The door clicks shut behind us, and the sound feels final, like the world’s cut off on the other side. Before my thoughts can catch up, Ronan’s on me, his hands grasping with a reverence that makes my chest ache. His touch isn’t greedy, isn’t rushed—it’s careful, like he’s afraid if he presses too hard, I’ll vanish into smoke. His palm glides over the curve of my ribs, fingers brushing the hem of my shirt, and I swear I can feel his breath tremble when he whispers my name. Soft. Personal. It’s not just a word—it’s a claim, one he’s been holding onto for years.
My throat closes around the hundred things I want to say—promises, apologies, confessions—but none of them leave me. Instead, I let him strip me of the fabric that clings to me like armor. He does it slowly, deliberately, each piece peeled away as though it’s part of some ritual neither of us wants to end too soon. I mirror him, tugging at his shirt, sliding my fingers over hard lines and warm skin, grounding myself in the reality of him. There’s no clumsy rush, no awkwardness, only a quiet intimacy that wraps around us until my body unclenches for the first time in what feels like forever.
When we’re bare, there’s no grand reveal, no shock. Just silence that settles over us like a blanket, heavy but comforting. He guides me to one side of the bed, tucking me in before slipping in next to me, close enough that our bodies align without effort. My leg hooks between his, and my head finds its place at the crook of his neck like it’s always belonged there. He exhales, deep and steady, and then breathes me in, his nose buried in my hair, as if memorizing the way I smell, as if it’s the one tether he has left.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The sound cracks open, raw and jagged, like it costs him something to force the words out. “Don’t go anywhere. Please.” The plea is so quiet, so fragile, it slices straight through me, sharp as sunlight cutting through a wall of smoke.
“I’m not running again,” I whisper back, the vow catching in my throat because it feels truer than anything I’ve ever said. “Promise.” My hand lifts on instinct, finding his cheek. His stubblescrapes against my palm, rough and grounding, and the simple touch makes my chest ache. For one suspended heartbeat, the world outside this room dissolves, as though it belongs to some other lifetime entirely—one we’ve already survived and left behind. I swallow hard, the words scraping up my throat like glass, but I force them out anyway. “I didn’t want to leave you guys the first time.” My voice fractures on the confession, the truth fighting me even as it spills free. “Jay saved me. After they… after they finished, they dumped me in the kitchen, right next to my dad’s body. He was already gone. And then they set the house on fire.” The memory burns as I speak, as vivid now as the night it happened. “I was so out of it, I didn’t even realize my arm was on fire until Jay smothered the flames and carried me out. Even if I wanted to reach you, I couldn’t. Our doctors kept me under, sedated for weeks, waiting for the skin to knit back together. When I woke…” My chest tightens, my voice breaking down into something thinner, weaker. “All that was waiting was pain. Physical, emotional, mental—it was everywhere. Inescapable. The kind that eats you alive until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.” I drag in a shaky breath, my gaze fixed on him, daring him to look away. “It took me a long time to put myself back together after that.” The admission feels like peeling open old wounds, laying my heart raw and vulnerable in his hands, praying he won’t drop it.
His forehead presses to mine, his breath warm and uneven, and then the words come, rough and unflinching. “I love you.” It isn’t soft, not really—it’s a confession, and a command tangled together, a vow he dares me to break. My chest cracks wide with it,something in me unsealing that I thought had been welded shut forever.
For a second I can only stare at him, eyes burning, throat tight. Then I whisper back, steady even though my whole body trembles. “I love you, too.” The words slip out like truth finally finding its voice, and the air shifts around us. The room feels smaller, heavier, charged with something real.
His eyes search mine, desperate and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen. “Say it again,” he murmurs, voice raw. “Please, Berk. I need to hear it. I need to know it’s real.”
My fingers cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble like I’m memorizing the feel of him. “I love you, Ronan,” I repeat, firmer this time, each syllable deliberate, like I’m carving it into him so he can’t ever forget. “I always have. Even when I hated you, even when I thought I couldn’t come back from it—I loved you.”
His throat works, his jaw clenching like he’s trying not to shatter. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.” His hand tightens in my hair, not rough, but grounding, holding me like I’ll vanish if he lets go. “And you’ll hear it from me every day until you believe it. I love you, Berkley. With every fucked-up part of me, I love you.”
The sound of it, the rhythm of both our voices wrapped around those words, shifts something permanent. It isn’t a balm or forgiveness. It’s a beginning, messy and jagged, but it’s ours.
I bury my face against his chest, letting the heat of him seep into me, his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath my ear. The words are still raw in the air between us, but I don’t want them to fade. Idon’t want him to think for even a second that I don’t mean them. My voice comes out muffled against his skin, thick with emotion. “I love you, Ronan. More than I can explain. More than I can ever undo. You drive me insane, but you’re the piece I always come back to. You’re mine.”
He exhales sharply, arms banding tighter around me, like he’s holding the words inside himself, so they don’t spill away. I shift just enough to look up at him, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. “And I love them too,” I whisper, the admission dragging out of me like blood from a wound. “Rowan. Emerson. They’re both on my shit list, don’t get me wrong. They’ve got a long climb out of the hole they dug. But there isn’t a world where I don’t love them. I can’t turn that off. It’ll take time to bridge what’s between us, but the love—it’s still there.”
