Page 89 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Ms. Rios advises, “You’ll want to get a permanent ramp, something stronger than that thing we came up. Better grip too. The wheels on her chair slid, and we had to push her up it some.”

“I’ll handle that. Thank you for the heads-up.”

She smiles and nods as Grandma Judy hands me the muffin bag. “Tabi still sleeping? We tried not to text spoilers.”

“I think so. Let me show you to your rooms?—”

“Rooms? Plural?” Grandma Judy asks. “We’re not sharing? She needs supervision.”

“I’m fine,” Erin says with all the sass of a teenager.

“You’re across the hall from each other. I hope that’s okay.”

Grandma Judy frets over Erin, playing with an errant curl. “That’ll do. Lead the way.”

I do, but when we get to Erin’s new room, Tabitha’s there. Her eyes pop when she sees her family there. “What’s going on? What is all this?”

“Commotion? Maybe penguins relocated.” My grin gives me away.

She narrows her eyes. “Dante…”

“We know you want to be there for the recovery. This seemed like the best way. Plus, we can all help, so it’s not all on you two and Ms. Rios—she’s the home health nurse we hired. Specializes in pediatric oncology cases, so she’s more than qualified for this.”

“You—why—how?—”

“It’s temporary,” I quickly add. “But if this isn’t what you want?—”

“You did this…for me?”

“For the family, yeah.”

Grandma Judy pats Tabitha’s shoulder. “It was their idea. These fools said daily snow drives were unhealthy for fragile grandmothers.” She scoffs at that. “Like I’m fragile.”

Tabitha laugh-cries, hugs her grandmother, then kneels to Erin’s level as the girl rolls forward. Joy ricochets around the staircase like sunlight through a prism. I memorize every shard.

An hour later, a new ramp is being constructed and the muffins have been eaten. Tabitha floats from room to room, equal parts hostess and stunned beneficiary, giving the grand tour. Every time she passes me her hand brushes my elbow, like she’s silently thanking me every time. Not needed, but I’m not complaining when my girlfriend wants to touch me.

Jubilation wraps the household like fresh plaster, but responsibility beckons. These days, I don’t ignore it. My phone buzzes, and I answer affirmatively.

I’d much rather help Erin unbox her bouldering Lego set, but this marketing subcontract is my pledge to Nico. I will stop saddling him with the comms war and actually use my VP-of-Marketing title for something besides airline-platinum status.

I find Tabitha in Erin’s new room, adjusting her reading lamp. “I have a meeting,” I say, hating the words.

She smiles, all forgiveness. “Go. Save the brand.”

Erin overhears. “Bring me swag!”

“How about more Legos?”

“Even better.”

But as I step out onto the frosted driveway, part of me stays behind, anchored to the image of Tabitha glowing in that repurposed guest room.

Pietro’s headquarters squat in a converted munitions depot on the city’s outskirts, but on the opposite side from us, where it used to be industrial before gentrification. Some parts still are, so businesses blend with warehouses here. This part of Dumas’ business is housed in industrial brick, black steel windows, anda white wolf mural howling at artillery shells. A man who loves symbolism.

Inside, the reception smells of sandalwood and data servers. I don’t want to be here. Not after the stunt he pulled on the last day of Tabitha’s contract. But if subcontracting with the white wolf keeps Nico from coding Instagram ads at three a.m., so be it. Dumas is the best in that regard, and I won’t settle for less, ego be damned.

Pietro greets me outside conference room A. His suit is charcoal; his cufflinks show the Armory crest. No guard follows him—either a sign of trust or bait.

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