Page 16

“Ten minutes and we’re done,” Colt answers, flipping a steak with the practiced motion of someone who treats a grill like a weapon.

Irina nods, smiling, then closes the door, and moves back to Sierra at the counter. The sound of bowls and soft laughter drifts out, domestic and warm.

“You could at least tell us next time you vanish,” Nick nudges Colt suddenly, half-teasing, half-annoyed.

“Aww, you missed me, Hardy?” Colt replies, the irony in his voice like both a slap and a caress.

He’s pulled this disappearing act twice in the past few months, and every time it catches us off guard. We track him and come up empty.

Next time I’ll be ready—I promise myself that—but for now I swallow the impatience and play the role we’ve always played.

“You know we have rules, Jones,” I remind him, my voice flat and controlled—trained for conference rooms and crises. Still, a knot forms my chest. The words are harmless enough on the surface, but beneath them the concern is real. “You don’t just disappear without a trace and expect us to do nothing.”

Colt is one of the most powerful and respected men in the mafia—we all know it, and he knows we know it.

For a moment his amusement fades, replaced by that older seriousness; his eyes sharpen, as if calculating how much he can say. Holding my gaze, he nods once—acknowledgement enough.

When he answers, his voice is low, taking advantage of the privacy the mountain grants us. “Sometimes the only way to keep people safe is by making sure no one knows where I am.”

We all hear the implication—and the warning—wrapped inside those words.

That doesn’t mean any of us accept it without protest.

“I don’t give a damn about your self-appointed need to protect anyone, Colt,” Ryan says, his tone firm and edged. “Next time you vanish like that, I swear I’ll tear the world apart until I find you. I’ll even use the most secure servers they think are impenetrable.”

Colt only chuckles softly and nods.

No one pushes further. We all know what Ryan and the rest of us are capable of when we decide to move. If there’s anything to be learned or anything to find, Ryan will sniff it out before you even finish asking for help.

Taking a moment to calm down, I lean back, resting my head against the chair. After a couple of long, steady breaths, I let my gaze wander forward, through the wide glass doors of Theo’s house.

And that’s when I see her.

She’s standing in the kitchen, casual yet striking in a pale pink set that clings to her body like a second skin—leggings high at the waist and a matching top that leaves her toned stomach exposed. The pastel softens her, and yet there’s nothing soft about the way she carries herself. Her sneakers look fresh, crisp white against the polished floor, making her seem both effortless and unattainable.

Her blonde hair is pulled back into a long ponytail, neat and sleek, a style that draws attention to the delicate line of her neck. Her makeup is barely there—skin glowing, lips natural, lashes only lightly darkened.

Exactly as it was during the drive here.

Which means she hasn’t touched it since we arrived.

But then where the hell has she been for more than an hour?

The thought scratches at me, refusing to let go. She vanished the second I stopped the car, slipping out without a word. And now she’s here, laughing, arranging dishes alongside Sierra and Irina as if she hadn’t disappeared at all.

And I can’t take my eyes off her.

“You okay, man?” Theo’s voice cuts through my haze.

Fuck.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tenses as guilt floods in, pointed and merciless.

What kind of friend am I—what kind of brother, even—if I can sit here drinking his whiskey while my eyes are fixed on her?

On the woman who belongs to him.

She’s his.