Chapter 4 Burn Me Slowly

It was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that makes you feel safe.

The kind that makes you feel watched. Held hostage by silence.

I rolled onto my side and stared at Ace.

He was asleep. Or pretending to be. His hand still rested against my thigh under the sheets like even in rest, he refused to let me go.

And maybe I didn't want him to.

But I also knew something for certain now.

He was hiding more.

So was my father.

And Nora... Nora had been screaming for help in silence.

And I'd missed it.

The sun was bleeding over the city skyline when I finally slipped out of bed.

I pulled on his shirt-still warm-and tiptoed to the small office connected to the loft. Ace had locked it last night, but I'd seen him slide the key into the vase near the bookshelf.

Rookie mistake.

I opened the drawer, careful not to make a sound, and froze.

A file.

Thick. Worn. Labeled in thick marker: "A.R."

My initials?

I flipped it open.

Not mine.

Nora's.

Photos. Surveillance shots. Medical reports. Ultrasound images.

My hands shook as I pulled out a glossy, printed picture.

A sonogram.

Eight weeks.

Dated two weeks before her death.

I kept digging.

There was a note paperclipped to the back of the image.

In Nora's handwriting.

"If anything happens to me, tell Aria the truth. It wasn't an accident. It was a deal gone wrong. And the man I loved-he knew. He knew and let them come anyway."

I couldn't breathe.

My sister had been betrayed.

And whoever she was writing about-it wasn't Ace.

It was someone else. Someone we both knew.

And suddenly I remembered the day of her funeral. The way our father hadn't cried. Hadn't even blinked.

"I always knew she was reckless," he'd said. "But some lessons are learned too late."

No. No. No.

Was it possible?

"Put that down."

I jumped, heart slamming.

Ace stood in the doorway, shirtless, eyes darker than I'd ever seen them.

He looked at the file. Then at me.

His jaw was clenched. Hard.

"You went through my things," he said, voice low.

"You lied to me."

"I didn't lie."

"You didn't tell me she was trying to warn me."

"I didn't know until yesterday."

"You knew enough to keep this locked away."

He exhaled. Slowly. Like holding back rage. Or heartbreak.

"I was going to show you," he said. "But I needed you to trust me first."

"I don't know who to trust anymore," I whispered. "Everyone has secrets. Everyone is lying."

His eyes softened just enough. "I'm not lying about what I feel."

I stared at him, unsure if I wanted to slap him or kiss him.

"Show me," I said.

He tilted his head. "What?"

"Show me you're not lying."

My voice was shaking. My body wasn't.

"I want to feel something that's real," I whispered.

The moment his hands touched me, everything else disappeared.

He didn't kiss me gently. He backed me into the bookshelf, gripping my hips, slamming his mouth to mine like he needed to breathe through me.

We tore at each other-his shirt off, mine lifted, pants shoved down. Books fell to the floor. A lamp crashed.

I didn't care.

He pushed my panties aside and slid two fingers in without warning. My body arched against the shelf.

"You're so wet already," he growled against my throat. "You like being reckless, don't you?"

I nodded breathlessly.

He spun me around, bent me over the desk, and slid into me in one long, hard stroke.

I gasped.

He slapped his hand over my mouth again.

"You'll scream," he whispered. "And we're not done yet."

He moved faster, harder, deeper-one hand gripping my throat from behind, the other pressing into my hip.

"Say it," he growled. "Say you trust me."

"I trust you," I choked.

"Louder."

"I trust you!"

He came with a curse, collapsing over my back, breathing ragged. And I shattered under him, my body shaking violently as the orgasm ripped through me.

We lay on the floor after, sweaty, tangled, quiet.

"That file," I said softly, tracing his arm. "It said she was in love with someone."

"I know."

"Do you think it was my father?"

His jaw flexed.

"I think it was someone your father worked with," he said. "Someone close. Someone who got nervous when she started asking too many questions."

"And you think they'll come for me too?"

He looked at me like I was the most fragile, precious thing he'd ever seen.

"They already are."

Later that afternoon, I received a package. No return address.

Ace checked it first-scanned, opened it with gloves, eyes cold.

Inside was a flash drive.

He plugged it into a secure laptop.

And on the screen, there she was.

Nora.

In a parking garage. Talking to someone tall, in a hoodie.

We couldn't see his face.

But when she reached out and touched his arm-gently-my heart cracked.

"She was in love with him," I whispered.

Then the video skipped.

Three men appeared in the distance.

Nora turned. Ran.

The hooded man didn't move.

He watched her run.

And then he disappeared.

"She was set up," I said, sick.

"Yeah."

"By someone she trusted."

Ace didn't reply.

But his fingers gripped the desk so hard, the wood creaked.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

Again.

So I found Ace in the kitchen, drinking straight from the bottle.

He handed it to me.

"You ever wish you could rewind time?" I asked, voice hoarse.

"Every day."

I studied him.

"Tell me your real name."

He stiffened.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know the man I'm letting break me."

He looked at me for a long time.

Then finally, he said:

"Luca."

I blinked.

"Luca... what?"

"Just Luca."

"Is that the name Nora knew?"

He nodded once.

I swallowed. "Is that who you were when you loved me?"

"Yes."

I stepped closer.

"Then be him again. For me."

He cupped my face. "I never stopped."