MY INSTINCTS

OCEAN'S POV

I don't plan to go back to Ethan's house. I have no reason to. The business meeting is done, and I have other matters that need my attention.

But Daniel's information sits heavy in my gut. The housekeeper who quit. The rumors. The way everyone who's been to that house describes Lola as quiet, covered up, nervous.

And those eyes. I can't stop thinking about those haunted, empty eyes.

It's been two days since I was there. Two days of trying to focus on work while my mind keeps drifting back to my son's wife. Two days of telling myself it's not my business, that I shouldn't interfere, that I'm probably reading too much into things.

But I didn't get where I am by ignoring my instincts.

And my instincts are screaming that something is very, very wrong.

So on Tuesday afternoon, I find myself driving back to Ethan's house without calling ahead. I tell myself it's a legitimate visit. I need to discuss some organizational business with my son. Territory adjustments in South London that affect his crew.

It's not a lie, exactly. We do need to have that conversation.

But it's not the real reason I'm going.

I pull up to the house at two in the afternoon. Ethan's car is in the driveway, which means he's home. Good.

I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. Wait.

No answer.

I ring again. Still nothing.

Frowning, I try the door. It's unlocked. Careless. I've told Ethan a thousand times about security, about always keeping doors locked, but he never listens.

I push the door open and step inside.

"Ethan?" I call out. "It's your father. We need to talk."

Silence.

But not complete silence. I can hear something. A faint sound coming from upstairs. Like… crying?

My jaw tightens. I move toward the stairs, my footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. The crying gets louder as I climb. It's coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hall.

I follow the sound to a closed door. Knock once.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

The crying stops abruptly. There's a long pause, then a voice. Lola's voice, but so quiet I can barely hear it.

"Mr. Moretti?"

"Yes. Are you alright?"

Another pause. "I'm… I'm fine. Just give me a moment, please."

But she doesn't sound fine. She sounds terrified.

"Lola, open the door."

"I can't, I'm not… I'm not dressed properly, I..."

"Open the door." My voice comes out harder than I intended. "Now."

I hear movement. Shuffling. Then the lock clicks and the door opens just a crack.

And I see her face.

Jesus Christ.

She's not wearing any makeup. Her face is bare, and the bruises are stark and brutal against her pale skin. Her left cheek is swollen and discolored, purple and yellow and green. There's a cut on her cheekbone that looks infected. Her lip is split. Another bruise on her jaw.

And her eyes. Those eyes that were haunted before are now completely dead.

She looks down immediately, like she can't bear to meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming, I would have… I would have made myself presentable…"

My hands curl into fists at my sides. It takes every ounce of my control not to react, not to show the rage that's building in my chest like a wildfire.

"Who did this to you?"

She flinches. "I… I fell. Down the stairs. I'm so clumsy, I—"

"Don't lie to me."

My voice is quiet but there's steel in it. She looks up at me briefly, and I see the fear in her eyes. But also something else. A desperate plea.

Please don't make me say it. Please don't make this worse.

"Where is Ethan?"

"His office. But please, Mr. Moretti, please don't… it was an accident, I really did fall, I—"

I'm already walking away. I hear her call after me, panic in her voice, but I don't stop. Can't stop. Because if I stay there one more second looking at her battered face, I'm going to do something I can't take back.

I storm down the stairs and throw open Ethan's office door without knocking.

Ethan is at his desk, on his phone, feet propped up like he doesn't have a care in the world. He looks up, startled.

"Father? What are you..."

I close the door behind me very carefully. Very deliberately. When I turn to face my son, I know my expression must be terrifying because Ethan's face goes pale.

"Get off the phone."

"I'm in the middle of..."

"Get. Off. The fucking phone."

He mumbles something to whoever he's talking to and hangs up. Sets the phone down with a shaking hand.

"What's wrong? Did something happen with the business?"

I walk slowly toward the desk. Each step measured. Controlled. Because if I move too fast, if I let go of my control for even a second, I'm going to kill my own son.

"I just saw your wife."

Ethan's jaw tightens. "And?"

"And her face looks like someone used it as a punching bag."

"She fell down the stairs. She's always been clumsy..."

I slam my hand down on the desk so hard Ethan jumps. Papers scatter. The phone bounces.

"Don't you dare," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "Don't you fucking dare lie to me. I know what a beating looks like, Ethan. I've given enough of them in my time. Those bruises didn't come from a fall."He looks away. "It's none of your business what happens between me and my wife."

"None of my business?" I lean forward, planting both hands on the desk. "You're my son. She's part of this family. That makes it my business."

"She's my wife..."

