42. Jasmine

Chapter forty-two

Jasmine

D esmond is in love with me?

Zane's words hit me like a physical blow to the gut, leaving my stomach churning, but there is a spark of truth to his words.

I just thought his actions towards me were generic across all his dancers. I always thought he was a sleaze bag to everyone. Tears blur my eyes as I stumble closer to the child who saved me, though I'm still cautious about Marcus' reaction. I can understand why he would resent me after everything.

"Hey," Zane's voice is soft and comforting as his hand rests on my shoulder. "Breathe. We need to be strong for him."

But my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Marcus's fist colliding with the wall, the sharp crack echoing through the room and mirroring the fracture in my heart. "This is why I can't trust anyone but you, Dad!" His words are filled with anger and hurt, directed not only towards his father but also towards me.

Zane's hand stays on my shoulder, grounding me as I try to process everything that's happening.

"Then quit your job, Marcus," he says firmly. "I've put my life on hold for you and this boy, just like I did when you were young. It's exhausting. But if there's someone else out there who can love Alex as much as we do and who would risk their life for him, maybe it would be better for all of us." His words are both a plea and a promise, and I know he means them. "We just need to train her so she knows what to do."

"That would help," Jasmine huffs at herself.

"You followed the instructions you were given," I praise her.

"Marcus, they couldn't hear me, but I could hear them. Alex was so brave, even when he was being slapped around."

I know Marcus doesn't want to hear it, but he needs to understand the true bravery of Alex. The way he fearlessly faced danger and stood up for what was right.

"Desmond asked why Alex was protecting me and he said it's what family does." My bravery grows as Marcus nods, he knows his son wouldn't stand by and do nothing. "Then he said the most grown-up thing I've ever heard. I am the son of the mafia. I am the grandson of the mafia. If you hurt me, you hurt the Thayer Cartel. And they don't like being hurt ."

The anger in Marcus' eyes didn't clear, but it lessened, the harsh lines of fury softening as understanding and something akin to pride flickered within their depths. I pause, searching for the right words to bridge the chasm of doubt that keeps us apart. "He's a little capo in the making. Strong, resilient, and full of heart—just like his father."

"Thanks." Marcus drops his head, his thumb stroking across Alex's hand. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologise. I understand completely."

Marcus nods and beckons me to his side. Alex is just a little bump in the covers.

The steady beep of the heart monitor was a comforting break in the silence as we stood over him, the three of us in a line doing nothing but looking at each rise and fall of his chest. Alex remained still, except for the subtle twitch of his fingers that suggested a dream path filled with monsters between him and consciousness.

"His condition is stable," Marcus murmured, his voice a low hum that seemed almost out of place in the hushed vigil. "We're doing everything we can. Now, it's about giving him time."

Time. A luxury and a curse intertwined, stretching out before us with maddening ambiguity.

Marcus's gaze never wavers from his son's face, but I feel the shift beside me, Marcus' still body relaxes, and the gap between us lessens.

"He's... he's just like me," Marcus choked out between sobs. "Strong. Resilient. A fighter."

I squeezed his hand, offering strength through touch, a silent echo of support as he faced his own vulnerability.

"More than that," I said softly, my eyes on the boy who held his father's heart in slumbering hands. "He's a testament to you, Marcus. A legacy of strength and honour. Someone to be proud of, even now, especially now."

"Alex," he whispered, and it was as if a dam broke within him. I've never been comfortable around men crying. The only time I ever saw my dad cry was when he was sentenced to twenty years behind bars. Mum said he cried every time she visited him after that, which was too much to bear. How could I visit him and watch tears of regret fall down his face when there was no chance for him to learn from his mistake, no option for redemption? He was just shut away from us for the rest of his working life. Just one mistake. Okay, it was a big mistake. But it was one choice that snowballed until he couldn't control it any more.

But these men before me have that chance at redemption. We can learn from this and move forward as a family, and I have a good idea how.