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“She can’t touch you again. She’s gone.”

Her gaze flicks to the corner of the room, then back to me.

I pull her into my chest, wrapping her in my arms, rubbing her upper back in steady circles.

Her voice dissolves into broken sobs. The sound wrecks me more than gunfire ever has.

She doesn’t ask what happened. She doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t demand answers. She just holds onto me.

That reach–pure instinct, no logic–slams through me harder than violence. She chooses me without thinking. For safety. She trusts my presence more than she trusts her own memory right now.

She drifts again, and I put her down on the bed. At some point Rio lifts her again so she can drink more water. She swallows, focusing on each gulp like it’s a battle. Then she sinks back into the pillows, her eyelids fluttering.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I tell her.

Her hand gropes for my arm again, then relaxes once her fingers find my skin.

Rio meets my eyes quietly.

“We need someone here,” he says, low, not wanting to wake her.

I nod.

“Greta was good,” Rio goes on. “She handled the rooms, laundry, food, scheduling. She also made sure no one stepped where they shouldn’t while we were out. That mattered more than anything.”

Greta’s absence created a vacancy we never filled.

“And Lana needs someone near her now,” Rio adds. “Not just for comfort. For protection.”

“We have Sol,” I say.

“Sol runs logistics everywhere. He’s stationed downstairs. We need someone dedicated to this space. Someone who treats the penthouse as their job, not their detour.”

I remember Greta, efficient, loyal, fearless right up until the moment that asshole Valentino killed her. The thought makes my jaw tighten.

Rio looks down at Lana and pulls the cover tighter around her.

“We’ll hire someone capable,” he says. “Full-time. House duties and protection duties. They handle everything from cleaning to bedside to escort if she needs it.”

I nod again.

“Sol will find us someone,” I confirm. “We’ll interview them, test their loyalty, background and discipline.”

Rio’s gaze meets mine.

“We also make it clear,” he adds. “If anyone touches her the wrong way, they don’t leave alive.”

“That goes unsaid,” I agree.

We sit in silence again.

Lana falls fully asleep, jaw slack, arms loose. Her breath finally steadies. Her forehead cools.

She looks so small like this.

Hours pass without us moving much. The penthouse is quiet enough to hear wind sliding along the building.