Page 148 of Celestial Combat

“No,” he said, not missing a beat. “I think you’re the most beautiful, dangerous, intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

My lips curled. “Yeah?”

He smirked, then leaned in, giving me a soft kiss. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips brushing against mine before we both pulled away.

Zane reached for his glass of water. His shirtless torso flexed with the movement, tattoos catching the shifting light like stories inked in shadow. Outside the grand windows, the November sky was velvet black, but in here, the warmth wrapped around us like a shield from the world.

We fell quiet again, watching Tony Montana rise through blood and fire. And as the sound of gunfire echoed from the flatscreen speakers, Zane reached out without a word and let his hand rest on my thigh.

Not possessive. Not demanding.

Solid.

Present.

Tony killed Manny.

On screen, Tony shot his best friend for dating his sister.

The moment froze us both. We were now on the couch, Zane leaned back in the corner, one arm thrown around the back. Me, snuggled into his side, head resting on his chest while his arm held me close.

In that instant, I saw us. And the thought of Trevor finding out made my chest drop.

Zane didn’t move. His jaw tightened. He didn’t look at me.

How could I forget this happened in Scarface?

I felt my cheeks burn. I regretted picking this movie now.

The ending played – gunfire, betrayal, Tony’s scream – but none of it reached us. We sat in our own silence until the credits began.

Zane reached for the remote. Shut off the TV.

Darkness filled the room, already late night by now.

We sat still, the hush heavy around us.

“Listen,” he said softly. I glanced at him. He caught my gaze and reached out, brushing a curl from my face. “I’m happy you’re here.”

I felt the tension loosen in my chest.

“Me too,” I said, voice small.

He leaned in and kissed the top of my head – gentle, slow. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Then he pulled me in, arms wrapping me tight.

I let myself melt into him.

We didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

Some moments didn’t need words.

In the quiet aftermath, we found each other again.

And when he took me to bed that night – after he let me feel his mouth on every single inch of my skin – I fell asleep with my face in his chest, and his strong arms around me, holding me close.

I sighed softly, stretching my arms high above my head and grazing the headboard. Blinking softly, I took in the darkness in the room, the only light coming in from the grand two-story windows across the loft. Brooklyn glowed softly, accents of gold and orange. A billboard somewhere in the distance. The light of a jet or plane blinking as it crossed the night sky.

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