I was about to ruin my life for a man who didn’t even know my name. My hand shook just enough to smear the ink as I slid the folded receipt onto the white linen beside his crystal tumbler. From a distance, it looked like a bill. Up close, if he actually read it, it was a death sentence for me or for the people aiming at him, maybe both.

“Any dessert for you and your guest tonight, sir?” I asked, like my pulse wasn’t trying to climb out of my throat. His girlfriend laughed at something on her phone, the sound bright and fake against the low hum of expensive conversation. Behind Dante Russo, the city glittered through the glass walls. Manhattan at midnight, a mirror of a thousand lives that weren’t mine.

20 minutes earlier, I’d been in the last stall of the ladies room, door locked, scrolling my phone on my five-minute break when the door swung open and a pair of red-soled heels clicked across the marble. Her perfume hit first, sharp and expensive. The bathroom in this place was an echo chamber, marble, glass, nothing soft enough to swallow sound. Even whispers bounced.

“I told you, he’s at the window table.” Her voice drifted over the stall wall, low but just a little too loud for a private call. “By the glass.” She paused, listening to whoever was on the other end, then continued. “The others are already in position, one at the bar, three near the kitchen entrance. You’ll have a clean shot as soon as he settles.” My hand froze on my screen. I stopped breathing.

Water ran for a second. She turned on the tap, the sound blurring some of the words, but I still caught the important ones. Then her tone dropped, and she switched to a language I didn’t understand. Softer, faster, like she was wrapping the rest of the details in a code I couldn’t break.

I stayed very still, feet planted, praying she wouldn’t bend down and glance under the stall. The door opened and closed again. A beat later, her heels clicked away down the hall. Only when I was sure she was gone did I unlock the stall and step out. Heart pounding, the phrases, “One at the bar, three near the kitchen,” still ringing in my ears.

By the time my break was over and I stepped back onto the floor, it wasn’t hard to match the rest. One man at the bar nursing the same drink, three near the kitchen who cared more about their sight lines than their plates. He didn’t look at me at first. He just lifted his glass, the cuff of his suit jacket sliding back enough to flash the edge of an obscenely expensive watch.

Then his gaze dropped to the paper. “Read it,” I begged silently. “Read it now.” He unfolded it with two fingers, casual, like this was the hundredth note a server had slipped him tonight. His eyes skimmed the words, and for half a second, nothing changed. Then everything did. His jaw tightened. That was it.

No flinch, no curse, no dramatic glance toward the windows or the exits. Just the smallest shift, the kind you only noticed if you spent your nights memorizing rich men’s moods because your rent and your brother’s school shoes depended on it. “Is there a problem?” his girlfriend purred, leaning into him, perfume thick enough to make my eyes water. Dante’s gaze lifted to mine, pinning me in place like a spotlight.

Up close, his eyes were darker than they looked from across the room, almost black, framed by lashes no man had the right to have. “Stay,” he said softly. It wasn’t loud, but my feet obeyed before my brain caught up. I stayed, tray clutched to my chest, heart banging against the metal like it wanted out.

He placed the note on top of the linen, face down, as if it were nothing, as if it didn’t say, “Your girlfriend sold you out. Four men inside. One at the bar, three near the kitchen. Sniper in the building opposite. 15th floor, corner window. They’re here to kill you.” “I think we’ll skip dessert,” he told me, voice smooth as the whiskey in his glass. “But I’ll need a moment with the manager and with you, Cassie.” He remembered my name. Of course, he did.

Men like Dante Russo didn’t come to restaurants like this without knowing every variable in the room. “I… I can get him for you,” I managed. He tilted his head slightly, and somewhere behind me, one of his security guys moved. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. I’d clocked them the second their table was sat. Broad shoulders, earpieces disguised as chic tech, no drinks.

“I said,” Dante murmured, “stay.” The hair on the back of my neck lifted. That was when the house lights caught the smallest flicker in the glass behind him, a glint from the building across the street, exactly where I’d seen it 10 minutes ago on my break. The sniper had just adjusted his aim. “Get down.” I dropped the tray and lunged.

The crash of metal and shattering crystal was drowned out by the sharp crack of glass exploding inward. I hit Dante’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways just as the bullet punched through the window exactly where his head had been. His girlfriend screamed. The room erupted into chaos, chairs scraping, people shouting, someone crying. Dante’s security closed in like a wall, guns appearing from nowhere, and I was shoved down, my face pressed against expensive carpet that smelled like wine and panic.

A heavy weight pinned me, not crushing but deliberate. I twisted my head and found Dante covering me, one hand braced on the floor, the other gripping my wrist so tightly I could feel my pulse hammering against his fingers. “Don’t move,” he said, his mouth close to my ear, his voice cold and controlled in a way that made my stomach drop.

Another shot, then shouting from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor. Dante’s men were moving fast and efficient, herding guests toward the exits while others disappeared toward the kitchen and the bar.I caught a glimpse of one of the men I’d seen watching our section, the one who’d been nursing the same Scotch for 40 minutes, face down on the marble floor with a dark stain spreading beneath his shoulder. Not dead.

Dante’s people had shot to disable, not kill. “The sniper,” I started. “Already handled.” Dante’s grip on my wrist shifted, his thumb pressing against the frantic beat of my pulse. “You’re shaking.” “I just… Someone just tried to kill you.” “And you stopped it.” His eyes searched my face, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

“Why?” I didn’t have a good answer, not one that made sense to someone like him. “I don’t know,” I said, and it was the truth. “I just… I couldn’t just let it happen.” His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to decide if I was lying or just stupid, maybe both. “Russo.” One of his men appeared at his shoulder, breathing hard. “We need to move now. The sniper’s gone, but there could be more.

” Dante’s attention never left my face. “Is there?” It took me a second to realize he was asking me. “I… I don’t know. She only mentioned the one shot, but the men inside-” “Already handled.” He released my wrist and pushed to his feet in one smooth motion, pulling me up with him. My legs wobbled.

He steadied me with a hand on my elbow, impersonal and efficient. “How many did you see?” “Four. One at the bar, three near the kitchen.” “And you’re sure about the sniper’s position?” “15th floor, corner window. I saw the glint when I came back from my break.” He studied me for another long moment, and I felt weirdly exposed, like he could see past the cheap polyester uniform and the $2 eyeliner to every mistake I’d ever made, every bill I couldn’t pay, every lie I’d told myself about how I was going to get out of this city someday. “Take her,” he said to the man beside him. “What?

No.” I tried to pull back, but the security guy already had my arm. “I need to stay. I need to give a statement to the police.” “The police,” Dante said softly, “are going to want to know how a waitress knew there was a sniper before he fired.

