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I nod. “There are a lot of people that want what we have. There are a lot of people that want whatIhave.” No use holding back now. “I’m a wealthy man. I have my own investment company that I started around the same time as the Alliance, and I’ve done well for myself.” I bite back a smile when she rolls her eyes. “For a long time, everyone thought that Nero ran The Alliance by himself. No one, outside of the original crew that went to war with me, even knew that Nero and I knew each other. Let alone that we were friends. It was easier to organize the men with just one person to answer to. And I had family to consider. You’ve met my sister Aspen already.” I don’t miss her slight flinch. “My mom was also still living with me back then. And I have another, well half-sister, Val, who we’d found out about around that same time.” I shake my head. “All that to say, I had people I needed to protect from that life.”
“But not anymore?”
“Some things happened last fall, and I decided it was time to show my hand.” I think back to the look on Nero’s face when I showed up outside of Mikhail’s house, and I know I did the right thing. “My time in the background served its purpose, but it had run its course. Making my ties to The Alliancepublichas brought some new dangers, but it also tells people who I really am.”
“And who are you?” Savannah’s voice is quiet.
“I’m a dangerous man to fuck with.” I let that sink in for a moment, before I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, putting us at eye level. “I know you don’t want to be here, Savannah. But you are. And you’re mine now. So, my protection extends to you. Anyone that crosses you will die. I mean that. Literally. You won’t be locked in the house forever. Once we learn to trust each other, you’ll be able to go out and do whatever it is you want to do during the day. But you’ll never be alone, because the protection of my name also comes with a target. Which is the other reason why you’re here.” She blinks, a mix of emotions filling her eyes. “Even if I could believe that you’d lie to the police, the breadcrumbs between us are too thick to brush aside, and someone else could’ve followed them. Someone who would hurt you, just to bring heat down on me and my family.” I see her starting to form an argument, but I don’t let her get it out. “It’s not far-fetched. It’s the world I live in, the worldyoulive in now. And before you get any ideas to call the police and ask for their help, know that most of them are in our pockets. And the ones that aren’t are in the pockets of others. So either way, it wouldn’t do you any good to run to them. And I’m not telling you this to scare you. I’m telling you so you’re informed. You and I are a team now. And I know it’s a lot to take in, but the sooner you can accept that, the sooner you can find a new normal.” When she doesn’t say anything, I prompt her. “Do you understand?”
She searches my eyes. “You’ll let me paint?”
The question sends a spear of lightning through my chest. She doesn’t even ask about the other stuff. Doesn’t protest or try to convince me to let her go. She just asks if I’ll let her paint.
I stand, holding my hand out for her to take. “Yeah, Honey. You can still paint.”
She eyes my palm for a long second before taking it.
I lead her out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and down the back hallway.
The house looks like a normal two-story mansion from the front, but from above, it looks like a U, the lower level jutting out on either side to create a sort of courtyard in the back. Each leg of the U consists of a large window-laden sunroom. Neither is used much, and I was tempted to put her on the other side of the house, near my office. But I decided on this one, below our bedroom, thinking she’ll feel more comfortable if my office wasn’t next door.
I just won’t mention that if I stand at just the right spot in my office, I can see across the courtyard, and through the windows, into this room. Where I’ll hopefully be able to watch her work.
Savannah has been walking subdued at my side, not asking me where I’m taking her.
So when I swing open the door leading into the sunroom––her new home studio––her gasp fills me with satisfaction.
I step to the side and let her walk ahead of me.
I had all of the original furniture removed from the room and had the walls painted a bright white. I don’t know if it was the right call, but from my online research it sounded like white walls were the best for art studios because of the way they reflect light.
Savannah walks the perimeter of the room, her bare feet quiet on the tile floor, as she runs her hands all over everything. Touching the edges of the stack of blank canvases I ordered. Tracing the wooden frames of the half dozen easels scattered around the room. Running her fingers over the tables laden with tubes of oil paint, the same brand I spotted in the background of one of the photos she shared online.
Because of the way the room sticks out from the rest of the house, three of the walls are windows, with a set of French doors––identical to the ones in the bedroom––leading out into the courtyard. And there’s a trio of skylights in the ceiling that I had fitted with remote control blinds if she needs to block out the sun.
It’s currently growing dark outside, but I had adjustable lamps put in each corner, and the overhead lights are set on low, so it’s easy for me to see Savannah’s face when she stops at the far side of the room and slowly turns to face me.
After inspecting every inch in silence, I’m almost surprised to hear her ask, “When?”
“Last night.”
Her eyes move around the room. “How?”
The side of my mouth pulls up. “Disgustingly rich, remember?”
“Why?” Her voice catches, and I’m already striding across the room, capturing her face in my hands.
“Because I can. And because the world needs your art.”
A single tear spills down her soft cheek, and I use the pad of my thumb to wipe it away.
“Do you mean that?” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah, Savannah Baby. I mean that.”
With my hands on her face, I feel her intentions, feel her lifting onto her toes. And whether she knows what she’s doing or not, I don’t hesitate to meet her movement. Leaning down, placing my lips against hers.
I watch as she squeezes her eyes shut, setting another tear loose. But she doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t tense.
