Chapter 18

Mia

“Hey,” a deep, velvety voice says.

“Hey,” I rasp, my sleepy tone escaping out of my lips, the early lights of the sunrise shining through the curtains.

“Go back to sleep, princess. Gotta go to the club,” he says, kissing my forehead while I open my eyes slowly.

“I’ve barely seen you this week.” I pout, wishing we could have spent more time together.

“Missing me, Mrs Malone?” He grins wickedly.

“You wish.” I smirk, sending a pillow flying on his head. He grabs it before it reaches its target and shoves it on the floor.

His gaze softens. “I know, sorry ‘bout that, lots going on, never enough hours in the day.”

“Let me know if I can help you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, baby. It’s almost done. We’ll have more time together this weekend in Chicago.” He takes his jacket in his hand, the veins of his forearm flashing under his tattoos.

Dear lord.

“I’m off.” He steps toward me and kisses my forehead.

This is so…domestic. We look like a real couple now.

You were never meant for this.

You can’t handle this.

“Bye,” I say between parted lips.

Maybe I’m not meant for this, but perhaps I can try one more time.

-

“So?” Kiara's excited voice lingers on the phone.

“So?”

“Did you guys…?”

“Kiara!” I shout, hoping to get her to stop asking me about this .

“ C’mon , I need to know. Nothing’s happening here. Dad keeps me under lock here. I haven’t seen a boy in decades,” she complains, like this is the end of the world.

“You’re going to school every day, Kiara. There’s boys there. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yes, but it’s different. The guys here all have acne and no muscles, like none,” she argues, pleading her case. I laugh at my little sister, seventeen and way too eager to hang out with bad boys.

“We kissed,” I admit on the phone.

“Kissed? How was it? Passionate, short, gross, awkward, hot as—”

“Seriously?” I chuckle, “You gotta stop watching rom-coms. Real life has nothing to do with them.”

“Says the married woman with a hotter-than-hell husband.” She giggles, and I’m pretty sure she’s lying down on her bed, her feet up and bouncing behind her.

“We just kissed a few times, and it was…sweet.” A smile spreads on my face as I remember how good my husband kisses me.

“Sweet? That’s all? We’re talking about the same tall, mountain of muscles, covered in tattoos, looks like a criminal, right?”

I chuckle. “What do you want me to tell you? It was, I don’t know…, he’s gentle with me,” I tell her, enjoying how my sister turns everything into a soap opera.

“Gentle, you mean in a hot way?” Her voice is full of hope for crusty details.

“Kiara,” I chide, swallowing a laugh. “He’s gentle with me, it’s, I like it.”

She sighs. “I’m happy for you, Mia. You deserve it.”

“I don’t know where it will lead, but—” I hesitate.

“How come?”

“Nothing I’d want to bother you with.” I remember her age and how carefree of my marital issues she should stay.

“I’m a big girl now. You can tell me anything, you know?” she says, her voice much calmer and serious.

I wait a second before opening the gates of my heart, “What if he doesn’t love me back? He likes me, he cares for me, but… Can a man like him….love someone like me?” Ares has been showing me how much he wants to care for me, but could we ever become more? Like a real married couple with rings and vows actually meaning something?

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“ I like it here,” I admit, hoping she’ll get my point.

“That’s amazing.” She smiles, and I hear it in her voice.

“What if I ruin everything because I never felt good in our home? What if I can’t handle it without destroying it?” Panic rises in my voice and under my rib cage.

“You won’t,” she deadpans.

“How can you be so sure?”

“‘Cause I know you, duh, and just because Mom and Dad have never been…well, whatever, just because you never really felt good in our home doesn’t mean you won’t create a happy one for yourself,” she states simply, and I wish I could hug her right now.

“So I leave a few months, and you become wiser than Gandalf?” I chuckle, bringing back lightness to our conversation.

“I’m not! Don’t compare me to a two-thousand-year-old dude. That’s gross !” She bursts into laughter.

God, I miss her.

-

“Sugar, milk?” Erin asks me as we sit in her warm wood and sleek kitchen, plants falling for the shelves and tree-like plants displayed all around the room.

“No thanks, I’m good.” I take the cup of green tea in my hand, appreciating the bowl of nuts and fresh fruits in front of me. Shadow must have told her from the many days spent with me.

