The door to our new office closes behind Sofia Romano, and the silence that follows feels heavy.
I stare at the photograph she left behind - it showed Vincent’s face half-shadowed, but it was unmistakably him. The tattoo on his arm that I had seen a hundred tis when he was Tony’s head of security. The ti when we had trusted him.
"He escaped three months ago." Tony’s voice is flat and controlled. "Three months of freedom, and we’re just finding out now."
I turned to look at him. Six months of recovery have restored most of his strength, but there’s still a slight stiffness in how he moves, a reminder of how close I ca to losing him. The bullet that nicked his spine left more than just physical scars.
"We need to call Morrison," I say, reaching for my phone.
"No." Tony’s hand covers mine, stopping . "Not yet. First, we go ho and secure a location. Then we figure out our next move."
His green eyes t mine, and I saw sothing I hadn’t seen in months - fear. Real, visceral fear. Not for himself but for .
"Tony-"
"Please." The word must have cost him sothing. "Just... let get you sowhere safe first. Then we plan, okay?"
I nod, and we leave the office together.
The drive to the brownstone at Thomas’s mother’s house, which has now beco ours, was tense. Tony checked the mirrors constantly, his hand resting near the weapon I know he now carries. Has been carrying on always since the incident.
"For how long was he watching us?" I say quietly.
"Long enough to know our routines and our vulnerabilities." Tony’s jaw is set tight. "Long enough for him to plan."
We pull into the driveway. The brownstone looks peaceful in the afternoon light - with old bricks, ivy climbing the walls, the window boxes I planted last month starting to bloom. It felt normal... safe.
But nothing feels safe anymore.
When we got inside, Tony imdiately began checking the windows, doors, and security system. I watch him move through the house with practiced efficiency, the trained operative he was long before I t him.
"Clear," he says finally, but his shoulders don’t relax. "For now."
I drop my bag on the couch, suddenly exhausted. Six months of hospital vigils, of physical therapy appointnts, of rebuilding our lives from the wreckage of Richard’s attack... and now this.
"Katherine." Tony’s behind , his hands gentle on my shoulders. "Hey, babe. Look at ."
I turn, and the carefully controlled mask he’s been wearing cracks slightly. I see the man beneath - who is scared, but is trying not to show it, trying to be strong for both of us.
"I’m okay," I tell him, even though I’m not sure it’s true.
"You’re not." His hands slide down my arms, taking my hands in his. "Neither am I. Vincent was my head of security for five years. He knows everything about how I think, how I operate, how I protect the people I love."
"So we adapt." I squeeze his hands. "We’ve survived worse."
"Have we?" The question hangs between us. "Margaret, Angelo, Richard - they all nearly killed us. And now Vincent, who knows all our defenses, who helped build our security systems, is now hunting us."
I step closer, close enough to feel his warmth, to sll the cologne he wears that I’ve co to associate with safety. "Then we’re smarter, faster, and better."
His arms co around , pulling against his chest. I fit perfectly there, my curves molding to his hard planes. For a mont, we hold on to each other.
"I can’t lose you," he whispers into my hair. "These past six months, watching you worry, watching you barely sleep while I recovered - I kept thinking about how close we ca. How if that bullet had been two inches to the right..."
"But it wasn’t." I pull back enough to see his face. "You’re here. We’re here, and we’re together."
His hand cos up to cup my face with a gentleness that contradicts the lethal violence I know he’s capable of. "I was terrified during surgery. Those monts when I couldn’t feel my legs. I thought I’d lost everything."
"Tony-"
"Let finish." His thumb strokes across my cheekbone. "I thought I’d lost my ability to protect you, to be able to stand beside you, and to be the man you needed." His voice drops. "To make love to you the way I want to."
Heat floods through at his words, at the intensity in his eyes.
"You didn’t lose anything," I tell him. "You’re still here. Still whole and still mine."
"Prove it." The words are rough and needy. "Please. I need - I need to feel alive... to feel you."