They’re going to ask a lot of questions, Cassie, questions I don’t think you want to answer.” My stomach dropped. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” “You did something incredibly right.” He stepped closer, and even with broken glass crunching under his shoes and sirens wailing in the distance, he looked perfectly controlled, dangerous. “Which makes you either very brave or very valuable. I haven’t decided which yet.” “I’m neither. I’m just…

I work here. I serve food. That’s it.” “Not anymore.” He nodded to his security guy. “Marco will take you somewhere safe while I clean this up. Don’t fight him. Don’t run. And for God’s sake, don’t talk to anyone until I say you can.” “You can’t just-” “I can.” His voice dropped to something that made my spine go cold.

“Because whoever set this up knows you interfered, and they’re going to want to know what you saw, what you heard, and whether you’re going to be a problem for them.” The words landed like a punch. I’d been so focused on saving him that I hadn’t thought about what came after, about the fact that somewhere out there, someone had just lost a lot of money and reputation because a nobody waitress had ruined their plan.

“My brother,” I said, voice cracking, “he’s home alone. He’s only 13.” “Address.” I rattled it off before I could think better of it, and Dante pulled out his phone, typing fast. “Marco, take her to the Gramercy House. Send Tony and Luca to this address,” he showed him the screen, “to pick up her brother. Quietly, no lights, no drama. Just get him somewhere safe.” “Wait, you can’t just grab my brother.” “Would you rather leave him where he is?” Dante’s gaze locked on mine.

“Alone and unprotected?” In an apartment that anyone with basic surveillance could find in the next 20 minutes, I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, that I didn’t need his protection, or his people, or his terrifying certainty that my life had just become a target.

But the sirens were getting louder, and through the shattered window, I could see red and blue lights painting the street below, and somewhere in the city was a woman in red-soled heels who just watched her plan fall apart because of me. “Okay,” I whispered. Dante’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Satisfaction maybe, or recognition, like I just confirmed something he already knew. “Smart girl.

” He turned away, already barking orders to the rest of his team. “Marco, go.” And then I was being moved fast and efficient through a service exit I’d used a hundred times but had never felt so much like a one-way door. Behind me, the restaurant was chaos. Guests screaming, managers shouting, glass everywhere. Ahead of me was a black SUV with tinted windows and a man named Marco who hadn’t smiled once.

I’d saved Dante Russo’s life, and I was starting to realize that might’ve been the worst mistake I’d ever made. The Gramercy House wasn’t a house. It was a fortress disguised as a penthouse, all steel and glass, and security cameras that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.

Marco walked me through a lobby where the doorman didn’t ask questions, into an elevator that required a key card, and up to the 23rd floor, where the doors opened directly into the living space. No hallway. No neighbors. Just one sprawling apartment that seemed designed to tell the world, “I own this. I control this. You don’t belong here.

” “Wait here,” Marco said, the first words he’d spoken since we left the restaurant. He disappeared down a hallway, leaving me standing on marble floors that reflected the city lights from floor-to-ceiling windows. I pulled out my phone.Twelve missed calls from the restaurant manager. Six texts from my coworker, Amy, asking if I was okay.

Nothing from my brother, which either meant he was asleep or ignoring me, both equally likely for a 13-year-old on a Friday night. I started to dial him, then stopped. If Dante’s people were already on their way to get him, calling might just wake him up and scare him, or worse, alert whoever might be watching our building that something was wrong.

God, was someone really watching our building? Or was Dante just that paranoid? “Your brother’s safe.” I spun around. Dante stood in the hallway entrance, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was a cut on his cheekbone I hadn’t noticed before, thin and already clotting from the broken glass probably.

“How do you know? Your guys just left-” “They’re 10 minutes from your address. I’ve got eyes on the building. No unusual activity, no cars that don’t belong.” He moved past me toward the kitchen, which was all black granite and stainless steel. “Sit.” “I’d rather stand.” He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw something shift in his expression.

Not softening, men like Dante Russo didn’t soften, but recalibrating. Like he just remembered I was a person and not a chess piece. “You’re in shock,” he said, less command and more observation. “Sit down before you fall down.” My knees chose that exact moment to wobble, betraying me. I sank onto one of the bar stools, gripping the counter edge.

Dante poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass and slid it across to me. “Drink.” “I don’t-” “It’s whiskey, not poison. Drink it.” I picked up the glass. My hands were shaking badly enough that the liquor trembled. I took a sip and immediately regretted it. The burn was harsh and expensive, nothing like the bottom-shelf vodka I sometimes split with Amy after particularly brutal shifts.

“All of it,” Dante said. I drank. The warmth spread through my chest, loosening something tight and scared that had been locked there since the first gunshot. “Better?” “No.” I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “Nothing about this is better. I just watched someone try to kill you, got dragged out of my job, and now you’ve sent men I don’t know to grab my little brother in the middle of the night.

So, no, I’m not better.” “But you’re angry.” He almost smiled. “That’s better than terrified.” “I’m both. I know.” He leaned against the counter opposite me, arms crossed. “Tell me exactly what you heard in that bathroom.” So I did. The red-soled heels, the phone call, the parts in English and the parts that weren’t, the way she’d said, “By the glass,” and, “Clean shot,” and how I’d pieced it together when I came back to the floor.

Dante listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable. When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment. “The other language,” he said finally, “was it Russian?” “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not good with…” “Try.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember the rhythm of it, the harsh consonance. “It sounded s

harp, not flowing like Spanish or French, more like…” I opened my eyes. “Yeah, maybe Russian.” Something dark crossed his face. “Vivian’s grandmother was Russian. She doesn’t speak it often.” “Vivian, that’s her name?” “Was her name.” He pushed off the counter, pacing to the windows. The city sprawled below us, a million lights pretending the world was safe. “She stopped being my girlfriend the second she decided to sell me out to the Volkov Bratva.

” “The what?” “Russian mob. They’ve been trying to move into my territory for two years. I’ve been pushing back.” He turned to face me, backlit by the skyline. “Apparently, Vivian decided she’d rather be on the winning side.” “And you think they’ll come after me because I screwed up their plan?” “I don’t think, I know.” He moved back toward me, close enough that I had to tilt my head to keep eye contact.

“You cost them money, time, and reputation. In my world, that’s a death sentence. The only question is whether they’ll try to use you as leverage first or just eliminate you as a witness.” My stomach twisted. “This is insane. I’m nobody. I’m a waitress who couldn’t even afford to fix her bathroom sink last month.” “You were nobody,” his voice dropped.

“Now you’re the woman who saved Dante Russo’s life. That makes you extremely valuable to me and to everyone who wants me dead.” “I don’t wanna be valuable. I want to go home.” “You can’t.” “You can’t just keep me here.” “I’m not keeping you. I’m protecting you.

