Page 143 of Forged

“I love them.” The words leave me before I can stop them.

Enzo halts on the first step and turns back slowly. The look in his eyes could level cities.

“If you loved them,” he says, each word laced with disgust, “you never would have walked through our door with Sera’s leash around your throat.”

Then he draws his gun, the barrel staring me down.

“Get the fuck out of our home.”

The sharp crackof Enzo’s voice cuts through the estate, followed by the unmistakable clatter of movement—boots and loud voices. It all sounds wrong and I can feel the warning in my gut.

Neomi is asleep when I move toward the door of the suite, her breathing finally even, her hand still curled loosely in the blanket where she had been holding mine. I hesitate, my gaze lingering on her, on the bruise at her temple, on the fragile peace she’s managed to find after everything.

Then I hear Enzo’s voice echo through the house again.

I go back to the nightstand for my gun, then run downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time, my pulse already rising, my mind running through possibilities faster than I can catch them. Another attack. A breach. Someone got inside. Something slipped through.

But when I reach the foyer—everything stops.

Enzo stands at the entryway, his arm extended, a gun steady in his hand.

A gun that’s aimed at Gabriel.

For a moment, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. It stalls out completely, the image in front of me not fitting into any version of reality that makes sense.

“Enzo,” I say, my voice sharp, confusion cutting through. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Gabriel stands a few feet away, his hands empty at his sides, his posture rigid in a way I’ve never seen from him. His face is pale, his jaw tight, his eyes are filled with pain and sadness.

“Lars,” he says, my name catching in his throat.

I move down the remaining steps quickly, stepping between them without thinking, my body angling just enough to block Enzo’s line of sight.

“Put the gun down,” I say, my voice controlled. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

Enzo doesn’t lower the gun. If anything, his grip on it tightens.

“You should step aside,” he says, his tone colder than I’ve heard it in years.

“No,” I protest.

“He needs to leave,” Enzo continues, his voice rising just enough to carry, to make sure everyone within earshot understands this isn’t a private disagreement.

My stomach drops. The words don’t make sense.

But something in Gabriel’s eyes tells me something has gone wrong.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, turning toward him, my voice rough now, filled with confusion. “Gabriel?”

He doesn’t answer. His gaze stays locked on mine, something breaking behind it, something I don’t want to name.

“Enzo,” I shout, louder now, turning back toward Enzo. “Enough! Lower the fucking gun and talk to me.”

Enzo’s jaw flexes, his eyes never leave Gabriel.

“You tell him,” he commands, “or I do.”

The air goes still and anxiety fills my chest.