“I’m so thrilled you came, I wanted to make sure you were good since the fight.” She smiles gently, sitting on the stool next to me.

“Oh, yeah, that was—”

“Intense, to say the least.” Her brows raise.

“Yeah, definitely.” I chuckle.

“It’s different usually, less, um, bloody. Was he okay afterward?”

“Yes, he said it was barely a few cuts.” I shake my head, remembering the amount of blood he lost from just a few cuts.

“Men.” She laughs. “Shadow told me Carter’s been replacing him a bit. How's that going on?”

“With Carter? Well, he’s definitely less talkative than Ash and Shadow, but I like that he doesn’t always ask questions, feels like I don’t have bodyguards, and sometimes it’s a great feeling. No offense to Shadow. I really like having him around.” But it’s true; Carter is so discreet it’s like he’s not even there, and that’s actually nice when you’re trying to focus on something other than the two Vikings following you around.

“Don’t worry, he likes you too, Mia, but he’s stoked about going back to the club more. That’s where he belongs.” She pushes a strain of black hair behind her ear.

“You guys been together for a long time?” I ask.

“God,” she looks far away, “ten years? We met when I was twenty, and he was already in his thirties. The whole bad boy vibe didn’t really pass the test with my parents. It was quite a journey to get to where we are today.”

“Really, how come?” The warm cup heats my palms. I should have worn a sweater today; it’s chilly, and my little peach dress isn’t keeping me warm enough.

“My father didn’t approve of him, said I was wasting my life away, things got…ugly. I had to pick a side, and I chose him. And I’d choose him a thousand times again if I had to.” I smile at her, admiring her strength.

“Kind of like you guys. I’ve never seen Ares so obsessed over a woman before.” She shoves her elbow lightly into my ribs.

“What? No, we’re, it’s different,” I argue, shaking my head.

“Even arranged marriages can have happy endings. You know that, right?” Her soft gaze locks on mine.

“How romantic.” I chuckle ironically.

“No, seriously, just because you guys had a rough start doesn't mean it can’t work out,” she assures with a smile.

I shrug. “Yeah…maybe.”

“Trust me, Ares has you under his skin. You’re blind if you don’t see it, girl.” She sips her tea.

Under his skin.

Really? Could this mean….more?

I pull my hair behind my ears nervously. “You said you started crochet?”

Real smooth, Mia.

She winks at me but doesn’t push me more, and I am grateful for it. “Yes! It’s quite bad, actually. Swear you won’t laugh? I tried to do a sea-shell bra.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Who starts crocheting with such a difficult project?

“I know I should have started with socks or a scarf, but that’s gonna look so hot once I’m done.” Her hand rests on her cheek like she’s picturing it already done.

“Show me,” I tell her enthusiastically.

“Here,” she says, jumping off from the stool and to a basket near her sofa. Then she comes back with her so-called bra, and I can’t contain my giggles.

“Erin.” I burst into laughter, the bra the size of ping-pong balls. “What are you planning on doing with these ?” I touch the wool.

“Shut up.” She laughs, holding her stomach. “It’s, it’s fashion, you don’t get it.” She throws the bra on me.

“Of course I don’t. I know nothing about fashion.” I laugh so much that my ribs hurt. “Well, if you guys have a cat, you could still use it to warm his ears in the winter?”

She shakes her head, still laughing. “Okay, now you know what my level is. The real question is, can we fix it ?”

“Sure, where are your needles?”

“Here.” She gives me the tools.

“Okay, so we’re gonna start with a simple knot.” I show her.

“Hey, thank you, by the way.” She stops, looking at me with warmth.

“It’s okay, I like doing this,” I assure her with a smile.

“Well, thank you anyway,” she says before sitting back next to me.

We exchange a smile, and I stay here another hour, laughing and teaching her how to crochet.

-

It’s been a week since the gallery exhibition, and we landed this morning in Chicago to visit my family and settle Kiara’s situation. Ares was busy at the club, mentioning another gang they’d been having a feud with. I’ve been busy with work too, and we’ve barely talked since he came back to bed after I fell asleep every day. I prefer when he’s there so we can talk and argue and hang out in the kitchen. But I haven’t pushed him. The look on his tired face each morning was speaking for itself. He looked like a man who needed more hours in the day to accomplish what needed to be done.

I’m grateful he still wanted to go to Chicago and settle Kiara’s issue, even with the mountain of work he had to deal with.

