Page 84 of Safe Word

My focus tapered as I rummaged through the memories.

Did he think I was the son of his first wife? Fuck, his memory was worse off than I realised. As far as I knew that woman had given birth to someone else’s kid and died shortly after.

Ezio had always known how to twist the knife, how to make himself seem smaller than he was to manipulate those around him. I had seen him do it to my mother, to his friends, family. To me.

‘I’m not here for you,’ I said evenly. ‘I’m here because I need to know you’re contained.’

He smiled faintly, but there was something in his gaze, something too calculating for a man with a ‘broken mirror’ memory. ‘Of course. You’re always so careful, Cain. Always thinking ahead.’

Leaning back in his bed, he folded his hands in his lap. ‘But life has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?’

The words hung like a blade poised over my neck.

I heard my molars grinding. He was testing me, laying traps I couldn’t yet see.

I stood, the chair creaking weakly as I pushed it back. ‘Enjoy your lunch, Ezio.’

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me cold. ‘You’ll come back, Cain,’ he said, his tone light, but laced with a darkness that took me back several decades – plunged me into it until breath wouldn’t grace me. ‘You’ll come see your dad, won’t you?’ The words softened the ominous streak they carried before, as though the true meaning sat hidden beneath them.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t even bother to look back, but as I walked out of the room, the bulk of it settled in my chest – a gnawing certainty that whatever this was… it was just starting.

Ezio might have appeared frail and broken now, but he was still Ezio. Still dangerous. Still the man who could turn my world upside down if I’d let him.

And the worst part? A part of me already knew I would go back. If only to keep him… contained.

Sinking into the seat of my car, I slumped, letting my forehead knock gently against the wheel – once, twice, again. Just enough to feel the sting, like a muted punishment for not leaving him behind.

Why was it so damn hard to start over? Why couldn’t I leave the past where it belonged? No matter how much I tried to outrun it, its tendrils stayed latched onto me, dragging me back into the darkness. Siphoning my energy, my sanity. A shadow forever lurking, whispering that no matter how far I went, I would never truly escape.

With a sigh, I sprawled back into the seat and pulled out my phone, needing a distraction. Two new voicemails blinked on the screen. I hit play and let the automated voice guide me through the first one.

‘It’s Paula. Car wouldn’t start. I’ll be a little late.’

Paula wasn’t like most people. There was a fire in her, and I recognised the same thing that lived in my soul – a sharpness that refused to dull no matter how much life threw at her.

In some twisted way, I think I knew why she’d imprinted herself into my thoughts: even though she’d never said it, I knew Paula came from an abusive relationship. The scars weren’t just physical – they were etched into her words, her movements, her need to control her surroundings. And it reminded me too much of myself. Of my Mum.

For years, I’d tried to protect my mother from Ezio’s hand – throwing myself between them when his temper boiled over. It was all I had known. Defending her, shielding her, fighting back until the night I’d almost killed him.

And now, there was Paula. Small and fierce and battered by a world that didn’t give a damn.

I sat there, phone in hand, grip tightening around the silence. Logic told me to back off: keep the lines clean. Professional.

But my gut wasn’t on board.

Because I wasn’t a man. I was a monster. So this wasn’t protection. It was possession. Obsession. Something darker.

And something warped and jagged whispered that if I kept her close, I could finally rewrite the ending I never gave my mum.

It wasn’t my job.

It wasn’t my place.

But damn it, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to.

With a sigh, I started the car, Paula’s voice still echoing in my mind as I pulled out of the lot. I needed to scratch an itch – to know more about her.

She wasn’t just a new hire who stumbled into my orbit; she was a puzzle piece I couldn’t yet place. If I wanted to understand why I’d felt pulled into her chaos, I’d need more than just surface-level facts.