Chapter Three

The firing range smelled faintly of gunpowder and gun oil.

When I pushed the door open, Adair was holding her wrist, pressing her index finger to the access scanner. The light turned green.

“From now on you can come and go on your own,” he told her, casual.

I stopped at the doorway. “If she needs training, she can inform me in advance.”

“She needs basic self-defense.” He glanced at me briefly, without stopping. “Less dependence on outsiders.”

*Outsiders.* He said it flat, as if it weren't a knife.

I looked at the green light—the symbol of permission. Kelly was wearing his black training gear, sleeves rolled up, her wrists thin and pallid. She lifted her eyes to him and said softly, “I'll do what you say.”

How considerate.

“Relax. Don't be afraid.” He hit the timer and stepped behind her, his arm coming around her side, his palm bracing her elbow as she held the pistol. “Stance. Keep your wrist steady. Shoulders loose.”

At the next lane, I loaded my magazine. In the mirrored wall, his chest was almost against her back. His breath stirred the loose strands by her ear. Each instruction dropped low against her skin.

“Drop your center of gravity a little more.” His hand pressed lightly at her waist.

“Like this?” She turned her head slightly, unsteady.

“Mm.” He didn't move his hand.

“Keep a safe distance,” I said. My voice came through the earmuffs, muted.

He paused, stepped back half a pace, removed his hand from her waist. Kelly swayed as if she'd lost support and let out a small gasp. “Sorry… I'm always unsteady…”

“No rush. Take it slow.” He said it immediately, arm hovering as if to catch her.

I kept aiming at the target paper and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked inside the enclosed space, recoil driving up my arm. My target was clean. Hers was untouched.

When the last round finished, she lifted a hand to her forehead, wobbling, and leaned against the equipment rack.

“Dizzy?” He was at her side instantly, hand gripping her upper arm.

“Maybe… low blood sugar.” She leaned into him, voice weak. “It's fine. Just let me lean for a second.”

I walked over and put an energy bar on the table beside her. She glanced at it, didn't move, eyes still locked on his face. “If you're here, I'm okay.”

After lunch, she appeared in the living room again, fingers twisting the hem of her clothes without meaning to.

“I get palpitations when I nap… I'm scared I'll wake up and the house will be empty.” She looked at him, eyes shining. “Could you sit nearby for a while?”

“You need someone for a nap too?”

I set down my ledger and looked at him. Adair didn't look at me at all.

“Of course.” He agreed without hesitation. “I'll come in a bit.”

She nodded and went obediently toward the guest room, then looked back once at the door, eyes full of dependence.

“You're ignoring me.”

I forced the words out through my anger.

Adair finally acted as if he'd remembered I was still there.

“Can you not do this?” He lowered his voice, stepping closer. “She wakes up at night. She needs to make up sleep during the day. That's normal, Caterina.”

Impatience and restrained fire pressed into his brows. “I've tried my best to consider your feelings. What else do you want from me?”

“Why can't you be like Kelly? She used to do it so well. What kind of godmother are you acting like?”

He looked at me hard—an expression that said only *you're being unreasonable again*—then walked straight into the guest room and shut the door behind him.

In that moment, every argument lost its meaning.

He hadn't closed it all the way. He left a narrow gap—like a silent invitation, or a deliberate display.

I moved to the door without a sound.

Inside: the faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of a mattress. Kelly's voice floated out, heavy with sleepiness. “Luca…”

Then she corrected herself. “…Adair. Are you still there?”

“I'm here. Sleep.” His voice was very low.

Through the gap, Kelly lay on her side facing the doorway. Adair sat with his back to the door, holding her hand.

Then I saw Kelly's arm slide out from under the thin quilt. She wrapped it lightly around his waist and pressed her face into him.

He didn't push her off.

He even adjusted, just slightly, so she could lean more comfortably. His palm came down on her shoulder, soothing her like a child.

“With you here… it doesn't hurt… and I'm not scared…” Her satisfied sigh was almost inaudible.

Time flowed through dead silence.

He let her hold him, unmoving, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Leaning against the cold wall, I felt the burning in my chest go out all at once—leaving only icy ash. All my resentment, my questions, my attempts at drawing lines—made me feel absurd in front of that scene.

I stepped away from the door without a sound.

Back in the study, I picked up my phone and dialed. After three rings, someone answered; a man's voice—professional, steady.

“Good afternoon, Caterina.”

“Good afternoon, James.” My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “Prepare a divorce agreement for me. As soon as possible.”