POV Owen
No anonymous threats. No messages delivered with theatrical timing. Just a name spoken in the wrong room by the wrong man, followed by a sentence that rearranges my entire body from the inside out.
“A child,” he says. “A girl. Young.”
I don’t react. That’s the first rule. You don’t move until you know exactly how deep the blade goes.
“Say it again,” I tell him.
The man across from me—one of Michael’s, Noelle’s father, old intermediaries, the kind who survives by knowing when not to ask questions—swallows hard. “He asked about her routines. Who watches her, and what happens if her parents aren’t available.”
My hands curl slowly against my thighs. I keep my voice even. “Use her name.”
“Luna,” he says.
The room goes quiet. Not silence—weight. The kind that presses down on your lungs and forces every instinct to the surface.
“Did he say why,” I ask.
The man hesitates. “He said children make adults reasonable.”
That’s when something inside me breaks open.
I don’t hit him or raise my voice. I simply stand, because if I don’t, I’m going to tear something apart with my bare hands and there are consequences to that.
“Get out,” I say.
He doesn’t argue. When the door closes behind him, I brace my hands against the table and breathe through my nose like I’m trying to outrun my own pulse.
A child. My child.
I’ve faced men who wanted money. Power. Revenge. I know how to negotiate with that kind of hunger. I know how to kill it when negotiation fails.
But this? This isn’t leverage. It’s desecration.
I drive home too fast, too aware of every red light, every pedestrian, every second that exists between me and them. My phone is in my hand the entire time, but I don’t call Noelle yet.
If I hear her voice right now, I’ll lose the last thread of restraint I have left.
When I walk through the door, Noelle looks up immediately. She reads my face faster than anyone ever has.
“What happened,” she asks.
“Where’s Luna,” I say.
“She’s asleep,” Noelle answers, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”
I cross the room in three strides and stop in front of her. I force myself to keep my hands open.
“He knows about her,” I say. “He’s asking about her routines”
Her breath catches. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly what it sounds like,” I cut in.
She steps back instinctively. “You said he wouldn’t approach us.”
“I said not yet,” I reply. “This is how men like him move. He wants leverage.”
“She’s a baby,” Noelle says, voice breaking. “She’s not—she’s not part of this.”
“She’s part of us,” I say. “And that makes her part of him.”
Noelle shakes her head, backing away until she hits the counter. “No. No, he wouldn’t.”
“He already has,” I reply. “The moment he said her name.”
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. I can see fear blooming behind Noelle’s eyes, sharp and immediate.
“You promised me,” she says finally. “You promised you were done killing.”
The word lands between us like a live wire. “Yes,” I say. “I did.”
“And you’re thinking about it,” she accuses.
“I’m thinking about ending this,” I reply.
“That’s not the same thing,” she says.
“It is when a child is involved,” I snap.
She flinches, then straightens. “Don’t talk to me like I’m an obstacle.”
“I’m not,” I say. “You’re the reason.”
She steps closer, anger cutting through the fear. “Then listen to me. We don’t escalate this.”
“There is no escalation,” I reply. “He already crossed the line.”
“No,” she insists. “There are steps. Police. Legal pressure. My father.”
“Your father knows,” I say. “And he’s already moving.”
Her eyes widen. “You told him?”
“I didn’t have to,” I answer. “His people heard the same thing mine did.”
She swallows. “Then let him handle it.”
“That’s not how this works,” I say. “Michael fights wars. I end threats.”
“That’s exactly what scares me,” she says.
I take a breath, trying to keep my voice level. “What scares you more? Me stopping him, or him touching her?”
Her face crumples for half a second before she catches herself.
“That’s not fair,” she whispers.
“No,” I agree. “But it’s real.”
She turns away, wrapping her arms around herself. “You don’t get to decide this alone.”
“I don’t need your permission to protect my child,” I say.
She spins back toward me. “And what about protecting me?”
“I am,” I reply.
“No,” she says. “You’re protecting a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. The one who lets you disappear into violence so she doesn’t have to choose.”
The words cut deeper than she knows.
“You think I want this,” I say. “You think I don’t remember what I promised you?”
“Then keep it,” she says. “Find another way.”
“There isn’t one,” I reply.
“There has to be,” she insists. “We survived before without you becoming that man again.”
“That man never left,” I say quietly. “He just learned restraint.”
Her voice trembles. “And Luna?”
“She’s the line,” I say. “The one I don’t let anyone cross.”
Noelle steps closer, her hands shaking as she grips my shirt. “If you do this—if you kill him—you don’t come back unchanged. And what if I can’t live with that?” she asks.
The question is soft. Devastating.
“I don’t know how to live with not stopping him,” I reply.
She presses her forehead to my chest, breathing hard. “I can’t lose you to this.” Her fingers dig into my shirt. “You promised me a different life.”
“I promised you peace,” I reply. “I didn’t promise it wouldn’t have teeth.”
She pulls back, tears streaking her face now. “You’re already gone.”
“No,” I say fiercely. “I’m still here. I’m just fighting myself.”
She looks at me like she’s memorizing my face. “If you do this, you do it knowing it changes us.”
“I know,” I say.
“And you might not get forgiveness,” she adds.
“I’m not asking for it,” I reply. “I’m asking for time.”
She closes her eyes, nodding once, like something inside her has cracked.
“Just don’t lie to me,” she says. “Don’t disappear and call it protection.”
I cup her face gently, forcing myself to stay soft even as everything inside me screams.
“I don’t know how to keep this promise,” I admit. “But I know I won’t let him breathe near our child.”
Warren didn’t just threaten Luna. He reminded me exactly who I am when someone crosses the wrong line.
I don’t know how to stop myself from answering that reminder in the only language I’ve ever trusted.