“My daddy went to the stars,” Emma said suddenly.

She said it simply, with the easy acceptance of a child.

Julian looked at her, his dark eyes softening in a way that made him look entirely human.

“Did he?” Julian asked.

“Yes,” Emma said, nodding. “He’s watching.”

Julian reached out, his large, scarred hand hesitating for a fraction of a second.

Then, gently, he patted her small shoulder.

“Then we must make sure he sees you being brave,” he said.

It was a promise, spoken to a three-year-old, but I felt the weight of it land directly on me.

He was telling me, in his own guarded way, that we were safe here under his roof.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.

Julian stood up, the warmth vanishing from his face as quickly as it had appeared.

The mask of the North Shore boss was back on.

“Margaret,” he called out toward the hallway.

Margaret Bell stepped into the dining room immediately, her posture rigid and her hands folded over her skirt.

She must have been waiting just outside the door the entire time.

“Sir?” Margaret said.