𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The docks were a blur of chaos—sirens wailing, radios crackling, agents hauling Verone’s men into cuffs while others dragged duffel bags of cash across the pavement. Eleven months of undercover work had led to this day, yet the victory didn’t feel like triumph. It felt hollow.

Because all you could see was him.

Brian sat on the bumper of an ambulance, a cut above his brow, grime and sweat streaking his skin. A medic pressed gauze to the wound, shone a light into his eyes, but Brian only nodded and flashed that crooked grin—the reckless one that never seemed to leave his face, even when the world was burning down around him. Somehow, it steadied you.

You told yourself not to look at him, not to feel anything at all. But the last three days kept replaying in your head, pulling you back to yesterday morning on his houseboat.

It had been dawn when you went to him. Not for comfort. Not for anything reckless. You’d gone to warn him—because you’d overheard Verone’s plan, the way he intended to kill Brian and Roman once they’d done his work. You weren’t supposed to let it get personal. You weren’t supposed to cross the line.

And yet, when Brians hand brushed against yours, when his eyes searched yours like he already knew—you’d kissed him. It hadn’t been neat or safe or professional. It had been raw, like the truth clawing its way out of you after months of lies. You’d told yourself it was a mistake. Just a crack in the cover.

But tonight, when Brian launched a car off a ramp and straight into Verone’s yacht, your heart had stopped. Not because of the op. Not because of the risk. But because, for one terrible moment, you thought you’d lost him.

And that terrified you more than Verone ever had.

The medic gave him clearance and moved away. Brian rubbed the back of his neck, wincing, and then his gaze found yours.

Everything around you blurred—the sirens, the shouting, the chaos—all of it fading until there was only him. Alive. Bruised, but unbroken.

Your feet wouldn’t move, though every part of you wanted to. To thank him. To tell him. To do something. But he was the one who closed the distance instead, his stride uneven but determined.

When he stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell salt and smoke clinging to him, his voice dropped low.

“Hey,” he asked gently. “You okay?”