” He braced his hands on the counter on either side of me, not quite caging me in, but close enough that I felt the heat of him, the controlled danger. “There’s a difference.” “Is there?” I met his eyes, refusing to look away even though every instinct screamed at me to back down. “Because from where I’m sitting, this feels a lot like being trapped.” His jaw tightened. “You want to leave? Fine.

Walk out that door. I’ll have Marco drive you back to your apartment. You can explain to the police why you knew about the sniper. You can explain to the Volkovs why you interfered. You can watch your brother grow up with a target on his back because his sister couldn’t keep her head down.” “That’s not fair.

” “Nothing about this is fair, Cassie.” He didn’t move, didn’t blink. “But it’s the situation you’re in. So tell me, do you want to leave?” I hated him in that moment, hated how right he was, how trapped I felt, how my whole life had splintered into before and after in the space of a single bullet. But more than that, I hated that I’d known.

When I’d scribbled that note, some part of me had understood that I was choosing, choosing to step out of my invisible safe life and into something that would mark me forever.”No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to leave.” His eyes searched mine, looking for something. Doubt, maybe, or proof that I was lying. “Then we’re clear.

You stay here under my protection until I neutralize the threat. You don’t leave without Marco or one of my men. You don’t contact anyone outside without clearing it with me first. And you sure as hell don’t talk to the police without a lawyer present.” “For how long?” “As long as it takes.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only answer I have.” He straightened, putting distance between us, and I could breathe again.

“Your brother will be here in 30 minutes. There’s a guest room down the hall, second door on the left. Bathroom’s stocked. If you need clothes, tell Marco.” “I need my phone charger, and I need to call my manager and tell him-” “Already handled.” I stared at him. “What do you mean, handled?” “I mean you’re on paid leave for the next two weeks. Medical trauma.

The restaurant’s lawyer will be in touch.” “You can’t just…” I stopped, because of course he could. Men like Dante Russo could do anything they wanted. “Why?” “Why what?” “Why are you helping me? I’m nothing to you. I’m just some girl who happened to overhear the wrong conversation.” He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly. “In my world, that’s a debt I don’t take lightly.” “I don’t want you to owe me anything.” “Too bad.” He turned toward the hallway. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we start figuring out who else knew about tonight and how deep Vivian’s betrayal goes.” “And then what?” He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.

The cut on his cheekbone had stopped bleeding, but it would scar, a thin line that would always remind him of tonight. “Then,” he said, “I make sure it never happens again.” He left me there, alone in a penthouse that cost more per month than I’d make in a year, staring at the city below and wondering how many of those million lights belonged to people who wanted me dead.

The guest room was bigger than my entire apartment. King bed with white linens that probably had a thread count I couldn’t pronounce. Attached bathroom with heated floors and a shower that had more settings than my car. A walk-in closet that was currently empty, except for a single white robe hanging on a hook.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to think about the fact that I was essentially a prisoner in a stranger’s home, waiting for my little brother to be delivered like a package. The mattress cradled me like a cloud, and somehow I felt less free than I did in my cramped Queens apartment with the leaky sink and the thin walls. My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, expecting another call from the restaurant.

Instead, it was a text from an unknown number. “Bad choice, Little Bird. Should have stayed quiet.” My blood went cold. Another text came through immediately after. “We know where you live. We know about your brother. Next time, Russo won’t be fast enough.” I stared at the screen, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. A third text.

This one was a photo. My apartment building, taken from across the street. Recent? The lights were still on in Mrs. Chen’s window on the second floor, which meant it was taken within the last hour. I hadn’t given my number to Dante or his people, which meant whoever sent this had pulled it from somewhere else.

Work records, a hacked file. Something, just to prove they could. My hands shook as I stood, phone clutched tight, and walked back down the hallway to find Dante. He was in what looked like an office. Jacket back on, phone pressed to his ear. When he saw my face, he cut off whoever he was talking to mid-sentence.

“What happened?” I held out my phone. He took it, read the texts, and his expression went absolutely lethal. “Marco,” he called, voice sharp enough to cut glass. Marco appeared within seconds. “Get Tony on the phone. Now.” Dante handed my phone to him. “I want a trace on these numbers and eyes on every camera within three blocks of her building.

Someone just made a very stupid mistake.” He turned back to me, and I saw something in his face that should have scared me but didn’t. It was cold, calculated rage. The kind that didn’t explode outward, but turned inward into plans and consequences that would be far worse than a bullet. “Your brother’s two minutes out,” he said. “When he gets here, you’re going to act normal.

You’re going to tell him you’re staying with a friend for a few days because there was an incident at work. You’re not going to show him those texts or let him see that you’re scared.” “I can’t just lie to him.” “Yes, you can.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Because the alternative is telling a 13-year-old that people are threatening to kill him, and that’s not a weight he needs to carry.

Understood?” I wanted to argue, but he was right, damn him. “Understood,” I whispered. The elevator chimed. Dante’s hand brushed my lower back, just for a second, steadying or claiming, I couldn’t tell which. “Remember,” he murmured. “You’re safe here. He’s safe here. Everything else I’ll handle.

” And despite every logical reason I had not to trust him, I believed it. My brother walked into the penthouse looking half asleep and completely pissed off. “What the hell, Cass?” He was wearing his favorite hoodie and the sneakers I’d saved three months to buy him. His dark hair sticky- … up in directions that defied physics. “Some guy just showed up and said you needed me to come here.” “Do you know what time it is?” “I know.

I’m sorry.” I crossed to him, pulling him into a hug he tolerated for exactly four seconds before wriggling free. “There was an incident at the restaurant. Nothing serious, but they want me to take a few days off, and I thought… Who’s that?” He was staring past me at Dante, who’d moved to lean against the office doorway, arms crossed. “That’s… a friend. Dante.

He’s letting us stay here while things get sorted out.” My brother’s eyes narrowed with a suspicious intelligence that made him simultaneously my pride and my biggest headache. “You don’t have friends with places like this. Jake, is that a Rothko?” He’d spotted the painting on the far wall, the one I’d assumed was just expensive-looking decoration.

“Holy shit, is that a real Rothko?” “Language,” I said automatically. “It’s real,” Dante said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You know art?” “I know value.” Jake turned back to me. “Seriously, Cass, who is this guy?” “Someone who’s helping us out. That’s all you need to know.” “That’s not all I need to know.

You texted me three days ago, saying we couldn’t afford pizza this week, and now you’re staying in a place with a Rothko and…” He gestured at the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Whatever the hell this is.” He wasn’t wrong. My brother had spent his entire life watching me count pennies and panic over bills.

