The air was different that morning.
It wasn't just the subtle tension pulsing beneath the walls of Brandon's estate—it was in the very rhythm of the house. Doors opened more carefully. Guards whispered instead of speaking. Even Kaya, despite her sarcastic armor, walked slower, her hands twitching as if expecting shadows to leap from every corner.
Ariana could feel it in her bones.
The aftermath of chaos had its own scent—burnt powder, sweat, secrecy.
She sat at the long table in the informal dining room, her coffee going cold in her hands as she watched Brandon pace just outside on the terrace, shirtless, talking into his phone. The soft dawn breeze tugged at the hem of his sweatpants. The glow of his tattoos moved like snakes under his skin.
He was always beautiful in that untouchable, destructive way. Like fire encased in crystal. Look, but don't touch—unless you're willing to burn.
Kaya limped into the room, gingerly settling across from Ariana and reaching for the plate of croissants with a groan.
"He's been up since four," she muttered, tearing a piece of bread in half. "We caught a tail last night. Ricco's expanding faster than we thought."
Ariana blinked. "Already?"
"Yeah. Brandon's locking down assets. Transferring locations. You, me, even some of his lieutenants—we're all flagged."
Ariana's gaze returned to Brandon. "And he's not telling me this because…?"
"Because he's afraid," Kaya said simply.
Ariana raised a brow. "He doesn't seem like the type."
"Not afraid for himself," Kaya corrected. "Afraid of you."
That caught her off guard. "Why?"
"Because he's not used to caring about anyone. Let alone someone who doesn't already have blood on their hands."
Ariana looked down at her own. She wasn't so sure that was true anymore.
Before she could respond, Brandon stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He didn't look at Ariana. Not right away.
"Kaya, go prep the safehouse in Alpine. Triple-lock security protocols. Use protocol Phoenix."
Kaya nearly choked on her coffee. "Phoenix? Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
She stood quickly, now very awake. "Got it. That's next-level. Give me four hours."
She left without another word, boots thudding against marble.
Ariana waited until they were alone.
"Phoenix?"
Brandon sighed, finally looking at her.
"We're not dealing with just Ricco anymore."
"What do you mean?"
He leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Someone is funding him. A bigger player. One I haven't been able to identify yet. But their movements? Too clean. Too fast. This is bigger than a revenge feud."
"So what now?"
"We leave tonight. I'm moving us to the safehouse until I can smoke out the real threat."
Ariana stood, arms folded tight across her chest. "And if I say I don't want to hide?"
Brandon was in front of her in two steps. "Then I'll throw you over my shoulder and take you anyway."
"Don't threaten me."
"That wasn't a threat."
His hand reached out, curling around her jaw gently. Not demanding—just there, grounding her.
"I need you alive, Ari. This isn't a game anymore."
"It never was."
Their eyes held, fire dancing between them. For a moment, neither moved.
Then he kissed her.
It was soft—deceptively so. As if this was the last time he'd be able to kiss her like this. Without blood. Without fear. Without war pounding at the door.
But even in softness, Brandon's kiss was consuming.
He didn't just claim her mouth. He claimed every part of her soul that still felt human.
When he pulled back, she was trembling.
"Come with me," he whispered.
"I already did," she replied.
The drive to the Alpine safehouse was long, winding, and cloaked in fog.
Ariana rode beside Brandon in the armored SUV, her thoughts tangled in silent war. He hadn't spoken much since they left the estate. His fingers gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding him together.
Every time she looked at him, she could feel it—something unspoken building beneath his surface. Something dangerous.
The safehouse sat perched on a cliff, surrounded by pine trees so tall they scraped the sky. Isolated. Impenetrable. The gates were biometric-locked and reinforced with steel. A camera swept their vehicle as they approached, and a subtle voice confirmed access.
As the gates opened, Ariana stared up at the mansion-like fortress. It was beautiful, in a cold, brutalist kind of way—stone and steel, angles sharp enough to wound, windows too narrow for comfort.
She shivered slightly.
Brandon's hand brushed against hers as he guided her out of the SUV. "You'll be safe here. No one gets in without my permission."
"Sounds like a prison," she said, only half-joking.
He didn't smile.
Inside, the walls were gray slate, polished floors stretching into cavernous rooms. Surveillance screens lined a hidden alcove near the staircase. Armed guards moved like ghosts, communicating in murmurs, their weapons slung low but ready.
Brandon led her upstairs into a room that didn't match the rest—warm lighting, a plush bed, soft rugs, and a view of the mountains through full-length windows.
"This is yours," he said.
She looked at him. "You're not staying with me?"
He didn't answer at first. Instead, he turned to the window, staring out into the storm-darkening skyline.
"There are some things I need to do tonight," he finally said. "But I'll be close."
She hated that answer.
"Are you shutting me out again?"
His jaw clenched. "I'm protecting you."
"I didn't ask you to."
He turned, stepping close. "But I need to."
This time, when he kissed her, it wasn't soft.
It was hard. Desperate. His fingers sank into her hair as if he was afraid she'd vanish the moment he let go. His tongue parted her lips, tasting, claiming, devouring. Her body responded before her mind caught up.
She reached for his shirt, tugging it up, her nails scraping across his abdomen. He growled low in his throat and grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he walked them to the bed.
They fell into it like lightning.
Clothes disappeared in between breaths. Her moans were muffled by his mouth, his touch everywhere—hot, skilled, relentless. He tasted her like she was the last thing he'd ever have. And when he sank into her, slow and deep, she forgot every reason she ever had to resist him.
He moved inside her like a storm—thunder in his pace, lightning in her veins.
Their bodies collided again and again, sweat slicking their skin, hearts drumming in unison.
He whispered her name like a prayer.
She screamed his like a curse.
And when they both shattered, it was together. As if they were never meant to exist apart.
After, he laid beside her, his chest rising and falling like he'd just returned from battle.
Ariana rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing the scars on his ribs. "You didn't have to come for me that night," she said softly.
"I always would."
She tilted her chin up. "Even if I ran?"
"I'd find you."
"And if I hated you?"
He turned to her, his eyes colder now. "Then I'd make you remember why you didn't."
The words sent a chill through her spine.
But deep down, she knew he meant it.