Page 51 of The Silent Hour

I met his gaze in the dim light. “You’d do that?”

“Without hesitation.”

My pulse stuttered. I could’ve said no right then—bolted every door, locked away our peace. Part of me longed to. But I knew Ethan too well. I’d listened in the dead stillness of 3 a.m. as he paced our bedroom, whispering case law like prayers. I’d found half-eaten dinners on the counter, forgotten when he’d spotted a single inconsistency buried in thousands of pages of discovery.

And Knox and Rafa weren’t any different. Give those three men an impossible case and they turned into bloodhounds on a scent trail. Ethan thrived on these—on the sleepless nights of prosecutors and the judges shifting uneasily behind their benches.

Ethan needed monsters everyone else thought unbeatable.

“Meet him first,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

Ethan’s brow softened. “That’s not a yes.”

“I know.” I traced the line of his collarbone with a gentle fingertip. The smooth skin under my touch was a promise and a plea both. “Meet him. Talk to your father. Talk to whoever else you trust. Find out why he’s changing counsel and what demons you’re about to wake. Then we decide.”

“We?” he asked, half-amused, half-wary.

I gave him a pointed look. “Did I stutter?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “No, bella.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, then straightened. “But if your gut warns that taking him on slaps a target on this house or on our girls, you walk away. I don’t give a damn how fascinating the case is.”

He stepped closer, his hand cradling the small of my back. “I’d never let anything touch you or the girls.”

“I know that, Rambo.” I pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling his heartbeat quicken. “Your hero complex is... well, legendary.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and genuine, like sunlight breaking through a storm. But in his eyes I saw the spark I sometimes feared, the unquenchable hunger for the next impossible fight.

I let him linger there, safe in my arms, but as I did, I wondered if he had forgotten that I didn’t need him to shield me from every peril. I’d learned long ago that I was more than capable of standing on my own, no matter how dark the world outside our gates might be.

My father had made sure of that long before Ethan ever put a ring on my finger. I knew what kind of men existed beyond our gates. I'd grown up learning when to smile at them, when to avoid them, and when smiling was simply another way of showing your teeth. Women like me survived by learning when to smile, and when to bury the body.

Still, I understood Ethan's need to protect us. It was woven into him. And if believing he could keep every shadow on his side of the door helped him sleep at night, I wasn't going to take that from him.

Not tonight.

I settled against him again, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. Whatever choice he made about Cortez would leave marks on all of us.

I just didn't know yet which decision would cut deepest.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JULIA

I FOUND MYSELF IN MY mama's kitchen the next morning.

Ethan had gone in late so he could drop the girls off at school, and I'd been on the road around the same time they were. By the time I arrived, Mama was already three hours deep into her Friday ritual.

Steam rose from pots bubbling with cabbage rolls, thickening the air with garlic and a secret blend of spices she still refused to write down. Her dark hair, streaked heavily with silver now, was twisted into a practical knot as she worked.

Perched on a high-backed stool, I watched her fold dough around potato filling for varenyky, sealing each one with a practiced pinch while pampushky rose beneath a flour-dusted cloth nearby.

Her lipstick remained perfectly un-smudged despite the steam, a crimson line above the firm set of her jaw. When she glanced up, her dove-gray eyes caught mine. The same eyes that had seen through every childhood lie I'd ever attempted.

Mama had the practiced efficiency of a woman who'd spent decades standing sentinel beside my father, watching his businesses blur between legitimate and immoral without ever betraying surprise. Not once in all those years had I seen her hands tremble.

Beyond the kitchen windows, thoroughbreds grazed across the pasture.