Sean’s challenge hadn’t been spontaneous. Neither had the others support of Declan’s suggestion. This had been coordinated, planned. Someone was orchestrating a soft coup, convincing my inner circle I was unfit to lead.
The question was who.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the door open.
"You’re bleeding."
Cassie’s voice cut through my concentration. I turned to find her standing in the doorway, still wearing the silk nightgown I’d bought her, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She looked small in the massive space, vulnerable, but her eyes held that steel I recognized.
"It’s nothing," I said, glancing at my knuckles. Blood had seeped through the hand wraps, but it was minor damage.
"Doesn’t look like nothing." She approached slowly, like I was a dangerous animal that might bolt. "May I?"
I should’ve sent her away. Should’ve maintained the distance that kept her safe from the violence that defined my world. Instead, I held out my hands.
Her touch was gentle as she unwrapped the bloody cloth, examining the damage with professional efficiency. "You need ice for the swelling."
"I’ll live."
"Will you?" She looked up at me, and I saw something in her eyes that made my chest tighten. Concern. Fear. Something deeper that I didn’t want to name. "Roman, what happened in that meeting?"
For a moment, I considered lying. Giving her some sanitized version that would preserve the illusion of control. But sitting there in the dim light of the gym, with her hands gentle on my damaged knuckles, the truth spilled out.
"They think I’ve gone soft," I said quietly. "My own men. They think you’re making me weak, compromising my judgment."
Her face went pale. "Maybe they’re right."
"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "They’re scared. Men like that…they don’t understand anything that isn’t bought with blood or intimidation. They see me protecting you, see me making room in my life for something other than violence, and they think it’s weakness."
"Isn’t it?" Her voice was small, uncertain. "This world you live in—maybe there isn’t room for..."
"For what?"
"For this. For us. For whatever this is becoming."
I caught her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Listen to me, Cassie. What’s happening between us—it’s not making me weak. It’s making me stronger. More focused. More determined to build something worth protecting."
"But if your own people don’t trust you?—"
"Then I’ll build new trust. With people who understand that strength isn’t just about the willingness to kill. It’s about having something worth dying for."
The confession hung between us, raw and vulnerable. I’d never said anything like that to anyone, had never allowed myself to acknowledge that the business wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted something more than just survival and power.
"You’re scared," she breathed, and it wasn’t a question.
"Terrified," I admitted. "Not of dying—I’ve made peace with that possibility years ago. I’m scared of failing. Of letting down everyone who depends on me. Of not being the man my father raised me to be."
Her hands covered mine, where they rested against her cheeks. "Your father built an empire through violence and fear. But maybe that’s not the only way."
"Maybe." I leaned forward until our foreheads touched. "But right now, I’m surrounded by enemies I can’t see, questioned by allies who should trust me, and responsible for keeping you safe in a world that wants to destroy anything I care about."
"You don’t have to carry it all alone," she whispered.
"Don’t I?"
Her lips found mine, soft and questioning. The kiss was gentle at first, a comfort rather than passion. But as always with Cassie, the electricity between us flared to life, transforming tenderness into something hungrier.
I pulled her closer, needing the reassurance of her warmth, her strength, her unwavering presence in a world that seemed determined to tear everything away from me. She was my anchor in a storm I couldn’t control, the one thing that made sense when everything else felt like chaos.