Chapter 83
Chapter 83
The next day, I wake slightly disoriented, the remnants of sleep clinging to me like a fog. I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes before glancing around, trying to anchor myself. I’m in Diego’s room. Our room.
The nightmare lingers in fragments—Leo’s shadow, Antonio’s hand swinging the whip, the searing pain that felt so real I could almost still feel it burning across my skin. My back throbs faintly, a phantom ache that centers me in the present, reminding me that I survived. That Diego came for me. That he never stopped looking.
I drop my head into my hands, a wave of relief crashing over me, tangled with shame. Relief that he didn’t give up on me, that he still saw something worth saving. Shame that I fractured what we had, that I let secrets wedge themselves between us. I should have told him the truth long ago. In hindsight, I think he would have understood—that he would have seen I was working to protect him.
But hindsight is useless now. I shake the thoughts from my head and rise from the bed. No use crying over spilled milk. The only thing left is to clean up the mess. To prove to Diego that trusting me is worth it, that loving me is worth it. To show him that I’m grateful he chose love over ending my life.
As I walk toward the bathroom, my phone pings with a sharp vibration. I relieve myself, wash my hands, and return to the nightstand to retrieve it. Swiping the screen open, I see the message:
Price: Do you think you can get close enough to Antonio to be able to go to the deal with him?
I tap the phone against my chin, considering. Hmm. That might not be a bad idea. My thumbs move quickly:
Me: I’ve been working on that, trying to get closer to Antonio. He comes to Diego’s house a lot, so I’ve been trying to sell myself as a good hired man.
The reply comes almost instantly, as though he’s been waiting.
Price: Keep working that angle and try to get an in. We need you there to coordinate our movements and let us know when the best time is to move in.
I type back, steady and deliberate:
Me: Got it. I’ll let you know when I get the time and location if I’m in.
Another immediate response:
Price: Good. I’ll be waiting. Keep your head down and stay safe.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, the words glowing back at me. Stay safe. The irony isn’t lost on me. Safety doesn’t exist in this world—not for Diego, not for me, not for anyone caught in the crossfire. But I pocket the phone anyway, because the only way forward is through the danger.
After washing and dressing, I wander through Diego’s mansion, letting the silence settle around me. It’s a vast house, but silence here feels different—thick, almost alive. Diego isn’t here. I don’t need to search the rooms to know it; I can feel his absence as surely as I feel his presence when he’s near. That’s been the most remarkable discovery—his energy lingers when he’s in the house, even if he’s not in the same room. And when he’s gone, the emptiness presses in like a shadow.
I make my way to the kitchen, the polished floors cool beneath my feet. The staff greet me warmly, their voices breaking the hush. “Good morning, Mr. James. Mr. Fuentes went to work this morning, but he instructed us to give you whatever you requested. What would you like to eat?”
I smile at the chef, grateful for the normalcy. “Good morning. I’ll take a ham and cheese omelette, please. Thank you.”
He nods, moving with practiced ease, gathers ingredients, and sets to work at the stove. The faint sizzle of butter and eggs fills the air, a comforting sound.
I drift into the living room, settling onto the couch with a book in hand. The words pull me in, offering a temporary escape, until the staff return with my meal, setting the plate neatly at the table by the bay window. Sunlight spills across the table, catching the steam rising from the food.
I take my seat, breathing in the savory aroma. The first bite is rich, warm, and satisfying. Before I know it, I’m eating quickly, almost hungrily, as though my body has been waiting for this. The realization hits me—I hadn’t noticed how empty I felt until now.
The sensation stirs up unwelcome memories. Hunger with Leo. The gnawing emptiness of being fed only once a day, the way deprivation became routine. My chest tightens, but I force the thoughts away. For the second time today, I shake them from my head. Leo is gone. Antonio will pay. Jones is dead. Retribution has already begun, and more will follow.
They can’t hurt me anymore. Diego will protect me.
Diego comes home a few hours later. The low rumble of his car pulling up outside reaches me first, and I sit on the edge of the couch, anticipation tightening in my chest. I wait, listening for the familiar rhythm of his footsteps, the sound that always signals the end of the day’s emptiness.
When he walks through the door, it’s as if he carries oxygen with him. The air shifts, filling my lungs in a way it hadn’t all day. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, realizing only now how lethargic I become in his absence. Without him, the hours drag, heavy and dull. With him, my heart jolts back to life, thumping hard as though it hadn’t been beating at all while he was gone.
He steps into the living room, his gaze locking onto me immediately. The corners of his lips curl into that familiar, devastating smirk—one that tells me he knows exactly what his presence does to me, how it jumpstarts my pulse and steadies my world.
He opens his arms, and I rise in one fluid motion, crossing the space quickly until I’m enveloped in him. His arms wrap around me with a gentleness that contrasts with the power in his frame, and a sigh of pure contentment escapes me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, unbidden but undeniable.
I’m eternally grateful for this—grateful that I get to feel him wrapped around me again, grateful that he always comes back. I close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace as he pulls me closer, holding me as though he knows I need it more than words could ever say.
He leans back after pressing a lingering kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. His voice drops low, intimate, meant only for me. “I missed you today, Landon. I was so anxious not seeing you that I pushed through my work as quickly as possible, just so I could return. Just to make sure you were still here.”
The confession settles over me like a weight and a balm all at once. His tone carries a raw honesty I rarely hear from him, the kind that strips away the armor he wears in front of everyone else.
My chest tightens, a rush of emotion flooding me—gratitude, relief, and something deeper that aches in my bones. I tilt my head slightly, studying his face in the soft glow of the room. The smirk is gone now, replaced by something gentler, more vulnerable.
I close my eyes briefly, letting the words sink in, letting the warmth of his arms and the steadiness of his presence remind me that I’m not alone. That despite everything—my secrets, my fractures—he still wants me here.
A sigh escapes me, shaky but full of contentment, as I rest my forehead against his shoulder. My heart thumps hard, not from fear this time, but from the quiet certainty that Diego’s world, dangerous as it is, still has space for me in it.