Page 150 of Forged

“I thought we were building something with him.” I say, my voice threaded with sadness.

“I know, I did too.” she says as she stares at our joined hands.

The grief in her voice mirrors my own.

She exhales quietly. “I don’t know what the future looks like. But I know what we have.” Her hand squeezes mine again. “And I’m not letting this destroy it.”

I take her in my arms, holding her tight. “I won’t ever leave like that again, I promise, Bella.”

She pulls back, her fingers brushing my hair away from my face. “I’m going to hold you to that, Lars. Because if you do, I’m going to hang you from your toes.”

When she smiles, a chuckle escapes me.

“You’re starting to sound like a real mob wife.”

She nods. “You’re lucky I love the way you fuck me, or I would hang you by your balls, husband.”

“Noted, Bella.”

Neither of us says Gabriel’s name again.

Rain tapssoftly against the windows of the penthouse. Chicago stretches below me in silver and charcoal, sharp lines softened by the weather, headlights moving like molten ribbons through the streets. It should feel calming, the kind of afternoon that invites a blanket, a book, a glass of wine poured too early and forgiven because the sky is dark enough to justify it.

It’s been two weeks since my car exploded in a shower of fire and metal, and two weeks since Gabriel confessed that he came into our lives under a lie, and somehow it feels like I’ve been living inside the same hour ever since. Time hasn’t moved. I’ve had more nightmares than I can count. Every day stretches thin, and Lars has turned into a ghost—moving in and out of our home with the lingering sense of sadness clinging to him.

He hasn’t been cruel. That would almost be easier. Cruelty I know how to fight.

His kisses are frequent, but don’t invoke the heat they used to. He smiles, but not the sly grins that I adore. I know he’s trying, I know he’s healing. But it’s hard for both of us.

He’s loving and kind, but then he leaves again to huntAnthony Falco through the city like vengeance is the only thing keeping him upright.

Part of me wants to drag him back here and make him stay and face everything that happened, but the other part knows exactly why he can’t sit still. Falco put a bomb in my car. Falco got too close to me, and in Lars’ world that means he answers with blood. I know that now in a way I didn’t before. I know what it means to love men like Lars. It means loving them and letting them walk into war and pray that they come home safely.

I’m standing at the kitchen island in one of Lars’ T-shirts and a pair of soft black shorts when the bell rings. I glance at the security monitor first out of habit, then smile when I see Zara in the hallway outside the door, one hand resting on the strap of her bag, the other curled around a coffee cup carrier. She looks elegant even dressed down, all dark hair and expensive casual clothes. She carries the glow of pregnancy so beautifully.

I open the door and smile.

“Well, this is either a social call or an intervention,” I say as I step back to let her in. “You’re carrying enough caffeine to suggest it could go either way.”

Zara’s mouth curves as she walks inside. “I came armed with coffee and pastries, which means I’m either a very good friend or I’m worried you haven’t eaten anything decent today.”

“Both can be true.” I sigh.

“Then I came well prepared.”

The smell of fresh coffee blooms between us as she lifts a cup from the carrier and extends it toward me. She reaches into her bag, retrieving a pink box, tied with ribbon, the kind of over-the-top detail that means she stopped somewhere expensive enough to make breakfast look beautiful.

“You didn’t have to bring provisions,” I tell her.

“Yes, I did,” she replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “Because if I left you alone up here much longer, you were going to merge with the skyline and become one of those tragic women in old movies who stare out windows until they lose their minds.”

I snort softly and take the cup, wrapping both hands around it. “I’m not tragic.”

“No,” Zara says, lifting a shoulder. “But you’re pale, and Lars has been stalking around the city like a man possessed, which means someone has to check on the wife before the she loses patience and starts poisoning people.”

She opens the pastry box and pushes it toward me. “Eat.”

“Yes, Don Zara.”