The cognitive dissonance of this penthouse must have been screaming at him. “Look,” I said, trying for calm. “It’s complicated, okay? I did something at work that helped someone important, and this is temporary. Just a few days until things calm down.” “What did you do?” “Nothing illegal.” “That’s not what I asked.” Dante pushed off the doorway. “Your sister prevented a very bad situation from getting worse.

The people who caused that situation aren’t happy about it, so until I’m certain they’re not going to retaliate, you’re both staying here where I can make sure you’re safe.” Jake looked between us, processing. Despite being 13, he’d always been too smart for his own good. Street-smart in ways I wished he didn’t have to be.

“So basically,” he said slowly, “Cass pissed off some bad people, and you’re the good guy who’s protecting us?” “I’m not the good guy,” Dante said. “But I’m the guy keeping you alive. Close enough?” Jake studied him for another long moment, then shrugged. “Okay.” “Okay?” I repeated. “That’s it? Just okay?” “What do you want me to say? That I’m scared?” “I’m always scared, Cass.

At least here we’ve got food and locks that probably work.” He spotted the kitchen. “Can I make a sandwich?” “Yeah,” Dante said before I could answer. “Help yourself.” Jake wandered off, leaving me standing there feeling like I’d just failed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking. “He’s a smart kid,” Dante observed. “Too smart.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly exhausted.

“He shouldn’t have to live like this, scared all the time, worrying about whether I can keep us afloat, and yet he does, and he’s still standing.” Dante’s voice was softer than I expected. “That’s not nothing, Cassie.” I looked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.” “What did you expect?” “I don’t know. More… monster. Less human.” His expression shuttered.

“Don’t mistake pragmatism for humanity. I’m keeping you alive because I owe you and because you’re useful. The second that changes…” “You’ll what? Throw us out? Let the Russians have us?” “No.” The word was quiet but absolute. “But I won’t pretend I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t have one. Not anymore.

” Before I could answer, Marco appeared in the hallway. “We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Vivian’s missing. She left the restaurant right after the shooting. No one’s seen her since.” Dante’s face went cold. “Her apartment… Empty. Cleaned out. She knew she’d been made.” “Then find her.” He turned to me. “Go, get some sleep.

We’ll talk more in the morning.” “I can’t just…” “Yes,” he said. “You can.” And because I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, I did. I told myself morning would make things clearer, but deep down, I knew it was only going to make everything worse. I didn’t sleep.

How could I, knowing that somewhere in this city, people were watching my building, taking photos, sending threats? Knowing that my brother was asleep down the hall in a stranger’s penthouse because I’d made one impulsive choice that had blown up both our lives? At 3:00 AM, I gave up pretending and padded down the hallway in bare feet and borrowed clothes, sweats and a T-shirt that Marco had produced from somewhere, both inexplicably in my size.

The living room was dark except for the city glow through the windows. I thought I was alone, until I saw him. Dante sat in one of the leather chairs facing the glass, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, staring out at Manhattan like he was counting his enemies among the lights. “Can’t sleep either,” I said. He didn’t startle. Probably heard me coming from three rooms away.

“Sleep is a luxury I don’t usually indulge in.” “That sounds exhausting.” “It keeps me alive.” He gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit, unless you’d rather go back to pretending you’re not terrified.” I sat, tucking my feet under me. “I’m not terrified. I’m just… processing.” “That’s a polite way of saying terrified.” “Fine. I’m terrified. Happy?” “Not particularly.” He took a sip of his drink.

“But at least you’re honest.” We sat in silence for a moment, watching the city breathe. Even at 3:00 AM, New York never truly slept. Lights in windows, cars on streets, lives being lived by people who had no idea that a few blocks away, a waitress and a crime lord were trying to figure out how not to get killed.”Can I ask you something?” I said. “You can ask.

” “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer. Why didn’t you see it coming? The setup, I mean. You said betrayal is your worst wound, so why didn’t you suspect Vivian?” His jaw tightened. “Because I thought I’d learned my lesson. The last time someone close to me betrayed me, it cost me everything: my best friend, my territory, almost my life. I swore I’d never let it happen again.

I built walls, systems, ways to test loyalty.” “And Vivian passed all your tests.” “Every single one.” He stared into his glass. “Or so I thought. Turns out she was just better at lying than I was at catching it.” “That’s not a weakness. That’s just human.” “In my world, human gets you killed.” He looked at me then, and I saw something raw beneath the control.

“You want to know the truth? The reason I didn’t see it coming is because I stopped looking. I got comfortable, complacent. I let my guard down just enough that she could slip a knife between my ribs.” I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “I don’t understand your world, any of it.

How do you live like this? Always looking over your shoulder, never trusting anyone?” “You get used to it.” “That’s sad.” “That’s survival.” He set his glass down on the side table with a soft click. “You think I want to live this way? Constantly calculating threats and contingencies, treating every relationship like a potential liability?” “Then why do it?” “Because the alternative is worse.” His voice went hard.

“I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen when it was still hell. My father worked three jobs and still couldn’t keep the lights on. My mother cleaned houses for people who treated her like furniture. When I was 14, my father borrowed money from the wrong people. When he couldn’t pay it back, they beat him so badly, he never walked right again.

” I stayed quiet, letting him talk. “I learned something that day,” he continued. “Power isn’t given, it’s taken, and the only way to protect the people you love is to make sure no one can touch you. So I took, I built, I became the person everyone else feared.” “Do you want to get out?” He looked at me, really looked, and for a second, I saw past the cold control to something underneath, something tired and worn, and maybe a little bit broken.

“Ask me again when this is over,” he said quietly. Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He checked it, and his expression shifted into something lethal. “Marco found her.” I sat up straighter. “Vivian?” “She’s at a hotel in Midtown, The Plaza, top-floor suite.” He was already standing, pulling on his jacket. “She’s meeting with someone in 30 minutes.

” “How do you know?” “Because I own the concierge.” He typed something into his phone. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.” “What? No, I’m not.” “This is your chance to see exactly what you saved me from, to understand what Vivian was trying to do and why.” His eyes locked on mine. “And to decide for yourself whether I’m worth the target on your back.” “I already decided that when I slipped you the note.

” “You decided in a moment of panic. Now you get to decide with clear eyes.” He headed toward the hallway. “Five minutes, Cassie. Don’t make me drag you.” I wasn’t sure what scared me more, what Vivian was going to say or what I’d see in Dante when she said it. The Plaza at 3:30 a.m.

was quieter than I expected, but no less elegant. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, the kind of old money luxury that made my borrowed jeans and T-shirt feel like a costume. Dante moved through the lobby like he owned it. Maybe he did. Marco and two other men flanked us, discreet but unmistakably dangerous. “She’s in the presidential suite,” Marco murmured.

