(AVERY'S POV)

Dinner was tense.

I hadn't seen the guys all day, and now that they were here, I wasn't about to waste the opportunity. My eyes flickered to Rick, sitting at the head of the table like a fucking king, unreadable as ever. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows over his face, emphasizing the cold set of his jaw, the steel in his gaze.

I took a breath. Just get him to agree. Don't back down.

"So," I started, setting my fork down. "I've been thinking—"

"No."

I barely got the words out before Rick shut it down, his voice as sharp as a blade.

I clenched my jaw. "You didn't even let me finish."

Rick didn't even look at me. "Didn't need to."

I glanced at Bryce first. He was the easiest to crack. "Talk to him."

Bryce hesitated, looking between me and Rick like he was debating whether he wanted to live tonight. "Uh—"

"Do it." I wasn't in the mood for excuses.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Rick, man, c'mon. Just let her go. She's not a damn kid—"

"No." Rick didn't even look up from his plate.

George tried next. "You can't just lock her away like a fucking prisoner—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want." Rick's voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the room like a death sentence.

Fred exhaled through his nose. "She deserves to be involved. This is about Sergei—"

Rick finally looked up, his cold grey eyes cutting through the conversation like a fucking executioner's blade.

"You mean the way you deserved to be involved last time?"

Silence.

Of course. The attack.

When we went to the beach, when those fuckers came out of nowhere, when Rick lost his goddamn mind—

Rick's grip tightened around his glass. "I let you go once. Look what happened."

Bryce shifted uncomfortably. Fred looked away. Even George—always the logical one—had nothing to say.

But I did.

I leaned forward, my voice sharp. "This isn't just about me. I lost my parents to Sergei. Maria too. Your enemy is my enemy, Rick. You think you can just lock me away while you hunt him down?"

His jaw twitched, the only sign that my words hit something raw.

"You wanna be involved?"

His voice was deceptively soft, the kind of quiet that came before a storm.

"Fine. How about I put a bullet in your head myself and save Sergei the trouble?"

Bryce flinched. Fred sucked in a breath.

I didn't. I held his gaze, fire licking through my veins.

"Fuck you, Rick."

His smirk was lethal.

"Already begging? Save it, sweetheart."

My blood boiled. "I'm going to that fucking gala whether you like it or not."

The air went deathly still.

Then—

CRASH.

Rick was on his feet in an instant, his palm slamming down on the table so hard the entire dining table shook. Plates rattled, forks clattered, and my pulse spiked as every single person in that room jolted at the sheer violence in his movement.

His chair scraped back as he stood. He loomed over me with his eyes darker now, pure steel, pure fury.

"You're not going anywhere. And if you try—pray to whatever fucking god you believe in that I don't catch you."

Then he turned and walked away, the tension crackling in his wake like a lit fuse ready to explode.

I didn't even think. I shoved back my chair and stormed after him, my voice ringing through the space.

"Rick!" I snapped, my voice sharp, cutting through the night air as I chased him into the garden.

He kept walking.

Didn't look back.

Didn't even acknowledge me.

That only made me angrier.

"Damn it, Rick, don't fucking walk away from me. I'm not done talking to you!"

My breath came fast as I pushed forward, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Still nothing.

He kept walking, his shoulders tense, his pace quick.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Fine. If he wanted to ignore me, I'd force him to listen.

"You're scared."

That did it.

His steps slowed—not stopping.

"You're scared I'll get hurt," I continued, watching him carefully. "That's why you're acting like a fucking asshole. You don't want to admit it, but you care—"

He finally stopped.

"Stop talking," he ordered, voice low and lethal without turning back.

I took a step forward.

"Make me."

His shoulders stiffened.

"You think you can just bark orders and expect me to roll over?"

I swallowed, forcing myself to take another step closer.

"You're fucking scared. Is that why, Rick? Is that why you're acting like this? Because you care too damn much?"

His breathing changed—sharper, heavier.

"Or is it because of them? Your family?" I whispered, the words barely audible.

That did it.

Rick spun around so fast I barely had time to react before he was on me.

His face was a mask of rage, but this time, I saw it—the fear lurking beneath, the weight of something deeper, something breaking.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he snarled.

I lifted my chin, refusing to cower.

"I know what happened, Rick."

His jaw locked, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something raw in his gray eyes.

I stepped closer, my voice unwavering.

"That night. It was your sister's birthday, wasn't it?"

His nostrils flared.

"You saw it happen," I continued, pushing past the lump in my throat. "Sergei. He—"

Rick's eyes darkened with something lethal. Then—

"Yes!"

His voice exploded, so loud it sent a tremor through me.

"You wanna fucking know? You really wanna fucking know why I won't let you anywhere near that gala?"

I stood my ground. "Tell me."

His breathing was ragged, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. And then—

"I watched them die," he spat, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged. "I watched Sergei kill my family like they were fucking nothing."

The words slammed into me.

"My little sister," he went on, voice shaking. "It was her fucking 4th birthday. There was cake on the damn table. Balloons. She was wearing a stupid pink dress with a tiara because she wanted to feel like a princess."

A lump formed in my throat.

"They made me watch. They lined them up and shot them like it was nothing in this same damn fucking house. My mother, my father, my sister—"

His voice cracked, but he pushed forward, fury swallowing his grief.

"And when it was over, when their bodies were on the fucking ground, Sergei put a gun in my hand and told me to prove I was a Rossi."

My stomach dropped.

Rick's eyes locked onto mine, burning.

"He made me shoot them."

His voice was a whisper now, but somehow, it hit harder than the shouting.

"I was eight years old, and I had to pull the fucking trigger on their dead bodies."

My breath hitched.

The garden felt too small, too silent. The night air was thick with something crushing, suffocating.

"I lost them because I wasn't strong enough," Rick ground out. "And I'll be damned if I let the same thing happen to you."

We were breathing hard. Staring at each other like we didn't know whether to fight or fall apart.

For the first time, he had nothing left to hide.

And I had nothing left to say.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

I grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.