I thought a lot about what he could do to my father to twist his hand into letting his treats go. But in our world, there was only two options: you’d either had something to offer or something to damage.

“How was the session with Dr Ofenhaus this morning?” Ares asks as we arrive in the black Mercedes sent to pick us up from the airport

“Not so bad.” I shrug.

“Really ? Wanna talk ‘bout it, princess?” His gorgeous emerald eyes study mine. He’s wearing a black suit with a black dress shirt, and the whole look is making me want to run my hands on the fabric and squeeze his thick muscles underneath. A wicked grin lifts the corner of his lips. Damn it, he knows what I’m thinking about.

Focus, Mia.

“I, um, he said I’d made progress when I tried to eat at the gallery.” His gaze softens.

“That’s good,” he comforts me.

Why does it feel so good to hear him praise me?

“He said, since you’re the one helping me to stop my panic attacks, that…”

Just say it. He won’t let you down, trust him.

“C’mon, Mia, tell me.” His eyes lock with mine, patiently waiting for me to talk.

“That next time we could try new foods together, that it could help me to overcome the fear of having another panic attack,” I explain.

“Okay, we’ll do that then.” He takes my chin in his rough fingers. I smile back shyly, wondering why this man would even want to put up with a mess like me.

“About Kiara, I know you’ve been busy with the club and all that, but I need to know how you’re going to handle it. I can’t fix this myself… My father knows I can’t do anything about it. Whatever you plan on doing, it needs to be discreet. I never want Kiara to know, she’s…she’s too good for this world, and she would hate herself for not having agreed to the match before we got married. Just promise you won’t make anything that could jeopardize that.”

“I won’t, you got my word.” His thumb brushes my chin.

“What will you do?”

He sighs and lets his hand fall down, his gaze drifting from my lips to my gaze.

“Before I got you, I had a talk with him in our basement at the club.” He takes my hand in his and laces our fingers gently, reminding me of my father’s knee, contrasting with his words. “I think your father just needs a reminder not to take his safety for granted.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the translucent skin of my inner wrist.

“You won’t kill him,” I say blankly.

“Do you want me to kill him? ” He lifts his brow.

The silence weighs heavily in the car, the roar of the road the only sound echoing around us. If it was up to me…but it’s not, and even if he’s a shitty father, Kiara doesn’t deserve to go through this. I shake my head silently.

“I’ll just make a point, it’ll be alright. Consider it done.” And with his commanding tone, he grabs my nape and leans in, towering over me, his black suit making him look like sin incarnated, his tattoos escaping from his neck and licking his jaw, his leafy gaze suddenly heavy with something we’ve been fighting for months now.

“I’ll take care of it, Mia. I’ll protect you, always.” His finger caresses my lower lips. “You and the people you care about.”

“Ares—” I whisper.

“I’m not running away, Mia. I’m not backing down. I’m not leaving. We’re gonna deal with your father as a team, and then, we’ll go back home .” I nod twice, pushing away the tears and the overwhelming amount of butterflies flying in my stomach.

Is this what…love feels like?

Lacing our fingers, he puts our hands on his thigh, circling my skin with his thumb.

Could this last forever?

Ares

Mia is acting differently.

She didn’t wear her usual colorful clothes, and although she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, she seems like a dim version of herself. No jewelry, except her wedding rings, no nail polish stuff, no outrageous orange boa to finish the look as she always says, no sequin purse, and most of all, no high heels.

Between seeing my woman in high heels and barefoot at home, I gotta say I've never seen her in other types of shoes. My little Mia is wearing a simple black dress, her fiery hair suffocating in a tight as fuck bun, and she has almost no makeup on her face. Not that it bothers me; she could be wearing a potato sack, and she would still light my skin on fire.

I know her sister’s situation has been on her mind a lot, which would be the fucking same for me if anything was threatening Vanessa’s safety. I want to show her I can fix this for her, that we’re a team, and that I’ll fight and protect her until my last breath.

Careful. This is a slippery slope.

Mia’s been walking on a fine line lately, looking at me like a starved woman and glancing outside the window each time I pushed her too much. Hence why I haven’t tried anything more in the physical sense, despite burning for her. The proximity of her sinful curves in our bed almost makes me mad each time I have to keep my hands to myself, lying next to a goddess wearing the tiniest fucking pieces of fabric.

