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He held onto Valentina’s arm, and she stared down at her father with an affection that made my heart clench as she helped him walk to my bed.

There wasn’t a trace of the bully she’d once been to me. I didn’t know this woman.

I guessed it was possible to change. That what we became in our formative years wasn’t set in stone. There was always room for growth no matter how much it felt like you’d been permanently cemented into the same spot.

My eyes met Valentina’s, and in them was a darkness that swirled beneath a fragile strength.

She gave me a small smile. “We just wanted to thank you before returning to Philadelphia. And I wanted to tell you…” She licked her lips and sighed heavily. “I wanted to tell you that I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. That was why I came looking for you. To make amends.”

I gaped at her, utterly stunned by her admission. She came looking for me…to make amends?

“I spent a long time hating you for what you did, but I also spent a long time working on myself. We were just kids back then, and I was a spoiled asshole that hurt you for no reason other than I could. And you were just defending yourself. And in a way, what you did ended up saving me from myself. So, thank you for helping me, Whitney.” She gestured at Court, and said, “Your man explained everything about Thorne and what their intentions were.”

I got hung up on her phrasing. My man.

Yes.

Court was mine.

Angelo Rossi stood at her side, quietly regarding me with blue eyes that were not unfriendly, but held no affection toward me.

He didn’t say a word to me, just held onto his daughter.

“I…” Clearing my throat, I tried to string words together. “Um, you’re welcome.”

“Good luck with everything,” she said, and Angelo Rossi nodded at me. I nodded back, having a hard time processing the magnitude of everything I’d just learned.

Because the past eight years of my life—everything I’d done—had been based on an insubstantial fear. They’d never been looking for me to kill me. I could’ve⁠—

No. If any of it had happened differently, I wouldn’t be here with Court right now.

With a sigh, I sagged into the pillows. The door clicked shut and they were gone. The weight of having to look over my shoulder had evaporated, and for the first time in a long time, I felt free.

The next few hours passed in a blur. The doctor came in, took my vitals, checked out my wounds, and gave me a week’s worth of antibiotics. He gave Court detailed instructions on how to care for me at home and sternly told him to bring me back if anything happened or there were any concerns. He said I could be discharged but he wanted to see me again in two weeks.

I got out of the bed, standing on shaky legs, reaching for Court as he cupped his hand under my elbow to help steady me. He helped me to the bathroom, where I did what I needed, then stared at myself in the mirror.

Holy fucking shit. I looked horrible.

My face was bruised to shit, cuts and scrapes everywhere, and my hair was a frizzy mess.

“Do you think you’d be up for meeting Jesse?” he asked softly.

Caught off guard, I looked up at him. “What? He’s here?”

Court nodded. “Yeah, when he’s not at the hospital, he stays here. He loves being here, all the guys treat him so well he barely even misses us. He’s never alone and he’s in safe hands.”

A nervousness I’d never felt before spread through me. “What? But I’m—I mean, look at me, Court, my hair⁠—”

He raked his eyes down my form, then back up to meet mine in the mirror. There was a warmth in his gaze that filled me from head to toe, and I tried not to fidget. “Your hair looks fine,” he said.

I balked at him. “Define fine because it looks like I was caught in a tornado and a lightning storm and thrown a hundred yards through thorn bushes.”

His laugh filled the small space of the bathroom, and he moved to stand behind me. Every time he was this close, it felt like there was electricity crackling in the air between us, an awareness that hummed through every molecule of my being. He fingered the ends of my hair, swept one side behind my ear and lowered his head until his lips brushed my ear. “Fine means I want to grab two fistfuls, shove you up against this counter, and fill you with my cock until you break the mirror with your screams.”

“Fuck,” I breathed. “Don’t say things like that when I’m about to meet your brother.”

He chuckled darkly, kissing my ear and drawing back to his full height again. His big hands found my shoulders, his fingers sinking deep into my skin and kneading the tense muscles there. “You look perfect, Whitney. Don’t be nervous, he’s going to love you.”