I’m not sure if that makes me feel safer or more terrified.
The cops and the kid are both gone within seconds, but the panic remains. My chest constricts, vision tunneling, that old, familiar helplessness clawing up my throat. I hate this—hate that my body betrays me, hate that Sam has to see me weak again.
But Sam doesn’t try to fix me or dismiss what’s happening. He just guides me into the waiting vehicle, his huge frame blocking anyone from seeing my breakdown. His hand finds my back, warm and steady.
“Breathe with me,” he murmurs. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Good girl.”
I should bristle at the praise, at him treating me like one of the rescue animals. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of his breathing, on the anchoring weight of his palm between my shoulder blades.
When the world finally stops spinning, I realize I’ve somehow ended up with my face pressed against his chest, his scent mixing with the lingering shelter scents of disinfectant and dog. The combination shouldn’t be comforting. It is anyway.
“Why did you really bring me here?” I ask, my voice raw. “Was it just to show off your reach? To remind me you own everything in my world?”
Sam’s chest rises on a deep breath. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back.
“Because,” he says finally, voice low and intent, “you need to understand what choosing to stay with me means. Both the good and the bad.”
I pull back enough to see his face. His expression is granite, but his eyes... his eyes tell a different story.
“And if I don’t choose to stay?”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t have to.
We both know I’m not going anywhere.
The rideback to the penthouse is just as quiet as the way here, but with none of the lingering tension. Sam’s phone buzzes twice more, but he ignores it, keeping one hand steady on the wheel.
The other has somehow found its way to my knee, his thumb tracing absent circles that make my skin tingle even through my jeans.
I should pull away. Should remember all the reasons this man is dangerous.
Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, just as I’m starting to lean into all the complicated pieces of him.
The penthouse lobby is a blur of marble and mirrors. As soon as the elevator doors close, Sam crowds me against the wall, his huge frame blocking out everything else. But he doesn’t kiss me. Just rests his forehead against mine and breathes.
“You okay?” he asks roughly.
I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay with how easily he commands every room he enters, how the fucked-up cops who terrorized my childhood scurry away at his mere presence.
But I’m starting to be okay with how safe that makes me feel.
The elevator chimes before I can reply. From within the penthouse, Rufus comes bounding toward us, his entire body wiggling with joy. The sight makes me laugh—this huge, goofy dog who loves Sam as fiercely as I’m starting to.
Then Sam’s phone buzzes again. This time, he checks it.
I watch the transformation happen in real time. The softness in his eyes hardens to steel, his jaw setting like concrete. When he answers Myles’s call, his voice carries none of the gentleness from a moment ago.
“How many?” A pause. “And you’re sure it was them?” Another pause, longer this time. “No. We handle this my way. Have the team ready in an hour.”
He ends the call and turns to me. The man who rescued a dog and held me through a panic attack is gone, replaced in the blink of an eye by someone who makes Chicago’s underworld tremble.
“The Andropovs are making moves,” he says, already typing on his phone. “I need to handle it.”
My stomach clenches. I’ve heard enough about the rival family to know this isn’t just business—it’s war. The kind that leaves bodies in the Chicago River.
Sam must see the fear in my eyes because he steps closer, cups my face in his huge hands. “I’ll be back,” he says, and though it’s not quite a promise, I find myself believing him anyway.