Tessa smiled quietly, her fingers folded at her waist. It wasn't joy. Not really. It was relief. Gratitude laced with bitterness. Her man—her storm-wrapped, soul-torn man—was finally about to get what he'd waited for. Not justice. That was too clean. This was something else. This was debt collection with interest. And watching him now, eyes distant as memories warred behind them, she couldn't help but wonder.
What was he going to do to them?
Elena and Naomi were watching too, silent and sharp, the way only women who had worked under him long enough to know when not to speak could. Their boss, their sovereign, their walking contradiction of trauma and steel, sat on that throne like he wasn't part of the room—but the reason it existed.
Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade dragged over stone.
"Are you going to say something… or should I just kill you all now?"
