Chapter 37
Killian moved to her other side at once, big and silent and watchful, one hand hovering near the small of her back without quite touching.
Nico stepped in close enough that she could feel the heat of him, his gaze flicking over her throat, her face, her hands, checking her over again as if some part of him still needed proof that she was really standing there.
They walked out of the ballroom together and no one spoke.
The house had gone mostly quiet. The music was long gone. The laughter had died with the party. Only the soft echo of their footsteps followed them through the marble halls.
Bea’s body was beginning to feel the night now.
The attack. The adrenaline. The rage. The confrontation. The grief. Her bones felt heavy.
Her throat ached. Her eyes burned.
By the time they reached the staircase, she was running on stubbornness and very little else. Killian noticed first. Of course he did. Without a word, he bent and scooped her into his arms.
Bea let out a startled breath. “Killian-”
“You’re exhausted,” he said quietly.
“We all are, but you’re hurt and I can walk.”
“I know.” His voice was gentle in a way that still undid her. “let me have this though.” That shut her up. She let her head rest against his shoulder.
Dimitri walked close on one side, one hand trailing over her calf where it hung over Killian’s arm, grounding himself with the contact. Nico stayed near her head, his fingers brushing a curl back from her face when it fell loose.
None of them looked at each other, all of them looked at her.
When they reached her room, Dimitri opened the door and Killian carried her inside like she was something breakable and holy all at once.
The room was dim, the bed turned down, the soft glow from the lamps warm against silk and shadow.
Everything looked exactly as it had before the world split open.
Killian lowered her carefully to the edge of the bed and crouched in front of her.
“Can I take these off?” he asked, touching the strap of her heel. Bea blinked down at him.
This enormous, brutal man. On his knees again. For her.
She nodded once.
Killian removed her shoes with a tenderness that made her throat tighten. Nico disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth and a glass of water. Dimitri knelt beside her and held the water out.
“Drink.” She did, because arguing felt impossible right then.
Nico passed her the cloth next. “For your face.”
Bea dabbed under her eyes and laughed weakly. “I must look incredible.”
“You do,” Killian said immediately.
Dimitri closed his eyes like he already knew how that sounded.
Nico, somehow, made it worse by saying quietly, “You do.” That almost broke her again.
Bea set the glass aside and looked at the three of them. “I am too tired to deal with any of you being sweet right now.” Killian’s mouth twitched.
“Understood,” Nico said.
Dimitri exhaled softly through his nose and rose to pull back the covers. “Come here,” he said, voice low. “Please.”
That please did something painful to her insides.
Bea stood carefully, her body complaining at every movement, and let them help her out of the gown. They were impossibly careful, unzipping, sliding fabric away from bruised skin, looking everywhere except directly at her until she was standing in one of Dimitri’s old shirts.
It clung to her body, and normally that would bother her, but tonight, she felt comfort in the tightness. She crawled into bed first.
For one second, the brothers just stood there looking at her like they did not quite trust themselves to climb in beside her.
Bea lifted one brow. “Well? Unless all of that kneeling was just for show, I assume at least one of you intends to hold me.”
Killian was in the bed before the words had fully landed. That made her smile, though it was small and tired.
He gathered her against his side with unbelievable care, as if afraid even the weight of his arm might hurt her.
Nico slid in on the other side, one hand finding hers beneath the blanket, lacing their fingers together like he needed the anchor.
Dimitri came last, settling behind her, his chest warm against her back, one arm curving around her waist in a hold so cautious it nearly undid her more than anything else had.
For a while, no one said anything. The room was quiet except for breathing. The kind of quiet that comes after devastation. The kind that holds.
Bea stared into the dim room and felt the exhaustion settling deeper. She could feel Killian’s heartbeat under her cheek. Nico’s thumb moving back and forth against her knuckles.
Dimitri’s breath stirring the top of her hair. It would have been so easy to cry again. Instead, she whispered, “I really did want to hate you.” The arm around her waist tightened.
“We know,” Dimitri said softly.
Nico’s fingers trembled once around hers.
Killian pressed a kiss into her hair. “You had every right to.” Bea swallowed.
“I called Marco because I knew he would come, and I still felt guilty for calling him because my heart still wanted you guys.”
Dimitri was quiet for a beat. “I’m glad you had someone who did.” That answer startled her enough to turn her head a little.
He met her eyes over the curve of her shoulder, and there was no jealousy there. Only grief. “And I hate,” he said, voice rough, “that it wasn’t me.”
That one did break her. A tear slipped free before she could stop it.
Nico leaned over immediately and kissed it away. “No more tonight,” he murmured.
Bea gave a watery laugh. “okay.”
Killian brushed his hand slowly up and down her arm. “Sleep, baby.” Bea let her eyes close.
But before sleep could take her, she said quietly, “I meant it.” Three bodies around her went still.
“If you ever do that again,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “if you ever choose someone else’s word over mine again, I’m gone.”
“You won’t have to say it twice,” Dimitri said.
“You won’t have to say it again at all,” Nico added.
Killian’s answer came last, low and absolute.
“Never again.”
The certainty in it settled something inside her. Not healed. Not fixed. But steadied.
She let out a long breath. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I am far too tired to train another set of men.”
That got a soft huff of laughter from all three of them.
The sound wrapped around her like another blanket.
And in that quiet, tangled together in the aftermath of betrayal and blood and grief, Beatrice Rossi finally let herself sleep.
Not because the world was safe. Not because the hurt was gone.
But because, for the first time since everything fell apart, she believed they would stay awake and guard what they had almost lost.