Page 31 of Monstrosity
But tonight, we're just a family, together and whole.
"I love you," I whisper into the darkness.
"I love you, too," he whispers back. "Both of you. All of us."
And that's how I fall asleep on the most dangerous and most perfect night of my life—hand in hand with the man I love, his daughter safe between us, finally where I belong.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rio
The room is still dark when I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Dasha or Cali.
They're curled together now, my daughter's small hand fisted in Dasha's hair, and the sight makes my chest tight with emotions I don't have time to think about.
Last night changed everything between us.
Not just the physical aspect—though fuck, that was worth the years’ long wait—but the promises made, the lines crossed, our family officially formed.
Dasha is mine now, claimed in every way that matters, and that means her safety is no longer negotiable.
I dress quietly, slipping on new clothes, checking my phone as I move through the house.
Seventeen messages from the club, three from Tor specifically, and one from an unknown number that makes my blood run cold:
Sweet dreams, Rio. Hope you enjoyed your night. It might be your last.
I screenshot it and forward it to our tech guy before deleting the original.
No need for Dasha to see that if she happens to look at my phone.
Florencia is still sleeping in her room, one arm thrown over her head in that careless way kids have.
I watch her for a moment, this piece of my heart walking around outside my body, and feel that familiar surge of protective rage.
They won't touch her. Any of them.
I'll paint the streets red before I let Bembe's people get within a hundred yards of my family.
I leave a note on the kitchen counter for Dasha—Had to go to the clubhouse. I'll explain everything later. I love you.—and slip out the front door.
The morning air is thick with humidity, typical Florida weather that makes everything feel heavy.
Or maybe that's just the weight of what's coming.
The brother on watch, Kraken, nods from his bike across the street. "Quiet night after they left," he reports. "No movement since."
"Good, and thank you. Someone should be here within the hour to relieve you."
The drive to the clubhouse takes fifteen minutes, during which I make three calls—one to set up additional surveillance on the house while I'm gone, one to check in with the brothers who watched us last night, and one to Tor.
"About fucking time you answered," he growls. "Dad wants you here ASAP. Shit's heating up."
"Define heating up."
"They hit one of our suppliers last night. Nobody got hurt, but they torched his warehouse. Left a message."
"What kind of message?"