Ronan nods slowly, his gaze steady and unflinching, as if he already knew but needed me to say it aloud. His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching a tear I didn’t realize slipped free. “Then let time do its work,” he murmurs, voice low and certain. “Let them fight for you the way they should have all along. For now, you’re here. With me. With us. That’s enough.”
I want to argue, to promise more or less, but the weight of the night finally presses down. His arms lock me in, his chest warm against my cheek, his breath threading through my hair. The steady rise and fall of his body lulls me, unwinding a tension I didn’t know I was still holding. For the first time in what feels like forever, sleep comes easy. No nightmares. No fire. Just the cocoon of Ronan’sarms around me and the certainty of his love holding me upright even as I drift under.
Peace. A fragile, foreign thing. But for once, it’s mine.
Chapter Eleven
Ronan
Holding Berk in my arms while she drifts off is something I’ve dreamed about more nights than I can count. The weight of her body against mine, the way her breaths grow slow and steady, the soft little twitch of her lashes against her cheeks—it’s all so real, it feels unreal. For years, I’ve woken to emptiness, to a hollow ache where she should have been. Now she’s here, warm and safe, wrapped in me, and I’m terrified that if I blink too long, she’ll vanish again. I press my face into her hair and breathe her in, letting that scent anchor me. She belongs here. She belongs to us.
When her breathing evens out and I know she’s truly gone under, I carefully slide free. My chest protests the loss of her weight, but I tuck the blanket around her anyway, making sure not a sliver of her skin is left to the cold. I stand for a moment, just watching, letting the truth settle in. She is here. My Pixie. My warrior. Our girl. As I straighten and step into the hall, my side pulls—sharp and unforgiving—an ugly reminder of where the bullet tore through me, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.
The hallway is dim, shadows stretching long against the walls, but I don’t need light to know the others are awake. Of course they are. No way in hell Rowan or Emerson are sleeping with Berk finally under the same roof. Their guilt won’t let them, and neither will their hope. I pad down the hall, shoulders tight, my mind racingwith what’s been said—and what hasn’t. We’ve been fractured for so long, bleeding in separate corners, but tonight feels like the first stitch drawing us back together.
They were dicks. No point sugarcoating that. They thought she hurt me, and they lashed out, blinded by rage and fear. But their hearts were in the right place, twisted as that might sound. I’ve always known their loyalty runs deep, even if it cuts in the wrong direction sometimes. Now that the air’s been cleared, and the truths laid bare, we finally have a chance to move forward. Together.
The world outside this house is rotting with our fathers’ poison. Their empire has thrived on lies, blood, and destruction for too long. Every move they’ve made has been a chain around our necks, and it’s past time to break it. We are not just taking down warehouses or cutting off pieces of the business anymore. This ends with them. Their reign. Their lives.
I think of Berk as I head toward the faint sound of voices, the indistinct murmur of my brothers waiting. She isn’t just part of this fight—she’s the blade, the fire, the fury that gives us the edge we never had before. Our avenging angel, sharpened by pain, and carrying all of us in her vengeance. For years I thought I was strong enough to take them on alone, but I was wrong. It was always supposed to be the four of us. And now, finally, it is.
As I round the corner, the murmur of voices cuts off, and two pairs of eyes snap to me. For a split second there’s a flicker of hope on both their faces, a spark that only one person can light. They think it’s Berk. They think she’s walked out of my room, ready to face them, ready to bridge the gap. I see it clearly—thatbrief flare of anticipation in Rowan’s jaw as it tightens, in Emerson’s restless hands as they still against his knees. Then, just as quickly, the light fades when they realize it’s only me. Both of them slump back into their seats with the weight of disappointment.
I can’t help the smirk that curves my mouth. “Nice to see you too,” I drawl, leaning against the wall like I have all the time in the world. Their scowls are almost identical, though Rowan’s holds more restraint while Emerson’s flashes raw across his face. I let the silence stretch a beat before I push away from the wall and cross to them, dropping into the chair opposite. My voice loses the edge when I speak again. “She’s fine. Better than fine, actually. She’s on the right track.”
They both stare at me, a dozen unasked questions tightening the air. I shrug, running a hand through my hair, still smelling faintly of smoke and her. “You need to understand something. She’s ready to let go of the past. She’s ready to put all of it behind her and forgive. But that doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was overnight. Building trust again takes time. You can’t just expect her to fall into your arms because you regret what happened.”
Emerson leans forward, elbows braced against his knees, his brow furrowed. “You really think she’ll forgive us?” The words are quiet, stripped of his usual bravado. Rowan says nothing, but his eyes are sharp, studying me like he’s weighing every word.
“She already has,” I tell them, steady and certain, because I saw it in her eyes. “But forgiveness and trust aren’t the same thing. She’ll let the past go, but you’re going to have to prove yourselvesto her. Show up. Support her. Be where she needs you when she needs you. No excuses.”
Rowan nods slowly, his throat working like he’s swallowing glass. Emerson leans back, dragging a hand over his face, looking both relieved and wrecked at the same time. I watch them both, my brothers, carrying the same scars in different shapes. “She’s not timid,” I add, softer now. “You’ve seen what she’s capable of. But that doesn’t mean she’s not carrying the weight of it all. Give her the space to breathe and the proof that you’re not going anywhere. That’s how you’ll earn her back.”