Chapter 10 - Chapter 10: Here we go again

The shadow was gone by morning. Skylar hadn't slept. She sat like stone, eyes fixed on the window until the first grey light of dawn seeped in through the blinds. No movement. No sound. No breath against the glass. Whoever it was had vanished hours ago—but the weight of them lingered, thick in the air, like smoke that refused to clear. Reagan stirred just after seven, curled into a tight knot on the couch, face blotchy, sweater sleeves stretched past her fingers. Her eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused, and for a brief second, she looked like a child waking from a nightmare. Until memory hit. She sat up fast. "Is he still out there?" Skylar didn't answer right away. She stood and crossed to the window again, pulling the curtain aside just enough to check. Nothing. Just morning traffic, steam from a nearby vent, the city waking up like it hadn't watched a horror movie the night before. She let the curtain fall. "No. He's gone." Reagan's shoulders sagged—but only slightly. She ran a hand through her hair, which had tangled into a halo of stress. "Was it him?" "I don't know," Skylar admitted. "Could've been. Could've been someone else. But Rae… it wasn't a dream. He was out there." Skylar "No fuck this" Reagan: "Were are you going?" Skylar: "I'll be right back, don't worry" A backroom in a warehouse Taz stood against a desk, tossing a pen between his fingers, his expression unreadable. Rocco stood at the window, jaw clenched, shoulders drawn tight. The silence hung thick until the door slammed open with enough force to make two of Rocco's men rise instantly. Rocco didn't turn. He just raised a hand, calm and sharp, and the men froze. Skylar stormed in like a hurricane wrapped in fury and sarcasme. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped, eyes locked on Rocco. "You've got time to sneak around and fuck my best friend, but when she's actually in danger, you do nothing?" Rocco's face remained blank, unreadable. Skylar didn't let up. "Reagan has been stalked. Texted. Called. Someone rang our fucking doorbell at two a.m. He's watching her. I can feel it—and you're just sitting here like a wax statue with great hair and too much attitude." Taz blinked. "Wait—someone rang the bell?" Skylar turned her fire on him next. "Yes, Einstein. And stood outside the building like a goddamn ghost. Pictures were sent. Of her. Of our door. He's toying with her." Taz's mouth tightened. Rocco finally turned. "Why didn't she say anything?" "Because she's trying to handle it like she always does. Alone. Because you," she jabbed a finger at Rocco's chest, "gave her the illusion of safety and then disappeared." Rocco said nothing, his silence heavier than shouting. "You're so quick to flirt. So quick to touch her like you own her. But the second she's in trouble? You vanish." Taz watched Rocco's jaw flex. Skylar leaned in, voice low and furious. "She could've died. She's falling apart. And all you did was take what you wanted and walk away." Rocco's voice came quiet. Controlled. "I didn't know." "Well, now you do," Skylar snapped. "So fix it. Or don't ever come near her again." She turned and stalked out, leaving the door swinging behind her. Silence. Then Taz muttered, "She's not wrong." Rocco exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. "Eight men. Tonight." Taz raised a brow. "That fast?" "Shadow detail only," Rocco added. "She doesn't see them. She doesn't know." Taz nodded slowly. "She's gonna be pissed if she finds out." Rocco's voice was quiet, dark. "I know. I'd rather she hates me and be alive." Taz studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fair." Rocco turned back to the window, jaw still tight. "And if he touches her" Rocco looked at Taz: "Then they're all yours" Reagan stormed into the room like a hurricane on legs, shoulders squared, eyes blazing. Rocco barely had time to glance up from his desk before her voice sliced through the air like a whip. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He didn't flinch. He didn't move. Just leaned back in his chair, calm and infuriating. "Good to see you too," he said dryly. "Eight," she snapped. "You sent eight men to stalk me? What, was ten too obvious?" Rocco folded his hands together, elbows on the desk. "I sent them to protect you. Not stalk you. There's a difference." "Oh, really? Because from where I was standing, it felt a hell of a lot like surveillance. Men in cars. Men outside the bar. One of them followed me into a grocery store, Rocco. Into a fucking grocery store." "He was making sure no one touched you." "No one touched me because I nearly broke his jaw with a can of beans!" A beat. Then, a slow blink. "He deserved that one." "Don't deflect. Don't you dare fucking joke about this. You went behind my back. Again. You made a decision for me. Again. You decided I needed protecting like I'm some delicate little thing who can't handle her own life." Rocco stood now. Slowly. Like