Chapter 82

Chapter 82
I wake the next morning deliciously sore, every muscle humming as though I’ve worked out parts of myself I hadn’t touched in ages. It’s been almost a month since Diego and I were last together, and my body reminds me of that absence now with every ache.

Sunlight gleams through the curtains—curtains Diego never seems to want to close—spilling golden light across the room. I turn my head, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I register his presence beside me. Diego is still asleep.

I lie there silently, watching him in the early morning glow. The light seems to worship him, painting his features in soft gold. His long lashes rest against his cheeks, his breathing deep and steady, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic. The sheet lies just over his hips, teasing me with what it conceals, leaving me faintly frustrated that I can’t see more.

I shift onto my side, content to simply watch him. If he had led a different life, he could have been a movie star or a model—something in front of a camera. I’m certain the camera would have loved him just as much as I do.

Time stretches as I stay there, memorizing the quiet details: the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the warmth radiating from his body. Eventually, he begins to stir, shifting against the sheets, grunting softly as he drifts back toward consciousness.

His eyes blink open slowly, unfocused at first, until the haze of sleep clears. Then his lips curve into that smile—the one that always undoes me. “Mornin’,” he rumbles, his voice hoarse with sleep.

The sound sends shivers down my spine, dragging me back to the memory of last night, to the way his voice had gone low and growly when he fucked me. Even now, just the echo of it makes my body tighten with remembered heat.

“Morning,” I whisper back, my voice hushed as though speaking too loudly might break the fragile spell of this moment.

Diego stretches lazily, one arm sliding beneath the pillow, the other reaching out to pull me closer. The sheet shifts with his movement, brushing against my skin, and I melt into the warmth of him. His body radiates heat, grounding me in a way that feels almost domestic—ordinary, yet extraordinary because it’s him.

For a moment, I just lie there, pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos of last night, when every sound, every touch, was sharp and consuming. Now, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He presses a kiss to the crown of my head, his lips lingering. “You look tired,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

I chuckle softly. “I feel sore, but… good sore. The kind that reminds me I’m alive.”

Diego smirks, eyes half-lidded but gleaming with satisfaction. “That’s because you are. And because you’re mine.”

The words settle over me like a blanket, heavy but comforting. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the safety of his arms. Now, there’s no plotting, no lies, no danger—just the quiet intimacy of morning light and the man beside me.



After we got up, washed, and dressed, breakfast in the dining room was quiet, almost ceremonial. Diego ate with the same calm precision he carried into every part of his life, while I sat across from him, aware of the weight of the day ahead. We had an important meeting scheduled with the heads of the other families of Texas. By the time we left for the meeting, I could feel the tension in the air—an invisible thread pulling tighter with every mile.

The gathering was held in a grand room at a five-star hotel, its long table polished to a mirror shine. Four chairs were filled now that Leo was gone, each occupied by a family head who carried the weight of their territory. The air was thick with expectation; the others were restless, their voices rising as they demanded answers about the council.

Diego sat at the head of the table, silent, his presence commanding without a word. He let them speak, let the noise swell, until he finally raised his hand. The gesture alone was enough to quiet the room.

When he spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate. “I took the initiative to remove the council from their seat. They had too much power over our families, but little responsibility when things went wrong.” His gaze swept the room, sharp and unyielding. “We sit here together as heads of the four families that run Texas. Why do we need old men to tell us what to do? I propose we form a committee of none other than us. We can convene and mediate wrongdoings. We can mediate alliances. We can convene ourselves. There is no need for middlemen. We are grown, capable, and able to make our own decisions—are we not?”

His words hung heavy in the air. The other heads glanced at me briefly, as if questioning my presence, before Montoya of North Texas leaned forward. “Yeah, we’re all grown. But the council wasn’t biased. They mediated without underhanded motives.”

Diego’s brow arched, his tone sharpening. “Is that what you think? Perhaps because you weren’t in close proximity to them for extended periods. Those men were always underhanded, always biased. While telling me they wanted to end the war between Leo and me, they were stirring the pot—hoping one of us would take the other out.”

Earl of East Texas frowned, skeptical. “That’s hard to believe. They were harmless old men.”

Diego scoffed, the sound sharp as a blade. “Harmless? Leo is dead. They used him to try to bend me to their will, and he paid the price with his life. Tell me—how harmless is that?”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only when Sawyer of West Texas spoke. “So you’re suggesting we become our own council?”

Diego nodded once, decisive. “Exactly. We can work through things ourselves, as long as we promise that when we come together, no blood will be shed, and compromise will always be on the table.”

Montoya and Sawyer nodded, their agreement clear. Earl still looked doubtful, his hesitation palpable. “What if that doesn’t work?” he asked finally.

Diego turned his full attention on him, his gaze hard and unwavering. “Then it means we aren’t putting in the effort needed to make it work. I state here and now that I am not looking to encroach on anyone’s territory. That is my word and bond. Can you all say the same?”

Montoya was the first to respond, his voice firm. “I state that I am not looking to encroach on anyone’s territory. That is my word and bond.”

Sawyer followed, echoing the same vow. Earl hesitated, the pause stretching long enough to make the air taut with tension, before he finally gave his word as well.

We rise from our seats, the weight of the meeting still hanging in the air. Diego offers the other three heads a courteous nod, his voice smooth as he wishes them safe travels. I echo the sentiment, though my mind is already turning over the implications of what was said.

The hall outside is dim, the polished floor reflecting the muted light from the chandeliers above. Our footsteps echo softly as we walk side by side toward the exit. Diego’s presence is steady, commanding even in silence.

Then, in a low murmur meant only for me, he says, “I think Earl will become a problem. Sooner or later, he will need to be dealt with.”

The words are quiet but heavy, carrying the weight of inevitability. My pulse quickens at the cold certainty in his tone.

Without hesitation, I slip my hand into his, grounding both of us in the gesture. My voice is softer, almost a whisper, but firm enough to carry conviction. “We’ll figure something out.”

The contact steadies me, even as the reality of his words lingers. Diego’s ruthlessness is a blade always ready to strike, but my role—our bond—has become the balance, the quiet promise that we’ll find a way through together.