"She's a human being!" The words come out as a roar before I can stop them. I take a breath, forcing myself back under control. "She's a human being, Ethan. Not a punching bag. Not something you can destroy because you're angry or frustrated or whatever the fuck is wrong with you."

Ethan's face twists into something ugly. Resentful. "You don't understand. She's… she provokes me. She does things wrong, she doesn't listen, she—"

"So you beat her?"

"She needs discipline. She needs to learn..."

"She needs to be protected!" My voice cracks like a whip. "That's what a husband does. He protects his wife. He takes care of her. He doesn't…" I stop, trying to find words adequate to express my disgust. "I raised you better than this."

Ethan laughs bitterly. "You didn't raise me at all. You were too busy building your empire to give a shit about me."

The words hit like a physical blow. Because they're true. I know they're true.

But that doesn't excuse this.

"You're right," I say quietly. "I wasn't there for you the way I should have been. I failed you as a father. But that doesn't give you the right to hurt an innocent woman. That doesn't give you the right to beat your wife because you're angry at me."

"This isn't about you...this isn't."

"Isn't it?" I straighten up. "You're taking out your anger at me on someone who can't fight back. Someone who has no power, no family, nowhere to go. You picked her because she was vulnerable. Because you knew no one would stop you."

Ethan's silence is answer enough.

I turn away, running a hand through my hair. I need to think. Need to figure out what to do here. I can't just walk away. Not now. Not after seeing what he's done.

But I also can't interfere directly. Not without making things worse for Lola. If I push too hard, if I threaten him, he'll take it out on her the moment I leave.

I turn back. When I speak, my voice is cold. Controlled. The voice I use when I'm making it clear that disobedience means death.

"You're going to stop. Right now. Today. You're never going to touch her in anger again. Do you understand me?"

Ethan's jaw clenches. "And if I don't?"

"Then you'll find out what happens when you cross me." I take a step closer. "I've overlooked a lot of your mistakes, Ethan. Your incompetence. Your attitude. Your complete lack of respect for this organization. I've made excuses for you because you're my son. But this?" I gesture toward the door, toward where Lola is upstairs. "This I won't tolerate. You lay hands on that girl again, and I will make you regret it. Am I clear?"

For a long moment, we stare at each other. Father and son. So much history and resentment between us. So much anger on both sides.

Finally, he looks away. "Fine. I'll… I'll be more careful."

"Not more careful. Stop. Completely."

"Okay. Okay, I'll stop. I promise."

But I don't believe him. I can see the lie in his eyes. The resentment. He's telling me what I want to hear, but the moment I leave, he'll probably take his anger out on Lola again.

I need a better solution. But what? I can't be here all the time. Can't monitor him twenty-four seven. And if I push too hard, threaten too much, it'll only make things worse.

"I mean it, Ethan. If I find out you've hurt her again...."

"You won't. I promise. It won't happen again."

I want to believe him. Want to think that my son has some shred of decency left. But the evidence is upstairs, hiding in a bedroom, her face a map of violence.

"I'll be checking," I say quietly. "I'll be coming by regularly. Unannounced. And if I see any new bruises, any signs that you've broken your word…" I don't finish the sentence. Don't need to.

"I understand."

"Good." I head for the door, then stop. Turn back. "That girl upstairs? She's terrified. Broken. And it's your fault. I hope you can live with that."

He says nothing. Just stares at his desk.

I leave the office and close the door. Stand in the hallway for a moment, trying to get my rage under control.

I should go back upstairs. Should check on Lola, make sure she's okay. But what would I say? What could I possibly say that would make any of this better?

Instead, I head for the front door. Need to leave before I do something I can't take back. Before I go back in that office and beat my own son the way he's been beating his wife.

But I pause at the door. Look up the stairs toward where I know Lola is hiding.

I'll fix this, I think. Somehow, I'll find a way to fix this.

I don't know how yet. Don't have a plan. But I'm not going to let this continue. I'm not going to let my son destroy that girl.

I walk out to my car, get in, and sit there for a long moment.

My hands are shaking. Not from fear. From rage. From the helpless fury of seeing something wrong and not being able to fix it immediately.

I need to think. Need to figure out the right move here. Because confronting Ethan directly hasn't worked. He just lied and made promises he won't keep.

I need a different approach.

But what?

I start the car and pull away from the house, my mind racing.

One thing is certain: I'm not done with this. Not even close.

That girl deserves better. Deserves safety. Deserves someone to protect her.

And if her own husband won't do it, then maybe her father-in-law will have to step in.

The thought is dangerous. Complicated. Could cause all sorts of problems.

But I've never backed down from a problem before.

And I'm not about to start now.

Not when I can still see those dead, haunted eyes every time I close my own.

Not when I know that girl is suffering in silence with no one to help her.

I'll find a way. Somehow.

I have to.