I understand. After months of hospital beds, careful touches, and doctors’ appointnts, we both need this. Need to reconnect most naturally.
I take his hand and lead him upstairs to our bedroom. The sa room where we’ve slept beside each other these past months, but haven’t truly been together. Haven’t really made love.
The afternoon light streams through the windows as I turn to face him. His green eyes are dark with need, with emotion, with everything unspoken between us.
"I missed you," I whisper. "God, Tony, I missed this. Missed us."
"Show ." His hands find my waist, spanning it, his thumbs stroking the curves he loves. "Show you’re real. That we’re real."
I reach up and start unbuttoning his shirt slowly. He’s still healing, still has monts of pain he tries to hide. But beneath the fabric, his body is recovering beautifully - muscular chest, his defined abs, which are more improved due to his physiotherapy and frequent exercises for muscle building, the tattoos I’ve morized covering his shoulders and ribs.
My fingers trace the new scar along his side where the bullet had grazed. He flinches slightly, and I lean in, pressing my lips to the angry red line.
"You survived," I murmur against his skin. "We survived."
His breath hitches, and his hands slide up to my sides, careful, reverent, until they cup my breasts through my dress. "Katherine-"
"Touch ." I arch into his hands. "Please. I need to feel you touching ."
He groans, pulls closer, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s desperate and tender simultaneously. I can taste his need, his fear, his love, all mixed together.
We undress each other slowly, carefully. My dress sliding off my shoulders. His hands are gentle on my full hips, roaming my thick thighs. I’ve always been self-conscious about my curves, but the way he looks at - like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen makes feel powerful.
"God, you’re gorgeous." His voice is rough as his eyes roam over my body. "Every inch of you. Every curve."
I push him gently back onto the bed, mindful of his healing body. "Let ."
Understanding flashes in his eyes. He lies back, lets take control, and I see the trust there, the vulnerability he rarely shows anyone.
I straddle him carefully, feeling his hardness against my core. His hands imdiately find my hips, gripping, guiding, but letting set the pace.
"I almost lost you," I whisper, my hands braced gently on his chest. "When they brought you into that hospital. When you weren’t breathing. I thought-"
"I know." His hands slide up my sides, cup my large breasts, his thumbs brushing and twisting over my sensitive nipples. "I know, baby. But I’m here. Right here."
I lift slightly, position him, then sink down slowly. We both gasp at the connection - it’s been so long, and my body is tight, adjusting to him.
"Okay?" His voice is strained, holding himself back.
"Perfect." I start to move, slowly rolling my hips. "You feel perfect."
His hands grip my hips harder, helping find the rhythm we’ve always shared. My dark hair falls around us like a curtain, shutting out the world. There’s only this... just us.
"Katherine." He groaned my na. "My Katherine."
"Yours." I lean down and kiss him deeply. "Always yours."
We move together, slow and deliberate, relearning each other’s bodies. His hands roam everywhere - my breasts, my waist, my thighs like he’s morizing all over again. When I arch back, changing the angle, he groans and his hips thrust up to et mine.
"That’s it." His voice is rough. "Take what you need."
I do. I ride him slowly, intensely, fastly, and slowly again, savoring every sensation, every sound he makes, every place our bodies connect. When his thumb finds my clit, circling gently, I gasp, and my movents beco more urgent.
"Let feel you." He sits up, wrapping one arm around my waist while his other hand stays between us. "Co for , Katherine. Let feel you."
The dual sensations - him deep inside , his fingers working magic -push over the edge. I cry out, burying my face in his neck as pleasure crashes through in waves.
"That’s my girl." He holds through it, then flips us carefully, mindful of his injury. Now he’s above , my legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s driving into with more urgency, going deeper and harder.
"I love you." The words tumble out between gasps. "Tony, I love you."
"Love you." He’s close, I can feel it in the tension of his body. "Love you so much."
He buries his face in my neck as he cos, my na on his lips, his body shuddering. I hold him through it, my fingers tangled in his dark hair, feeling his heart pound against mine.
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