I thought I’d have to push her away and live my life on my own, but it turns out I want her more than breathing itself. My little tornado is harder to catch than any prey I had to chase. She’s smart, stubborn, and a walking contradiction. I know that I won’t win her heart. I’ll earn it. And it starts today by ensuring her sister's safety.

“Hi, welcome, welcome! The whole family is together. What a delight!” her mother greets us at the door of a large white colonial house with white moldings and lion statues in the entryway. Fancy, but it screams new money. She attempts to hug me, but I’m not into touching strangers, so I step back, giving her a stare that typically reduces folks into ashes and nods to her.

“Hi, Mom.” Mia steps in front of me and hugs her mom for a second, awkwardly putting her hands on her as if it were her first time doing this.

“Ares,” her father's voice echoes behind her mother, who's wearing a tight ponytail and a long black dress, displaying her thinness.

Thin.

Way too fucking thin to be healthy. Looks like a malnourished child. No fucking way my girl ends up like this one day.

“O’brian,” I say, keeping my cool in front of his stern face.

We’re not family.

Mia’s my family.

Him?

I could strangle him with my bare hands and not think twice about it.

He advances toward us, the entryway filled with paintings, moldings, and golden stuff to display wealth, only here it looks cheap. Tacky. As if they had tried too hard. I can’t help but smirk when I notice his lump from the electric drill I shove into his knees months ago when I discovered he was talking to Nero behind my back.

He clenches his jaw, hard, and lifts his hand toward me. We shake hands, both of us breaking each other's bones in a quick shake, representing all that we carry on our shoulders.

Cities, territories, hundreds of men.

All of that in one single shake.

I stay alert, which is what any predator should do in front of another one. Things have a way of getting down fucking fast when you don’t control yourself. Especially in our world.

“Mia! Gosh, I missed you so much!” shouts her little sister, barging from the stairs to the entryway, wearing a simple gray dress with her hair just as wild as my woman’s.

Red, curly, silky, wild, unwilling to obey.

Something in my gut tells me that if these are the genes of the O’brian sisters, then I hope one day we’ll get our own little girl with fiery hair and stubbornness running around in our home.

“I missed you so much, Kia,” Mia says, hugging her sister with strength and warmth, both of them closing their eyes at the touch. Kiara’s young, and she reminds me so much of Mia. In the way she speaks, in the way she moves. But there’s something different in her eyes, a goodness few people only carry on themselves past adulthood.

Innocence.

There.

Forgot about it ‘cause I’m not used to seeing it in my daily life.

My Mia, just like my men, lost this gleam a long time ago. That’s the mark of those who’s seen the real world and stopped dreaming about fucking happy endings and goodness in people. That’s the mark of what makes those of us stronger, harder to break.

She’ll learn. One day. But not today.

There’s no fucking way I’m letting Mia down by failing to protect her sister. She’d never forgive me.

“You must be starving. Let’s all go to the dining room. Come on, chop chop, Mia.” her mother claps her hand twice before looking from head to toe at my woman and wincing at the sight.

The fuck?

Mia glances at me with an apologetic smile. I nod back.

It’s okay, everything’s okay.

I got ya.

I don’t follow her right away. “A word,” I call on her father. It’s not a question. He narrows his eyes at me, and if I wasn't such a fucking paranoid bastard, I would bet he’s thinking about the nearest weapon to kill me if things go south. That’s funny ‘cause I’d already be covered in his blood by the time he even tries to end me. That guy’s too fat to be a fighter. He just sends men to do the dirty work. He doesn’t know about digging graves in the woods, chopping body parts, or conducting interrogations that end up in bloodbaths.

The man wears white shirts, for fuck’s sake. That says it all.

Blood’s too fucking hard to erase from white shirts, hence why I only have black ones. Gotta be practical.

“Sure, in my office.” He motions his hand to the corridor behind the stairs. Once we reach the room, he glances over his shoulder.

“Cigars?” he offers.

I nod as I watch him circle his wide wooden desk, open a drawer with a key, and take a wooden box out. Lifting it toward me, I take one and lit it up with my lighter. I’m not a smoker, but once in a while, I like to indulge in it.

“So,” he clears his throat and sits in his large leather chair, leaning back without a care in the world, “what brings you here?”

“Family?” I suggest, with a tone colder than ice.

Did he forget he had another daughter?