an animal unfolding itself from a crouch. "You think I don't know you can handle yourself? Rae, I've seen you handle yourself. You're brutal. You're relentless. But that doesn't mean you should have to do it alone." She took a step forward, rage burning off her in waves. "You don't get to make that call. You don't get to put men on me and pretend it's about safety. This is about control." "No," he snapped. "This is about not finding your body in a fucking alley. This is about making sure the next time Travis breathes your name, he chokes on it." Her voice dropped. Low. Dangerous. "Then say that. Don't hide behind protection. Don't lie to me." His jaw clenched, something sharp flickering behind his eyes. "Fine. You want the truth? I can't fucking sleep at night knowing he's out there. I can't eat, I can't think, because every second you're not in front of me, I'm imagining the worst. So yeah, I put my men on you. Because if anything happens to you—if I lose you—I swear to God, I will burn this entire city to the ground." Silence. Thick. Hot. Her breath caught in her throat. He was breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. Something cracked in her, some invisible line that had been pulled too tight for too long. She moved before she thought. So did he. They met halfway across the room. Her hands slammed against his chest. His mouth crashed into hers. There was nothing soft about it. No hesitation. Just heat and fury and desperation coiled tight between them. Clothes hit the floor fast, careless. She shoved him against the wall. He caught her thigh and lifted. Her back hit the door. His teeth grazed her neck. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Every kiss was a fight. Every gasp a truce. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't gentle. It was raw. When they finally collapsed, tangled together, breathless and spent, the only sound in the room was the frantic pounding of two hearts trying to catch up with their bodies. She yanked the door open with shaking hands, breath ragged, eyes glassy with something she wouldn't name. He called after her once—her name, soft and steady—but she didn't stop. Didn't look back. Just disappeared into the stairwell like she had to outrun the way he made her feel. The door clicked shut behind her. Silence stretched. Then Rocco leaned back against the wall, ran a hand through his hair, and let a crooked smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Not angry. Just knowing. "Yeah," he murmured to himself, a quiet chuckle under the words. "I figured you'd run again." Reagan stomped down the street like the pavement had personally offended her. Cold wind slapped her cheeks, but she barely felt it—too wrapped up in the mental spiral she was actively losing control of. "Stupid. Stupid. STUPID," she muttered, kicking a loose piece of gravel so hard it ricocheted off a trash can and startled a nearby cat. She didn't even flinch. Her boots hit the pavement harder with each step, her fingers shoved deep into her coat pockets like she could bury her shame there. "You just had to sleep with him again, didn't you? Real smart. Very emotionally stable. Just throw yourself at the mafia boss, great plan. Excellent coping skills, Wilde." She turned the corner too sharply and slammed her shoulder into a mailbox. "Ow! Fantastic. That's what I needed. A literal bruise to match the metaphorical ones." She fumbled for the building door, dropped her keys once, then twice, and nearly face-planted into the frame when she finally got it open. Graceful as ever. She mumbled curses under her breath the whole way up the stairs, skipping the elevator like that would somehow make up for her poor life choices. At the third floor, she tripped over her own shoelace and barely caught herself on the railing. "You're a disaster," she muttered. "A walking train wreck with zero impulse control." By the time she reached the fifth floor, she was breathless, sweaty, and ready to throw herself out the nearest window. She stopped just long enough to yank her tangled hair into a messy bun that immediately drooped sideways like it shared her mood. She muttered a bitter, "Traitor," at her own hair before unlocking the door. She pushed it open quietly, hoping maybe Skylar was asleep. No such luck. Skylar looked up from the couch the moment Reagan stepped inside, one eyebrow arching with almost evil precision. She gave her a slow once-over—the flushed cheeks, the disheveled hair, the crooked bun, the jacket half-zipped, and the unmistakable post-sex guilt aura radiating off her like heat. A grin broke across her face. "You just can't stay away, can you?" Reagan groaned, dragging her palms down her face. "I want to… I want to hate him, I want to fight him, and I wanna loathe him, but I can't." Skylar's face softened, but her eyes stayed sharp. "I know, baby. Trust me, I know. You're in deep. Neck-deep in mafia daddy issues and sexual tension thick enough to chew." She nudged Reagan lightly. "You're