Page 31 of Owned By Royal

“We’re not perfect.”

He nods. “But you’re trying to make the city better.” A thoughtful expression crosses his face. “I’ve actually been thinking. You need legitimate funding.”

“We’ve managed.”

“Barely.” He’s right. “For years you’ve relied on personal money, investments, and whatever the rest of you contribute.” I nod. “What if you didn’t have to?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“We establish a nonprofit. A genuine charitable foundation.” He leans forward. “Victim advocacy. Community outreach. Support for families affected by violent crime.”

The idea begins taking shape almost immediately. “It would be legitimate.”

“And it would give you perfectly legal funding streams for technology, investigations, rehabilitation programs, and everything else you actually do.”

I can’t stop thinking about it. “You’ve already planned this.”

“I’ve had time.”

I laugh for what feels like the first genuine time in days. A knock interrupts us. Neither of us is expecting company.

“I’ll get it.”

Riccardo stands while I remain seated, only half paying attention until I hear the apartment door open. Then, silence. Long enough to make me look up. Riccardo is smiling. Not at me.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

Confused, I turn toward the doorway. Every thought in my head disappears. I watch her standing in my doorway, and for a moment I think I’ve imagined her. Seven days of silence, seven days of wondering if I’d lost her forever, and now she’s here in jeans and a simple cotton top.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her eyes red-rimmed, her face pale. She looks nervous. Hopeful. Terrified. Beautiful.

Riccardo gives me a subtle nod as he passes. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The front door closes behind him. Neither of us moves.

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer if I called,” Sierra says softly.

“I would’ve answered every time.”

She lowers her eyes briefly before looking back at me. “I’ve been thinking. For days”

“So have I.” I wait.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Neither could I.

“I kept replaying everything.”

“So did I.”

A sad smile touches her lips. “I think we’re becoming predictable.”

“I don’t mind.” And I don’t care.

She takes a hesitant step closer. “When I left your apartment that night, I was scared. Not of you,” she quickly corrects.

Relief loosens something inside my chest.