A Dance with Danger

Chapter seventy-Five

**Tiberius POV**

I leaned against the doorframe, the cool wood pressing against my back as I watched Riri carefully tend to Estelle and Madox. She was a professional—her movements quick and precise as she cleaned the small cuts and bruises on the little boy’s arm. Estelle sat beside him, her eyes never leaving his face as she hovered protectively. Her calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few hours, but it was clear that she was still shaken, her hands trembling slightly as she brushed Madox’s hair out of his face.

I sent some of my men to track down Cesare and Archibald. Those two snakes had managed to slither away before we could finish the job, and it pissed me off. I knew I would find them eventually—it wasn’t the first time they had tried to slip away in the chaos. But this time would be different. I would make sure they never came back. 

But despite the anger that boiled in my veins, there was a part of me that was glad to see Estelle safe. After everything that had happened, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get the chance to see her smile again. Watching her now, sitting beside Madox, comforting him in the way only a mother could, made something in my chest ache. It was the first time in a long time I felt a small flicker of peace.

“Madox’s parents were called. They’re on their way,” Riri said, packing up her medical kit with methodical movements.

I nodded absently, my gaze shifting to Estelle. She kissed Madox’s forehead slowly, her lips lingering for a moment as she whispered something to him. I couldn’t hear her words, but I didn’t need to. The love in her eyes said it all. It was the kind of love that could keep the worst nightmares at bay. For a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter anymore.

“Good,” Estelle replied, her voice soft but firm. “He should be with his parents.”

The words seemed to settle into the room, carrying a sense of finality with them. She wasn’t just talking about Madox. She was talking about herself, too—about her own need for normalcy, for peace after everything that had happened.

I pushed off from the doorframe, stepping closer to them. My boots made soft noises on the floor, but I didn’t care if they heard me coming. I needed to be near them, to make sure everything was okay. As I approached, Madox looked up at me, his big brown eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and trust. He was still eating the pizza I had brought him earlier, his little hands holding the slice with surprising focus for someone so young. He looked so damn innocent in that moment, like nothing in the world could hurt him.

“Power Rangers!” he said excitedly, pointing at the TV where the familiar show was playing. I watched as his eyes sparkled, the exhaustion from earlier replaced by the excitement of his favorite Saturday morning cartoon.

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. I had always thought kids were a pain in the ass—too loud, too messy. But seeing Madox so happy, so completely engrossed in his show, made something inside me shift. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was more to the world than just power, control, and blood.

“Power Rangers?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I glanced at Estelle. She looked up at me, the corners of her lips lifting into a soft smile. I had been worried that she might still be too shaken to care about anything right now, but seeing her like this, calm and centered, put me at ease.

“His favorite,” Estelle said, her voice a little stronger now. “He watches it every Saturday.”

I nodded, taking a step back and leaning against the wall. I let my gaze shift from Madox to Estelle and back again. Neither of them had left each other.

If this is how Estelle will act when she has our baby. I wouldn't change it at all.

**Estelle POV**

My head was pressed against my knee. Madox had left with his parents an hour ago, both of them relieved to see he was safe. The weight of the evening still clung to me, heavy and suffocating. My fingers trailed absently over the bubbles floating in the bath, the warmth of the water doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in my bones. 

The bathroom door creaked open, and I glanced up to see Tiberius stepping in. A towel hung low around his waist, beads of water dripping from his damp curls. His eyes, always sharp and calculating, softened as they met mine. He must’ve seen something in my face because he hesitated before stepping closer. 

"You okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if he already knew the answer but asked anyway. 

I exhaled slowly, the bubbles shifting as my hand sank into the water. "No," I admitted. "Not really." 

Tiberius sat on the edge of the tub, his gaze never leaving mine. I knew he was waiting, giving me space to decide if I wanted to speak. It was rare, this patience of his, but he always seemed to have it when it mattered most. 

I traced the rim of the tub with my fingertips before finally speaking. "Cesare Alfonso," I said, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "My father." 

Tiberius's jaw tensed. He said nothing, but I saw the way his muscles coiled, as if preparing for a fight he wasn’t even in yet. 

"He started when I was twelve," I continued, my voice quieter now, as if saying it too loud would bring those memories back to life. "It was my birthday. I don’t even remember what I did wrong—maybe nothing—but he grabbed me by the throat and slapped me. Just like that. Happy birthday to me." 

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Tiberius’s hands curled into fists on his thighs, but he remained still, his restraint admirable. I knew the kind of man he was, knew the violence that simmered beneath his surface, but he kept it locked away—for me. 

"He didn’t stop there," I whispered. "It got worse over the years. Sometimes, it was words. Sometimes, it was bruises. Sometimes, it was worse than that." I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as the memories pressed in. "He made sure I knew that I was nothing, that I would always be nothing." 

Tiberius’s voice was a low growl when he finally spoke. "He was wrong." 

I looked up at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice. 

"He was wrong about you," he repeated. "You are not nothing, Estelle. You never were." 

A lump formed in my throat, and I looked away, blinking rapidly. "It’s hard to believe that sometimes." 

Tiberius reached out, his fingers brushing against my damp cheek. "Then I’ll believe it for you," he murmured. "Until you can see it yourself." 

The warmth of his touch spread through me, a stark contrast to the cold that had lived in my bones for so long. For the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone in this. 

I took a shaky breath. "When I was fifteen, my mother got me out of there," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "She waited until he was gone, packed our bags, and we left in the middle of the night. I didn’t think we’d make it, but we did. She saved me." 

Tiberius didn’t hesitate. He stood and let the towel drop before stepping into the tub with me. The water rippled as he settled behind me, his legs bracketing mine. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against his chest. His warmth seeped into me, grounding me in the present. 

I reached up, rubbing the arm that snaked around my chest, finding comfort in his presence. He tightened his hold slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to my shoulder. 

"She was brave," he murmured into my hair. "And so are you." 

Even after I finished speaking, Tiberius didn’t let me go. When the water turned lukewarm, he helped me out, wrapping me in a thick towel before carrying me to bed. He slid in beside me, his arms never leaving my body, as if letting go would shatter me. 

Curled up against him, for the first time in a long while, I felt safe. As sleep slowly pulled me under, his steady heartbeat against my back was the last thing I heard.