allowed to feel messy. You're allowed to want him and still want to punch him in the face. That's valid. That's feminist rage." Reagan snorted despite herself. Skylar grinned. "And hey, if you ever need to run again, I've got snacks, a crowbar, and a getaway playlist labeled 'Rage & Regret Vol. 2.' You're not alone, Rae. You never were." Before Reagan could answer, a loud, thunderous knock rattled the apartment door. Once. Twice. Three times. Both women froze. Skylar's smile dropped instantly, her entire body going still. She slowly reached for the baseball bat tucked behind the couch. "...Tell me that's pizza," she whispered. But they both knew it wasn't There was a knock on the door. Sharp. Controlled. One single knock, followed by silence. Reagan froze halfway through brushing her teeth, the toothbrush hanging from the corner of her mouth like a cigarette. Her brain immediately ran through the worst options. Pizza? Unlikely. Owen? Too bold. Travis? Not his style. She spit, wiped her mouth, and grabbed the baseball bat from beside the door—not for show. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she slowly unlocked it and pulled it open an inch. Then another. The bat slipped. Of course it did. Because Reagan Wilde couldn't have one single goddamn moment of dignity. One second she was creeping toward the window with the bat clutched in both hands like some half-trained vigilante, and the next, she tripped over the edge of the rug, flailed, windmilled, and landed flat on her ass with a loud, echoing THUMP. "Ow. Shit. Goddamn IKEA rug." She rolled onto her side with a groan, the bat thunking uselessly beside her. From the couch, Skylar sighed dramatically and didn't even bother to get up. "You good, Rambo?" Reagan flipped her off from the floor, muttering under her breath, "You're a disgrace to all emotionally stable adults." Skylar grinned. "And you? Are a hazard to yourself and everyone within a ten-foot radius." Reagan groaned again and sat up slowly, brushing her hair out of her face and trying not to look like a raccoon who had lost a fight with a trash can. "God, what is wrong with me," she hissed to herself, rubbing her elbow. "You're 27, Rae. Not a sitcom klutz." Before Skylar could throw another smart comment her way, someone knocked. No, not knocked. Pounded. Three heavy, deliberate bangs on the door. Reagan and Skylar both froze. Reagan scrambled up, suddenly alert, heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted to break free. She grabbed the bat again, this time gripping it like she actually knew how to use it. Skylar stood slowly, eyes narrowing, voice low. "It better be pizza." Reagan didn't answer. She inched toward the door and peeked through the peephole. And blinked. "It's not pizza," she said flatly. Skylar raised a brow. "Don't tell me it's Travis. I swear to God—" Reagan shook her head, unlocking the door but not opening it. Her voice was dry. "No. It's Taz." Skylar blinked. "Oh. Great. Just what we needed." Reagan opened the door slowly, one eyebrow already halfway to the ceiling. "Didn't think you were the type to knock." Taz leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Black hoodie, amused smirk, hair slightly damp from the rain outside. "Didn't want you swinging that bat of yours like a deranged baseball player. Though, judging by the thud I heard, you already lost round one to the floor." Reagan narrowed her eyes. "What do you want, Taz?" He stepped inside without asking, which tracked. Skylar folded her arms and watched him carefully. "Relax, I'm not here to bite," he said, glancing around. "I came to talk. About Rocco." Reagan rolled her eyes so hard she nearly gave herself a headache. "Fantastic. Because unsolicited life advice is exactly what I needed after face-planting into my own kitchen" Taz grinned. "Look, I'm not here to give you some big mafia lecture. But maybe don't break my boss into tiny emotional pieces next time you decide to run?" Skylar snorted, but her tone was sharp. "She wouldn't have to run if someone actually told her she wasn't being hunted alone." Taz raised both hands in surrender. "Fair. Super fair." Reagan didn't smile. Didn't move. "Say what you came to say." Taz's smirk dropped just a fraction. "He didn't send those men just to play shadow games. He's trying. In his own way. Might be fucked up, might be too late—but it's real." Reagan looked away, jaw tight. "He's not perfect," Taz added, voice quieter now. "But he sees you. And that's saying something, coming from him." Reagan swallowed hard. Taz stepped back toward the door, tugging it open. "Just… don't pretend it didn't mean anything. You both felt it. That kind of thing? You don't get many chances." Reagan didn't answer. She couldn't. Taz winked. "Oh, and maybe keep the bat on the floor. You're a menace with it." Then he was gone. The door clicked shut, and Reagan stood there, frozen, knuckles white around the handle. Skylar exhaled loudly. "I like him. He's got flair." Reagan groaned.