He points to the chair in front of him, but I’m not the kind to obey that kind of man, so I stand, towering over him, and liking the way his body looks way smaller as I look down on him. His jaw ticks, the realization hitting him that he shouldn't have sat.

Don’t you worry, O’brian. Mind games are my specialty, and I never play fair with them.

“Oh yes, family, right. Well, we are family now. How silly of me to forget it.” Shaking his head, his mouth closes in a straight line. “Well, it’s really nice of you to—”

“Are you still planning on marrying Kiara to the Italian?” I say blankly, standing in front of him, cigar in hand, the desk as our only barrier.

O’brian arches a brow, settling into his oversized leather chair like a king on his throne. But real power doesn’t need thrones—doesn’t need fancy suits or grand gestures.

Power stands tall, even in the dirt.

“What I’m planning to do or not, Ares, isn’t your business.” He smirks, eyes narrowing. He leans back like he’s got the upper hand, but I see right through him. Small men hide behind their wealth, their power, their deals. He thinks he’s playing a game with me. But he doesn’t know that I don’t play.

I may be in his city, but he’s on my territory—where power isn't defined by bullets or brute force. Here, the battlefield is in the mind, where I win every time. It's not about pulling a trigger, it's about pulling strings, digging into insecurities, exposing fears. I don’t need to shout or swing to win. He’s already losing, just doesn’t know it yet. The moment he thinks he’s got the upper hand, I’m already ten steps ahead, ready to tear him down from the inside out.

I lean in, calm, controlled, but with an edge sharp as a knife.

“Let me make this clear,” I start, taking a drag of the cigar, letting the silence weigh heavy between us, taking my time ‘cause that’s what freaks people out most of the time.

“You marry Kiara off to that old bastard, and there’ll be consequences. Not for her, not for me...but for you.” I exhale the smoke, watching him squirm under my gaze, his smirk faltering. He’s been in my basement. He knows how things work. Well, I bet his knee remembers, it did take me quite a significant amount of time to pierce the bones with the electric drill last time.

“You can’t threaten me, Ares. We’re family now,” he rasps with bitterness.

“Family?” I tap the cigar to let the ashes fall on his desk, not giving a fuck about his precious table. “Nah, Mia’s my family.” I nod, not even bothered to admit it ‘cause that’s the fucking truth. “And you know what I discovered since you gave me your little girl?” I smirk while his smile fades.

“There’s no limit to what I can do to protect her and the folks she cares about. None.” Crushing the cigar on the wood, leaving a small crevice on the sleek surface, the white smoke disappearing between us. “You wanna keep breathing, walking in the street without looking over your shoulder? Then you end this.” I lean forward, my voice low, deliberate. “I don’t make threats. I make promises.”

He’s quiet now, the smirk long gone, replaced by a flicker of fear. And he nods like a fucking weak man, not even trying to fight back.

Good.

Standing, I button my black jacket, already thinking about my little tornado.

“You should get your knee checked out,” I call over my shoulder, “you never know when the pain can strike again.”

I leave him there, turning to the door and heading to find my girl.

-

I fucking hate small talk.

I’ve learned to do it when we had to make new connections with different cartels and organizations around the country, but most people know that I’m a straight-to-the-point kind of man. I don’t have time for bullshits or nice-weather-today shit because I’m dealing with hundreds of men who need leadership every day and who need me to make decisions fast. It’s all about efficiency, productivity.

Protecting my men, expanding the club.

My only priority.

Business over everything else.

Everything…?

Which is why I’m fucking seething as I’m having dinner with my in-laws , and I have to watch her very dysfunctional neglectful parents behave like they give a shit about my woman. All she had to do was ask, and I would unalive them in the blink of an eye.

Yeah, I’m turning all romantic, don’t I fucking know it.

At least her sister’s nice, and watching my Mia enjoy her company is the only relief I get from this. I mean this and the sight of my breathtaking wife, who keeps blushing each time I stare at her like she can feel my gaze feasting on her creamy skin.

And those fucking lips.

I’ve been craving them so much now that it’s become almost painful to look at her without tasting her.

“You look a bit pale, darling. Are you alright?” Amalia O’brian asks her husband, the guy’s face fucking livid after our talk.

She knows I’ve pierced his knee, that he tried to betray us, and that Mia and I only got married to pay her husband's debt to the club. And still, her mother acts like I’m a normal guy, not an ounce of guilt in her. All I see is a woman who keeps touching her hair, and checking in the reflection of her knife that she’s looking good.

