the hair away from her face. "Beccs, wake up."
Her lashes flutter. She frowns before her eyes even open. "Someone better be dead."
"Not yet."
That gets one eye open. "What?"
"Rossi called."