Chapter 92
Chapter 92
Landon
We lie in bed after our shower, the warmth of Diego’s chest beneath my cheek, our legs tangled together like roots that refuse to let go. The room is dim, the faint hum of the heater filling the silence as I begin to tell him what happened when the deal went down.
“We got there,” I murmur, my voice low, steady against the rhythm of his heartbeat, “and Elliot stepped out of the car, suitcase in hand. He brought the drugs over. Antonio had just taken a hit to check the quality when the DEA swarmed.”
I feel Diego’s chest tighten beneath me, but I keep going. “As planned, the men scrambled, making it look like they were trying to escape. They cuffed me last, shoved me into the back of a car. After they rounded everyone up, they hauled us to the Agency building nearby. They tossed me into an interrogation room and left me there. I guess they thought I was just another perp they could break with silence.”
I pause, remembering the sterile walls, the ticking clock, the weight of waiting. “An hour passed before Price came in. He told me I’d be processed out soon. Then he took me to another room, briefed me on what would happen with the others.”
My voice hardens slightly as I recount it. “Antonio will be charged with murder and possession with intent to distribute. That’s life without parole. Elliot’s looking at ten to twenty years for possession with intent. Your planted men… they’ll face aiding and abetting. Normally, that’s at least a year inside, but Price said they might beat it. They showed him the ad we put out for hired security—proof they didn’t know what they were guarding. I also confirmed their story with Price, that they were just hired as security and didn't know what they were getting into. If they don’t have priors, probation’s possible."
I lift my head slightly, meeting Diego’s eyes in the dim light. “That’s the fallout. That’s how it ends for them.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It’s filled with the weight of survival, the knowledge that we made it through, and the unspoken truth that every move we made was for this—for us, for the chance to still be here, together.
Diego’s chest vibrates against my cheek as he speaks, his voice low and steady. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad everything went as planned without any issues.”
I nod against him, comforted by the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Yeah, so am I. They said Antonio would be processed quickly and placed before trial. Price mentioned he was quiet—didn’t say a word when they brought the charges. He thinks the trial will be quick and easy if Antonio keeps his mouth shut.”
I feel Diego’s subtle nod, the movement resonating through his body before his voice follows. “Let me know where he’s placed and when he gets to gen pop. I’ll have him dealt with quickly so we can close this chapter and move forward.”
A hum escapes me, soft and certain. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I’m so ready to get started on the rest of our lives.”
Diego presses a kiss to the crown of my head, lingering there, his lips warm against my damp hair. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “I’m ready for that too.”
After that, no more words are spoken. The silence between us is full—thick with promises, relief, and the quiet certainty that tomorrow will come. My eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to me. I drift into sleep to the steady rhythm of Diego’s heart beating in my ear, each thump a reminder that I’m home, that I’m safe, that nothing else matters as long as we’re together.
I rise the next morning, opening my eyes to the sun, its golden light spilling through the window as if determined to announce that this is the dawn of something new. The warmth brushes across my skin, and I stretch, feeling the heavy weight of Diego’s arm draped securely around my waist. For a moment, I savor it—the quiet, the safety, the reminder that he’s still beside me.
Carefully, I slide out of bed and pad to the bathroom. The cool tile greets my bare feet as I relieve myself and brush my teeth, the mundane routine grounding me after the chaos of yesterday.
When I return, I pause at the edge of the bed, chuckling softly. Diego lies sprawled across the sheets, his lips pushed into a pout even in sleep. The sight is endearing, almost boyish, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in a man who commands so much. I lean down and press a kiss to those pouting lips, watching as his lashes flutter and his eyes slowly blink open, hazy with sleep until they focus on me.
“G’morning,” he rumbles, his voice hoarse, thick with sleep. The sound vibrates through me like distant thunder rolling in a storm. I love that voice—raw, unguarded, powerful even in its softness.
“C’mon, get up,” I tease, brushing my fingers across his jaw. “We slept in—it’s almost ten.”
Diego grunts, shifting to sit up. His body stretches, muscles flexing, the morning light painting him in gold. The sight makes me groan, half in admiration, half in frustration. I slap his thigh lightly. “Get your ass out of bed.”
He turns that infamous smirk on me, the one that makes him look impossibly sexier, dangerous, and playful all at once. Rising to his feet, he pulls me into him, pressing his lips to mine in a chaste kiss. I chase his mouth as he pulls away, unwilling to let the moment end.
He snickers, eyes glinting with amusement, before heading toward the bathroom. “Not funny!” I call after him, my voice echoing across the room.
The sound of his laughter lingers, filling the room with warmth.
The staff prepare a lavish buffet of food, laying it out in the dining room with quiet precision, as if they too sense that something has shifted—that this morning marks the start of a different chapter. Platters of fruit glisten under the light, steam rises from silver dishes, and the rich aroma of coffee and warm bread fills the air.
Diego and I sit down together, side by side, enjoying the spread before us. The clink of cutlery, the soft murmur of the staff moving in the background, and the occasional brush of Diego’s hand against mine make the meal feel less like routine and more like a ritual.
When we finish, Diego leans back, his voice calm but firm as he instructs the staff to wrap up the rest of the food and donate it to a local kitchen. His words carry weight, a reminder of the balance he always strikes—power with responsibility, control with compassion. The staff move quickly, clearing the table until it’s bare, leaving only the two of us sitting there, coffee cups in hand.
I cradle mine, savoring the warmth, and glance at Diego. A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. Sometimes it’s hard to believe this is my life now—here, with him. The quiet after the storm, the peace after the chaos.
Even so, I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else. From the moment I first saw his photo, something deeper than reason stirred inside me, a pull I couldn’t explain. It told me that with him, I would find my place. My home.
And now, sitting here in the soft glow of morning, sipping coffee with Diego, I know that instinct was right.