Chapter 4 -Thresholds
1433 Words
The pen left a groove in the paper.
Rori stared at her signature like it belonged to someone else. The contract sat on the coffee table, official and final. She’d signed it. She’d agreed to protection. To partnership. To letting two men into her life who felt like fire and shadow.
She didn’t know if she’d made a mistake.
But she knew she couldn’t do this alone anymore.
The next morning, Sandro arrived with coffee and a grin.
“You signed,” he said, holding up the cup like a toast.
“I did,” Rori replied, taking it. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I’ll try not to. But I make no promises.”
She sipped the coffee. It was perfect. Of course it was.
“Ren’s setting up a perimeter,” Sandro said. “We’re installing motion sensors, encrypted cameras, and a panic button in your bedroom.”
Rori blinked. “A panic button?”
“Standard protocol. You’re not just a client now. You’re part of the team.”
“I didn’t sign up to be a spy.”
“No,” Sandro said. “You signed up to survive.”
By noon, the house was crawling with quiet men in black polos and tactical boots. They moved like ghosts—installing, wiring, scanning. Emi watched from the porch, arms crossed.
“Are they going to be here forever?” she asked.
“Just today,” Rori said. “They’re making sure we’re safe.”
Emi frowned. “Safe feels weird.”
“I know.”
Tomo peeked out from behind the screen door. “Can I ask them questions?”
“No,” Rori said.
“Can I offer them snacks?”
“No.”
“Can I—”
“No.”
He sighed. “You’re no fun.”
Souta tugged at her sleeve. “Kevin says they look like ninjas.”
Rori smiled. “Kevin’s not wrong.”
Inside, Ren stood in the hallway, staring at the blueprint of her house.
“You have blind spots,” he said.
“I have curtains.”
“Curtains don’t stop bullets.”
Rori folded her arms. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No. It’s supposed to prepare you.”
She studied him. “You always this charming?”
Ren didn’t blink. “I don’t do charm.”
“Clearly.”
He pointed to the back door. “That lock’s weak. We’ll replace it.”
“I just had it installed.”
“It’s not enough.”
She sighed. “You know, I used to think new locks meant new life.”
Ren looked at her. “Locks don’t keep people out. They just slow them down.”
Later, Sandro found her in the kitchen, staring at the sink.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
She didn’t deny it.
He leaned against the counter. “You’re allowed to be scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re allowed to be tired.”
That one hit.
She exhaled. “I’m exhausted.”
Sandro nodded. “Then let us carry some of it.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know how.”
“You start by letting someone in.”
She turned away. “That’s the hardest part.”
“I know.”
That night, the house felt different.
The cameras blinked softly in corners. The motion sensors glowed faintly. The panic button sat beneath her nightstand, cold and waiting.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
And the memory came.
Flashback
She was twenty-six. The house was quiet, too quiet. Evan had taken the kids to his mother’s for the weekend. She’d stayed behind, claiming a migraine.
She’d needed space. Air. A moment to remember who she was.
She’d put on music—soft jazz, something she hadn’t listened to in years. She’d danced barefoot in the kitchen, flour dusting her fingers as she baked cookies just because she could.
Then the door slammed.
Evan was home early.
She froze, heart thudding.
He walked in, eyes scanning the room, jaw tight.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I was baking.”
“For who?”
“For me.”
He stepped closer. “You think you get to be happy without me?”
She backed up. “I didn’t mean—”
His hand closed around her wrist. Not hard. Not soft. Just enough to remind her who held the power.
“You don’t get to be free,” he whispered. “Not ever.”
A soft knock pulled her from the memory.
She opened the door to find Ren standing there, holding a tablet.
“Perimeter’s live,” he said. “Want to see?”
She nodded and followed him to the living room.
He tapped the screen. A grid of camera feeds appeared—front yard, backyard, alley, porch, street.
“Any movement triggers alerts,” he said. “You’ll get notifications. We’ll get them too.”
Rori stared at the screen. “It feels like a prison.”
“It’s a fortress.”
“Same thing.”
Ren looked at her. “Not if you choose it.”
She didn’t answer.
He handed her the tablet. “You’re in control now.”
She held it, the weight unfamiliar. “I don’t know what that means anymore.”
Ren’s voice was quiet. “It means you get to decide who comes in. And who doesn’t.”
She was still holding the tablet when Sandro walked in, jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Ren giving you the grand tour?” he asked.
“She’s adjusting,” Ren said.
“I’m standing right here,” Rori muttered.
Sandro stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over her like a slow flame. “You’re doing better than most.”
“I don’t feel better.”
“You will.”
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered—warm, deliberate. The touch was light, but it sent a ripple through her chest.
Ren didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened. He was watching her. Watching Sandro. Watching the space between them.
Rori’s breath caught.
She stepped back, but not far. “I’m not ready for this.”
Sandro’s voice dropped, low and velvet. “For what?”
“For whatever this is.”
Ren’s voice was quiet, steady. “It doesn’t have to be anything.”
“But it is,” she said. “You’re both here. You both see me. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
Sandro’s smile faded. “Then don’t do anything. Just feel it.”
Ren stepped forward, just enough that she could feel the tension in the air shift. His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “You don’t have to choose. Not yet.”
Her heart thudded. “And if I never do?”
“Then we stay,” Sandro said. “As long as you let us.”
Rori’s voice trembled. “I don’t know how to let anyone in.”
Ren’s eyes met hers. “Then let us teach you.”
Sandro’s hand slid down her arm, slow and steady, until his fingers brushed hers. “You’ve been surviving so long, you forgot what it feels like to be wanted.”
She didn’t pull away.
Ren’s voice was a low hum. “You don’t have to be afraid of us.”
“I’m afraid of myself,” she whispered.
Sandro leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. “Then let us remind you who you are.”
Ren’s fingers grazed her other wrist, feather-light. “You’re not broken, Rori. You’re just rebuilding.”
She closed her eyes, caught between heat and silence, between the man who made her laugh and the one who made her feel seen.
Her pulse pounded in her throat.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But her heart did.
It beat louder than it had in years.
The next morning, Rori woke to a message from Rivera.
Rivera: Got a hit on the Lexus. Registered to a shell company. Tied to a holding firm in New York. We’re digging.
Rori stared at the screen. Her heart thudded.
She typed back: Do you think it’s Evan?
Rivera: Too early to say. But it’s not just him. Someone else is involved.
Rori set the phone down.
She looked out the window.
The street was empty.
But she didn’t feel alone.
Not anymore.
- Writer
