Page 88 of Mason

Not fear—I don’t get scared. Not in the way most men do.

But this? This is different.

It’s not about taking a hit or pulling a trigger. It’s not about knowing I can outthink, outfight, or outlast the next guy. Those things are easy—instinctive. This? This is something I can’tcontrol. The way her face will change when the words leave my mouth. The way the truth will settle over her, heavy and inescapable, confirming what she’s probably always suspected.

Mia and I have always had something different. A connection that went beyond blood, beyond family obligation. From the moment she was born, she was mine to protect, and somehow, she knew it too. She gravitated toward me in a way the twins never did. Not because I played favorites—I never did—but because it was just how we were.

She was the center of my universe. Still is.

I was the one who taught her how to shoot, steadying her small hands around a gun, telling her to breathe, to take her time, to never let her emotions dictate her aim. I took her horseback riding, showed her how to trust the animal beneath her, how to guide it with more than just reins, but with confidence and control. And when she wanted to learn how to drive, it was me in the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard while she took corners too fast, laughing like the reckless little thing she was.

I was there for all of it. And now, I’m about to be the one to take something from her too—the illusion that things were ever simple, ever safe.

This isn’t a lesson she’ll want to learn. But it’s one she has to.

I can’t shake the thought—what if she doesn’t accept me?

What if she looks at me, really looks at me, and sees nothing but the lie?

Because it is a lie, isn’t it? Years of pretending, of standing on the sidelines, of letting her believe I was just her uncle, just someone in her life—not the man who should have been there all along, raising her, protecting her, being her father.

And the worst part? The questions she’ll ask about her mother.

The questions I don’t have the right answers to.

Because how do I tell her that the love between us was never meant to be? That her mother belonged to someone else on paper, but that I loved her in ways that defied everything? How do I make her understand that I stepped back for the sake of something bigger, for the sake of her?

I don’t.

So I say nothing. I keep the truth locked up tight, day in and day out, letting it weigh on me like a slow-building pressure, like something waiting to crack.

And a man like me—someone who’s spent his life making decisions that other people would lose sleep over—should be able to handle that.

But this?

This is the one thing I can’t seem to face.

Something I should have handled the second I walked out of that goddamn prison.

Mia.

I can’t let this go on any longer. Not after the way she stormed off, the look in her eyes slicing through me sharper than any blade ever could. She’s pissed. She’s hurt. And I get it—I deserve every ounce of her anger.

But it’s time.

I leave Shelby waiting at the house, promising I won’t be long, then slide into my car and take the fastest route to the Gatti Estate—an empire of wealth and power, home to the brothers who built a fortress and locked their family inside of it. Four houses on one massive plot of land, each one far enough apart to give them space, but close enough to remind them that they’re never alone. Because there’s no comfort like the comfort of brothers.

Mia is tucked away in one of them, in the home she shares with her husband, Brando. And Brando? He’s the only one who knows the truth.

I hit the gate control, roll through as it slides open, and let my car roar to a stop in front of the house. The engine barely has time to settle before the front door opens and Brando steps out and closes the door behind him. Shutting me out. No matter how much he respects me, no matter our history, he will not let anything touch Mia.

He doesn’t look surprised to see me. But that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

His eyes flick over me, assessing. He smooths a finger across one of his eyebrows, a nervous tell that would go unnoticed by most. But I know Brando.

He’s anxious about me being here.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice edged with impatience.

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