“Okay,” I said, surprised at how much his words calmed me. He always made plans in smaller bites than real life, never further than Tuesday. It was sharp-edged, but it made the world easier to swallow. After a while, Dante fell asleep sitting up. I brought him a blanket, then one for Marco, who by then had curled around the remote like a kid denied cable his whole life. The house was too hot, and when I cracked the window, the cold air gnawed at my ankles. But I left it open, savoring the oddly sweet stink of lake water and thawing algae.
These two men were supposed to keep me and my son alive. And I’d already given up everything.
My career. My whole sense of self.
For my unborn son.
So I was going to have to do something I’d never done before.
I needed to learn how to fight back.
Chapter 4: Dante
Ididn’t recognize the kitchen when I woke up. There was always this split second, right before your brain caught up, where everything looked wrong—like a photo that hadn’t finished developing. Today, the first thing that hit me was the slap of cold Canadian sunlight through the slider door, and the way the stench of burnt coffee filled the place, thick as fog. The sky outside was the color of cheap printer paper. Ducks drifted in the muck at the edge of the lawn. Inside, it was dead silent—like Sunday, or a morgue.
I’d crashed in my clothes, mouth dry and sour, adrenaline burned out. For a minute, I let myself think maybe we’d gotten away.
Jade was by the kitchen, kettle screaming on the stove. She had a flannel shirt thrown over her pajamas, hair twisted up in a messy knot. She didn’t move like someone hiding from a hitman anymore—more like herself, chin tilted just so as she squinted at the directions on a box of pancake mix. Not the pose of a womanon the run, but someone seeing if the universe would let her pretend it was just a normal Saturday.
She caught me staring. If she felt exposed, she didn’t show it. If anything, she looked faintly amused.
“How’s Marco?” she asked, voice low. I checked the next room—one of those half-hearted dens, just a mattress in an alcove. He was snoring loud enough to rattle the windows.
“No clue,” I said. “Do you know how long he’s been asleep for?”
She shook her head, lips twitching.
“Well, it’s nice that you’re here,” I said. “And I’m here. It’s nice that we’re both, uh, here.”
She almost laughed. “Wow. I’ve never seen you uncomfortable before.”
“Give me a break. I haven’t had caffeine or a gunfight in like, eight hours.” I tried for a smirk, but it landed somewhere between apology and disbelief. I wanted to ask how she was really holding up, but the words wouldn’t come. We stood there, side by side, breathing in the dawn, the quiet swelling between us like lake fog.
She scooped coffee into the French press, every move precise, almost delicate. Watching her made me itch to say something that mattered, but all I got out was:
“So. Pancakes?”
“If the mix isn’t older than you,” she said. “I was going to get groceries, but then I remembered there’s a contract on our lives, so, you know. Less urgent.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “The way to a man’s heart is breakfast. Unless you’re planning to poison me.”
She paused, then: “That’s tomorrow’s plan.”
I liked the edge in her voice. I liked the sharp corners of her more than the soft ones, not that I’d admit it. Jade poured boiling water, leaned on the counter, shifting her weight between her arms and her belly. It was the first time I really noticed the curve of her stomach. Four months and change. I looked at her and, for a second, saw a future. It knocked the breath out of me.
She must’ve noticed. Her face softened, uncertain. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, and maybe it was true. “Just… You look different.”
“Thanks,” she deadpanned. “It’s the swelling. Very modern.”
I shrugged, grinning now. “Looks good on you.”
She snorted. “Flattery before eight a.m.? You must really be off your game.”
“I never flatter you,” I said, hands sliding to her arms. “I just tell the truth.”
I bent down and kissed the back of her neck.