Mia had to grow up with this as a mother.

A self-obsessed woman who’d rather talk about herself than take five minutes of her day to call her daughter. Now that I think about it, I don’t even recall hearing Mia on the phone with her in months. All I saw was a watery-eyed Mia, sitting crossed leg on our bed, watching her phone ring as her mother never picked up once.

“Amalia, why don’t you ask Mia how she’s doing in Knoxville?” It’s not subtle, but fuck subtlety. I’m Ares Malone, I’m known for many things, but tact isn’t one of them. Her eyes widen and she swallows hard, glancing at me nervously.

“Of course, I was going to ask. Honey, how’s life in Knoxville? Did you make any friends in this very, um, quirky town?” The tone of her voice is strained, unnatural, and my gut screams that some folks should never have children.

Our kids will be treasured, that’s for sure.

The sight of Mia’s round belly flashes before my eyes, our own flesh pulsing inside her womb, making my ribcage tighten.

“Yes, I’ve met Ares’s sister, Vanessa, and also Erin. She’s the wife of a man from the club,” Mia says with a small smile. “I still haven’t met Rose properly. She’s the wife of Ares’s VP, but I heard she likes reading like me, so I think we’ll be friends too.”

I make a mental note to teach Mia a few signs before she meets Rose. Made the whole club learn basic sentences to make his girl more comfortable. I’m a jerk, but I can redeem myself if I get the chance too. And Vox is like a brother to me, so it’s only fair I make her feel welcome especially after what happened last year. No shame in learning from past mistakes. Only fools pretend to know it all.

“Well, that’s so nice,” her mother says, digging into her salad.

Salad for now with oil on the side, wonder if her mother eats like that too.

At least it’s safe for my girl.

For now.

I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she’s not panicking when the main course arrives. I asked Larry to pack lots of snacks for her this weekend. Nuts and protein things with dubious colors, but he said she liked them. Maria has put them in her suitcase, but I doubt she’s noticed it yet.

“You could have known about it before if you had bothered to call, you know?” Mia says, her voice unusually cold, her chin up and proud like a fucking queen.

“I’m so busy, honey. You know with the house and the charities, so much to do and so little time,” her mother yaps back.

What kind of mother is this?

“Mia, give me the salt,” her father orders in a tone I don’t fucking like.

“I also have a huge dinner to organize, you know, with Henry’s wife from the country club, and it’s taking so much ti—”

“Mia, are you deaf girl?” her father shouts across the room.

I stand up immediately and stride to him, then grab his throat in my palm, his pulse quickening as I squeeze the life out of him.

That’s what she had to put up with her whole life?

She’s a fuckin’ saint. I would have shot him a long time ago if he was my father.

“Watch your mouth when you talk to my wife,” I threaten between gritted teeth.

The room falls silent, tension rippling in the air. Mia's father glares at me, but I don’t flinch. I step closer, his life in my right hand, my voice low but firm. Mia’s mother looks away, pretending she didn’t hear anything.

“Mia will never lift a finger in our home, and she sure as hell won’t ever lift one in yours.” He shifts in his seat, but his gaze falters, the weight of my words pinning him in place. I glance at my girl, her hand subtly tightening around her fork, her cheeks flushed, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn't need to.

“You’re lucky she has enough kindness in her to sit at your table. You’ll treat her with the respect she deserves and never talk to her like that ever again. She’s not your little girl anymore; her name is Mia Malone, and where we come from, men don’t even dare to look in her eyes. I suggest you do the same.”

I squeeze his throat even tighter, the bastard turning red in my palm.

“Nod if you understand,” I tell her father before he nods nervously.

I loosen my grip and circle the table back to my seat, my gaze locked on Mia’s. A light blush dances on her cheeks, and a spark shines in her eyes. I sit, looking at her, and hoping she’ll see what I’m trying so hard to show her since her first panic attack.

That I got her.

That I’m willing to risk everything for her.

That she’s mine, and mine only to worship and protect.

“So Kiara, Mia told me you’re into tennis. What division are you playing in?” I ask her casually, like nothing happened. Her little sister's face lights up, and she elbows Mia not so discreetly in the ribs with a what-did-I-tell-you face.

Good.

Like I said, I hate messes, and this needed straightening out.