Page 63 of Dalla's Royal Guards
He forced himself to breathe. Deep. Measured. Trying to find logic again.
“That’s why I left earlier. If I’d stayed, I would’ve tied her to the damn bed, called Raja and demanded he send a transport. I was going to haul her back to Narva if I had to throw her over my shoulder to do it.”
Silence stretched between them. Nasser released a dry chuckle.
“You and me both. We should have done it.”
The tension eased between them, just a little. But not enough.
“She wouldn’t have let us. She’s right,” Musad said after a moment. “The immediate threat is over. Cianna, Mario, and Lissa are safe. No one knows who Dalla is. No one knows she’s with us.”
Nasser shifted beside him.
“No one except Harlem Jones,” Musad added, his voice like steel.
They both looked toward the café now, where Dalla had disappeared moments before.
Musad’s expression hardened.
“If this Harlem is a threat…” he said, voice turning cold, “I’ll remove him.”
Nasser’s jaw ticked, but he nodded. “We’ll protect her. Whatever it takes.”
Musad pushed off the railing.
“That’s long enough.”
Musad strode toward the café entrance with Nasser a step behind him.
His gaze swept over the crowded interior. The restaurant was alive with conversation and the clatter of plates. It smelled of cardamom, freshly baked bread, and strong coffee. Families gathered around low tables. Children laughed, their voices cutting through the soft jazz playing in the background.
Musad’s focus narrowed.
Dalla sat near the back, her profile elegant and composed, facing a man whose presence radiated quiet power. He was tall, dressed casually. His skin gleamed like rich mocha under the lights. He sat with a casual grace that was misleading. Musad knew a predator when he saw one, and Harlem Jones was at the very top of the food chain.
The man turned his gaze to Musad and Nasser.
Musad heard Nasser’s muttered oath as their eyes met Harlem’s.
Harlem’s lips curved into a slight smile.
Not a smirk.
Not a threat.
Just a knowing smile.
Then he bowed his head as if in greeting.
Musad’s spine stiffened. Ice laced through his veins.
He knew that, somehow, this man kneweverything.
The danger wasn’t in the man’s build or the ease of his posture.
It was in his eyes.
Eyes that had seen too much. Lived too long.