“Two men with her, one we’ve ID’d as Alexei Volkov; the other’s unknown.” “Volkov himself.” Dante’s voice was ice. “She didn’t just betray me. She went straight to the top.” We took a private elevator to the top floor. My heart hammered against my ribs, but Dante looked perfectly calm, like he was going to a business meeting instead of a confrontation with the woman who’d tried to have him killed. “When we get inside,” he said, “stay behind me.

Don’t speak unless I tell you to, and whatever happens, don’t react. Understand?” “What’s going to happen?” “That depends on what Vivian says.” The elevator opened directly into the suite. Marco moved first, gun drawn, clearing the entryway before nodding us forward.

The living room was all cream and gold, windows overlooking Central Park. Vivian stood by the bar, champagne flute in hand, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my car. When she saw Dante, she went pale. “Dante, I didn’t-” “Expect me to still be alive?” He moved into the room with predatory grace. “Imagine my surprise when your boyfriend missed his shot.

” Two men emerged from the bedroom. One was tall, silver-haired, immaculately dressed. Alexei Volkov, I assumed. The other was younger, built like a boxer, with a shoulder holster visible under his jacket. Russo. Alexei’s accent was thick Russian. “You are a difficult man to kill.” “I’ve had practice.” Dante’s attention stayed on Vivian. “Tell me something.

Was any of it real, or was I just a job from the beginning?” Vivian set her champagne down with shaking hands. “It’s not that simple.” “It’s exactly that simple. Yes or no?” “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.” The words burst out of her like she’d been holding them back. “The deal was clean, quick.

You’d never see it coming. They promised.””They promised what? That killing me would be painless?” Dante’s laugh was sharp. “And you believed them?” “I believed I didn’t have a choice.” Her voice cracked.

“Do you know what it’s like being with you? Always looking over my shoulder, always wondering if today’s the day someone tries to use me to get to you? I’m not built for this world, Dante. I never was.” “Then you should’ve left, walked away. Instead, you sold me to the Bratva.” “I didn’t sell you. I made a deal.” She looked at Alexei. “Tell him. Tell him you would’ve let him walk away if he’d agreed to give up the ports.

” Alexei smiled, and it was the coldest thing I’d ever seen. “Of course. We are reasonable men.” “Reasonable men don’t put snipers in buildings,” I said, before I could stop myself. Every head turned toward me. Dante’s eyes flashed warning, but it was too late. “Ah.” Alexei studied me with interest that made my skin crawl. “The little waitress, the one who ruined our careful plans.

” “Cassie, don’t,” Dante started. “You’re right,” I said, stepping forward despite every instinct screaming at me to run. “I did ruin your plans because I watched this woman,” I pointed at Vivian, “set up the man she was supposedly in love with like he was nothing, like his life was just a transaction. And I couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

” “How noble.” Alexei’s smile widened. “Dante, where did you find such a treasure? So moral, so brave, so very, very foolish.” “She’s not part of this,” Dante said, voice deadly quiet. “Of course she is. She made herself part of it the moment she interfered.” Alexei moved closer, and Marco’s hand went to his gun. “Such a pretty thing, too.

It would be a shame if something happened to her or to her brother. 13, yes? Such a vulnerable age.” My blood turned to ice. Dante moved between us so fast, I barely saw it. One second, Alexei was advancing; the next, Dante had him by the throat against the wall, forearm crushing his windpipe.

“Touch her,” Dante said, each word a promise, “and I’ll burn your entire organization to the ground, every business, every asset, every single person who’s ever taken your money. I’ll destroy everything you’ve built and make you watch before I end you.” The boxer went for his gun. Marco’s weapon appeared instantly, aimed at his head. “I wouldn’t,” Marco said calmly.

Alexei’s face was turning purple, but he managed a choked laugh. “You cannot kill us all.” “No.” Dante leaned in closer. “But I can make you wish I had. You think you know pain? You think you know consequences? Test me, please. I would love an excuse to show you exactly what happens to people who threaten what’s mine.” He released Alexei, who stumbled back, gasping. “We’re leaving,” Dante said.

“And you’re going to forget Cassie exists, forget her brother, forget her address, and her job, and every single detail about her life because if I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve come near her, I will make what happened tonight look like mercy.” “The ports,” Alexei started. “Are still mine, will always be mine. And if you want to start a war over them, I’ll finish it.” He turned to Vivian.

“As for you, you’re alive because killing you would be a mercy you don’t deserve, but you’re dead to me, dead to anyone in my circle. As of tonight, you don’t exist.” Vivian’s face crumpled. “Dante, please.” “You made your choice. Live with it.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the elevator. I didn’t start shaking until we were back in the SUV, pulling away from the plaza. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“I shouldn’t have spoken. I just-” “Don’t.” His hand was still wrapped around mine, grip almost painful. “Don’t apologize for standing up to him.” “You said not to react.” “And you did anyway, because you saw someone being callous about human life, and you couldn’t stay quiet.” He looked at me, and something in his expression made my breath catch.

“That’s who you are, Cassie. Even when it’s dangerous, even when it’s stupid, you can’t help but try to save people.” “Is that a compliment or an insult?” “I haven’t decided yet.” My phone buzzed. I’d been getting messages all night: more from the restaurant, a few from Amy, one from my landlord about next month’s rent. But this one made my blood run cold.

“Detective Sarah Ramos, NYPD. I need to speak with you about the incident at Aurelio. Tomorrow, 10 AM, Midtown South Precinct. This is not optional.” My stomach flipped. Law on one side, Volkov on the other, Dante in the middle, and me as the rope. I showed the screen to Dante. His jaw tightened.

“Ramos? She’s been trying to build a case against me for three years. What do I tell her?” “Nothing. You tell her nothing until we get you a lawyer.” “I can’t afford a lawyer.” “I can.” He was already typing on his phone. “Thomas Keating, best defense attorney in the city. He’ll meet us at the precinct tomorrow morning.

” “Dante, I can’t let you-” “You can, and you will, because Ramos is smart, and she’s relentless. And if you walk in there without representation, she will twist every word until you’ve incriminated both of us.” His eyes met mine. “Trust me on this.” “Why should I?” The question hung between us, heavy and honest.

“Because despite everything,” he said quietly, “I’m the only one who’s actually trying to keep you alive.” And God help me if I believed him. He didn’t say it like a boast. He said it like a man who’d already failed too many people and refused to add my name to the list. We got back to the penthouse as dawn was breaking over the city. Jake was still asleep, Marco reported.

No unusual activity anywhere near the building.Dante walked me to my room, which felt oddly domestic considering we’d just come from a confrontation with Russian mobsters. “Get some rest,” he said. “We’ve got three hours before we need to leave for the precinct.” “I won’t be able to sleep.” “Try anyway.” He started to turn away, then stopped.

“Cassie?” “Yeah?” “What you did tonight, standing up to Alexei, defending yourself, that took courage most people don’t have.” “Or stupidity.” “Sometimes they’re the same thing.” His mouth curved slightly. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re the kind of stupid who writes warning notes to dangerous men.

” “Even though it’s turned my life upside down?” “Especially because of that.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingering against my cheek for just a second. “Sleep. We’ll deal with Ramos in the morning.” He left me there, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

I did sleep, but only for two hours, and when I woke, it was to my brother standing in my doorway. “Morning,” he said. “Dante’s making breakfast. Apparently, he actually knows how to cook. Who knew crime lords could make omelets?” “Jake-” “Before you start, I’m not an idiot, Cass. I know something big happened. I know we’re here because you’re in trouble, and I know that guy out there isn’t just some rich friend doing us a favor.

” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Then what do you think he is?” “I think he’s exactly the kind of person Mom always warned us about.” Jake came in and sat on the edge of my bed. “But I also think he’s keeping us safe when no one else would. So whatever you need to do, whatever you need to figure out, I’m okay. We’re okay. Just don’t shut me out like you always do.” “I’m not shutting you out.” “You are.

You always have. Ever since Mom died.” His voice cracked slightly. “You think I don’t see how hard you work? How you skip meals so I can eat? How you pretend everything’s fine when I know we’re drowning?” Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m just trying to protect you.” “I know, but I’m not a kid anymore, Cass. And maybe it’s time you let me help carry some of the weight.

” I pulled him into a hug, and for once, he didn’t pull away. “I love you,” I whispered. “I know. I love you too, even when you’re being a martyr about it.” We stayed like that for a moment before voices from the kitchen pulled us apart. “Come on,” Jake said. “Pretty sure if we don’t eat soon, Marco will give us his disappointed face. It’s terrifying.

” I followed him out and found Dante at the stove, sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly domestic for someone who’d threatened to burn down a criminal empire six hours ago. “Coffee?” he offered when he saw me. “Please.” He poured two cups, handing me one. Our fingers brushed and I felt that spark again, the one I’d been trying to ignore since he’d pinned me to the restaurant floor.

“Detective Ramos called,” he said. “Moved the meeting to 11:00. Gives us more time.” “Time for what?” “Time for me to prep you on what she’s going to ask, what she can’t legally push you to answer, what she’ll use against you if you give her the chance.” “Sounds fun.” “It won’t be.” His eyes were serious. “Ramos is good at her job. She’ll make you wanna trust her.

She’ll act like she’s on your side, like she just wants to help. And the second you believe that, she’ll use everything you say to put me away.” “And if I want to put you away?” The question came out sharper than I intended. Dante went very still. “Then you should tell her everything,” he said quietly.

“Every detail, every crime, every threat, because that’s your right, Cassie. You don’t owe me your silence.” “But-” “But understand that the second you do, you lose my protection, and the Volkovs will still want you dead. The only difference is there won’t be anyone standing between them and you.” Jake looked between us, confused. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I said quickly.

“Just complicated adult stuff.” “Complicated adult stuff that might get us killed?” “Jake…” “He deserves the truth,” Dante said. He turned to my brother. “Your sister witnessed something she shouldn’t have. She saved my life in the process. Now some dangerous people want to use her to hurt me, or worse. I’m keeping you both safe until I can neutralize the threat.

The detective we’re meeting today wants information about me that could put me in prison. If your sister gives her that information, I can’t protect you anymore. That’s the choice she’s facing.” Jake processed this, then looked at me. “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know yet.” “Well,” he said, “for what it’s worth, I think you should do whatever keeps us alive. Prison seems better than death.” “That’s a very practical way to look at it,” Dante observed.

“I’m a practical kid.” Jake grabbed a plate of eggs. “Can I take this to my room? I’ve got homework.” “You brought homework?” I asked. Tony grabbed my backpack. “Seemed like a good idea since apparently we’re going to be here awhile.” He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Dante and me alone. “You have a remarkable brother,” Dante said. “He’s the only good thing I’ve ever done right.

” “I doubt that’s true.” “You don’t know me well enough to doubt it.” “Maybe not.” He moved closer, and I caught the scent of expensive cologne and coffee, and something underneath that was just him. “But I’m learning, and everything I learn makes me think you’re ex-” “… exactly the kind of person who believes she’s ordinary when she’s actually extraordinary.

” “That’s a hell of a line.” “It’s not a line. It’s an observation.” His hand came up, tilting my chin so I had to meet his eyes. “You’re scared. You’re in over your head. You’re facing an impossible choice, and you’re still standing, still fighting, still protecting your brother. That’s not ordinary, Cassie.” “What is it then?” “Strength.

” His thumb brushed along my jaw. “Real, raw, beautiful strength.” My breath caught. We were standing too close, the air between us electric and dangerous. “Dante…” “We should go,” he said, stepping back abruptly. “Don’t wanna be late for Ramos.” But the way he looked at me before he turned away told me he felt it too, this pull, this impossible attraction that made no sense and every sense all at once.

I was falling for a criminal, and I had exactly two hours to decide whether to save him or destroy him. The lawyer Dante hired looked like he charged $1,000 just to make eye contact. Thomas Keating was silver-haired, impeccably suited, and radiated the kind of confidence that came from never losing a case he actually cared about winning. “Simple rules,” he said in the SUV on the way to the precinct. “Answer only what’s asked.

No elaboration, no volunteering information. If I tap the table twice, stop talking immediately. Detective Ramos will try to befriend you, sympathize with you, make you think she’s the only reasonable person in the room. She’s not your friend. She’s building a case. Understood?” “Understood,” I said, though my hands were shaking in my lap. Dante sat across from us, watching the city roll by.

He hadn’t said much since we left the penthouse, but I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. “One more thing,” Keating added. “She’ll try to separate you from Mr. Russo, make you think he’s controlling you, manipulating you. She’ll offer protection, resources, a way out. Don’t take it.” “Why not?” “Because NYPD witness protection is only as good as the officers assigned to it, and right now half the department is on someone’s payroll.

You’d be trading Dante’s protection for a target painted on your back with significantly fewer people willing to stop the bullet.” “That’s comforting,” I muttered. “It’s realistic.” Keating’s eyes softened slightly. “I know this is frightening, Ms. Chen, but you’re in good hands. Just follow my lead, and we’ll get through this.” Midtown South Precinct was exactly what I expected.

Fluorescent lights, scuffed floors, the smell of bad coffee and worse decisions. Detective Ramos met us in the lobby, her sharp eyes taking in everything: my borrowed clothes, Dante’s expensive suit, the lawyer who probably cost more than she made in six months. “Ms. Chen, thank you for coming.

” She was younger than I expected, maybe late 30s, with dark hair pulled back, and the kind of no-nonsense energy that probably made criminals nervous. “I’m Detective Sarah Ramos. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident at Aurelio.” “My client is happy to cooperate,” Keating said smoothly, “within reason.” Ramos’ mouth tightened. “Of course. Mr. Russo, I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us.

” “I’m here for moral support,” Dante said, voice mild. “Unless that’s a problem?” “Not at all,” but her eyes said otherwise. “Right this way.” She led us to an interview room, gray walls, metal table, chairs that had seen better decades, a mirror on one wall that was obviously two-way glass. Keating sat beside me, Dante in the corner like a watchful shadow. Ramos set a recorder on the table.

“For the record, this is Detective Sarah Ramos interviewing Cassandra Chen regarding the incident at Aurelio Restaurant on the evening of…” She stated the date and time. “Ms. Chen, you were working that night?” “Yes.” “And you witnessed the shooting?” “Yes.” “Can you walk me through what happened from the beginning?” I glanced at Keating, who nodded slightly.

“I was serving tables. I heard glass breaking, people screaming. Someone fired a gun. Mr. Russo’s security team responded. It was chaos.” “Before the shooting,” Ramos pressed, “did you notice anything unusual?” My heart hammered. This was it, the moment where I either told the truth about the note, about Vivian, about everything I’d overheard, or I lied to a police detective and bet my life on Dante’s ability to keep me safe. “Define unusual,” I said carefully. “People watching Mr.

Russo, strange behavior, anything that might have indicated the shooting was premeditated rather than random.” Keating’s hand rested on the table, ready to tap. “It happened very fast,” I said. “I don’t remember much beyond the glass and the screaming.” “Interesting.” Ramos leaned forward. “Because according to witness statements, you were standing at Mr.

Russo’s table when the first shot was fired, almost like you knew it was coming.” “I got lucky. Wrong place, right time.” “Or you were warned.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Ms. Chen, I’ve been investigating Dante Russo for three years. I know how his organization operates.

I know he has people everywhere, in restaurants, hotels, city offices. I know he uses civilians to run interference when things get dangerous. If he’s coerced you into protecting him-” “He hasn’t,” I said. “‘Then why are you here with his lawyer instead of mine? Why are you sitting in borrowed clothes that clearly aren’t yours, looking like you haven’t slept in days?’ Because I witnessed a traumatic event, and Mr.

Russo was kind enough to offer support.” “Support?” Ramos’ laugh was bitter. “Is that what we’re calling it? Ms. Chen, do you know what Dante Russo does for a living?”Keating tapped the table once, warning. “I know he owns several legitimate businesses,” I said. “He also runs one of the largest criminal organizations in Manhattan, racketeering, money laundering, extortion.

He’s not a good man, Cassandra, and whatever he’s told you, whatever protection he’s offered, it comes with a price you don’t wanna pay.” “Are you charging my client with something?” Keating asked coldly. “Because if not, we’re done here.” “Not yet,” Ramos pulled out a folder, spreading photos across the table.

“Recognize any of these men?” They were surveillance photos, the men from the restaurant, the one at the bar, the three near the kitchen, all of them now with booking photos attached showing bruises, bandages, visible injuries. “Should I?” I asked, “They were all at Aurelio that night. They were all armed, and they all claimed they were hired to provide security for a private party, except there was no private party.

There was a coordinated hit on Dante Russo that somehow failed because, according to multiple witnesses, a waitress pushed him out of the way seconds before the shot.” My mouth went dry. “So I’ll ask you again,” Ramos said quietly. “How did you know the shot was coming?” The silence stretched. Keating’s hand hovered over the table.

“I saw a reflection,” I said finally, “in the window. It looked wrong. I reacted on instinct.” “A reflection from a sniper 15 stories up and across the street?” Ramos didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. “You expect me to believe that?” “I expect you to believe what I’m telling you, which is the truth.” “The truth?” She closed the folder.

“Let me tell you what I think is the truth. I think you overheard something, maybe from staff, maybe from a guest. I think you realized what was about to happen, and you warned Russo, and now he’s keeping you close, not to protect you, but to make sure you don’t talk to me.” “That’s quite a theory,” Keating said.

“Do you have any evidence to support it?” “I have a waitress who somehow knew about a professional hit before it happened. I have Dante Russo suddenly very interested in her well-being, and I have four injured suspects and one missing woman, Vivian Castellano, Russo’s girlfriend, who disappeared the same night.” Ramos looked at me. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Ms.

Castellano is, would you?” “No,” I said truthfully. “Convenient.” She stood, pacing behind her chair. “Here’s what I can offer you, Ms. Chen, real protection, not the kind that comes from a man with a criminal empire and a dozen enemies. Real legal witness protection. A new identity, a new city, resources to start over.

All you have to do is tell me what you saw, what you heard, what Russo is hiding.” I looked at Dante. He sat perfectly still, expression unreadable, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh. He’d told me this morning, “You don’t owe me your silence,” but he’d also said, “The Volkovs will still want you dead.

” “I appreciate the offer,” I said slowly, “but I don’t need protection from Mr. Russo. I need protection from the people who tried to kill him, and right now, he’s the only one offering that.” I hated that it was true, but it was. Ramos’ jaw tightened. “You’re making a mistake.” “Maybe, but it’s my mistake to make.

” “For the record,” Keating said, “my client has answered your questions. Unless you’re charging her with something, we’re leaving.” Ramos stared at me for a long moment, and I saw something that might have been disappointment or respect, maybe both. “Fine, but Ms. Chen?” She handed me a business card. “When this goes wrong, and it will go wrong, call me, day or night.

I’ll do everything I can to help you, but only if you’re still alive to make the call.” We didn’t speak until we were back in the SUV, pulling away from the precinct. “You could have given me up,” Dante said finally. “I know. Ramos was offering you exactly what you need, safety, resources, a fresh start.” “A fresh start in witness protection with a target on my back.” I turned to look at him. “You said it yourself, half the department is compromised.

How long before someone sells my location to the highest bidder?” “So you chose me instead.” “I chose survival.” “There’s a difference,” but we both knew that wasn’t entirely true. I’d chosen him not just because he was the safest option, but because somewhere in the past 48 hours, I’d started to believe in the man beneath the monster, the one who made omelets for my brother, the one who looked at me

with raw honesty at 3:00 a.m. and admitted he was too far in to get out, the one who threatened to burn down an empire to keep me safe. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Don’t thank me yet. We still have to deal with the Volkovs.” “About that…” His phone buzzed. He checked it, and something dangerous flashed across his face. “Change of plans. Marco, take us to the warehouse on Pier 17.” “What’s at Pier 17?” I asked.

“Leverage?” The warehouse on Pier 17 looked like something out of a movie, high ceilings, concrete floor, the tang of salt and oil, but the man tied to a chair in the middle of it was very real. Alexei Volkov was bruised, furious, and for the first time since I’d heard his name, scared. I didn’t see every step that got him there, but I heard the important parts.

While I’d been sitting in an interview room choosing not to flip on Dante, his people had been taking Alexei’s life apart. Offshore accounts, skimmed money from his own organization, transfers tucked under a mistress’ name. Dante laid it all out in a few cold sentences and gave him a choice, call off every contract on me and my brother and accept that both the feds and his bosses in Moscow were about to come for him or refuse and watch that evidence land on the desks most likely to get him killed. Alexei folded. Of course he did.

Within minutes, Marco was on the phone arranging anonymous tips and file drops, and the man who’d ordered the hit on Dante walked himself into a future full of lawyers, indictments, and very angry Russians. When we stepped back out into the daylight, Alexei Volkov wasn’t the monster in my closet anymore. He was prey tangled in Dante’s web.

It should have felt like the end. It didn’t. “Come on, we’re not done yet.” “Done with what?” I asked as we drove away from the warehouse. “Vivian.” My stomach sank. “I thought you said she was dead to you.” “She is, but that doesn’t mean she gets to walk away clean.” He typed something on his phone.

“She’s been staying at her sister’s place in Brooklyn. Marco’s been watching it since yesterday.” “And?” “And she’s meeting with a reporter in two hours, planning to sell her story about being the abused girlfriend of a dangerous crime lord. Paint herself as the victim, me as the monster.” “Let her. Who cares?” “I care.” His voice went hard.

“Because her story will include you, the waitress who helped her boyfriend track her down, the civilian caught in the crossfire. She’ll make you sound like my accomplice, and suddenly, you’re not just a witness. You’re a target for every journalist and prosecutor in the city.” “So what are you going to do?” “I’m going to offer her a deal.

” Vivian’s sister’s place in Park Slope looked soft and safe; plants on the windowsill, family photos on the wall, but the air snapped tight when we walked in. Vivian froze mid-pace, silk robe, bare feet, champagne flute on the table. Whatever story she’d rehearsed for the reporter she was supposed to meet that afternoon died the second Dante tapped his phone and played the audio from Aurelio’s bathroom: the click of her heels, the running water, her voice calmly describing his table, the men in position, the clean shot by the glass.

He didn’t bother with drama, just laid out the terms in that same surgical tone he’d used on Alexei. “Take half a million dollars and a one-way ticket out of New York, sign an NDA, and disappear, or try to sell her victim story and watch that recording, the payment trail from the Volkovs, and every ugly detail of her betrayal land in the press and the DA’s office at once.

” She turned on me then, eyes bright and bitter, asking if he’d threatened me too, if I really believed I was anything more than a tool, told me this world would chew me up and spit out something I didn’t recognize. I met her gaze and said, “I already changed, but I changed into someone who fights instead of someone who runs, and I’m fine with that.” A few signatures later, Vivian Castellano was officially gone, no longer Dante’s liability, no longer my problem, just another ghost leaving the city with a suitcase full of money and a warning I intended to prove wrong. We drove in silence for a while, watching Brooklyn blur into Manhattan, the city we both loved and feared

in equal measure. “You didn’t have to defend me,” Dante said finally. “To Vivian, I wasn’t defending you. I was defending my choices. Is there a difference?” “I haven’t decided yet.” I turned to look at him. “Tell me something. When this is over, when the Volkovs are handled and Vivian’s gone and Detective Ramos moves on to her next case, what happens to me? To Jake?” He was quiet for a long moment.

“That depends,” he said finally. “On what?” “On what you want to happen.” My heart hammered. “You’re giving me a choice?” “I’m giving you the same thing I gave Vivian: an out, clean break, resources, no strings attached. You can go back to your life, or what’s left of it. Get a new job, new apartment, start over somewhere. The past few days are just a story you tell yourself when you can’t sleep.

” “And if I don’t want that?” “Then you stay.” His eyes met mine, dark and intense, and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen them. “You stay in this world, in my world, knowing exactly what it costs and choosing it anyway.” “But Cassie-” “If you stay, I can’t promise it’ll be safe.

I can’t promise there won’t be more threats, more danger, more nights like tonight. All I can promise is that I’ll protect you with everything I have for as long as you’ll let me.” “Why?” The question came out barely above a whisper. “Why does it matter whether I stay or go?” He reached across the seat, his hand finding mine, fingers threading together like they belonged there.

“Because somewhere between the note and now,” he said quietly, “you stopped being a debt I owed and started being something I couldn’t afford to lose.” The air between us crackled with tension, with possibility, with the weight of everything unspoken. “That’s not an answer,” I managed. “Then let me be clear.

” He leaned closer, his other hand coming up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “Stay, Cassie, not because you’re scared, or because you owe me, or because it’s the safe choice. Stay because you want to, because you feel this thing between us that I can’t name but can’t ignore. Stay because when I look at you, I see the only person in this entire city who looked at me and chose to save me instead of sell me.

” “Dante-” “I know I’m asking too much. I know I’m dangerous and broken and exactly the wrong person for someone like you, but I’m asking anyway.” His forehead touched mine, and I could feel his breath, smell his cologne, sense every inch of him that was wound tight with control. “Stay.” I should have said no, should have taken the clean exit and the fresh start and run as far from this world as my legs could carry me. Instead, I kissed him. It wasn’t soft or tentative.

It was three days of fear and adrenaline and impossible choices exploding into this one moment. His hand tightened in my hair, his other arm wrapping around my waist…. pulling me closer despite the awkward angle, and the divider, and Marco very carefully pretending not to exist in the front seat.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and shaking, Dante’s eyes were black with want. “Is that a yes?” he asked, voice rough. “It’s a maybe,” I said. “Ask me again when my brother’s not waiting at your penthouse and half the city’s not trying to kill us.” His mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. “I can work with maybe.” Two weeks later, Detective Ramos called on a Tuesday afternoon, just as I was leaving my new job, a quiet bookstore in the village that paid better than Aurelio, and came with significantly fewer assassination attempts. “Ms.

Chen, it’s Detective Ramos.” “Detective. Is everything all right?” “Just wanted to update you. Alexei Volkov took a plea deal. 20 years, minimum security. He gave up half the bratva’s operation in exchange for not being extradited to Russia. