Page 148 of Sexting the Boss

Both men look at me.

“She stays out of it,” I add.

Roman whistles low. “You didn’t even try to get her involved?”

I shoot him a look.

“What? I’m just surprised. Usually, by now, people in your orbit either have a gun, a false passport, or a list of burner numbers. But she’s just…” He gestures vaguely toward the window. “Picking roses with your mother.”

“She’s not part of this,” I say quietly.

Roman hums. “She’s in your bed, Damien. She’s already part of it whether you like it or not.”

He’s right. She’s in this now.

And the longer she stays here, the more visible she becomes.

I exhale through my nose, watching Sasha pluck something from one of the hedges and hand it to my mother. My mother beams. My chest tightens.

I want her here.

But I can’t keep her here forever.

The moment they round the hedge and disappear from view, I finally look away from the window.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Roman says beside me, his voice lower now. Calmer. Less teasing.

I glance at him.

He’s leaning back against the table, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest. He’s been with me longer than anyone outside my family.

We’ve bled together, fought side by side, covered each other’s sins in places too dark to name. I’ve trusted him with my life more times than I can count.

He knows when to speak and when to wait. And right now, he’s waiting.

I set the cup down and rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension coiled there. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“With her?”

“With all of it.”

Roman doesn’t laugh or scoff like Oleg would. He nods like he understands.

And he does.

He’s seen what I’ve buried to get here. The things I’ve done.

“You care about her,” he says simply. “That’s obvious.”

“That’s the problem.”

Roman’s quiet for a second, then shrugs. “It’s not like you planned it. She just showed up one day, all smart mouth and coffee breath, and boom—you’re screwed.”

My lips twitch. “You’re a poet.”

I run a hand over my face. “I brought her here to protect her,” I say, “but the longer she stays, the more vulnerable she becomes. And I…” I trail off.

“You don’t want to let her go,” Roman finishes for me.

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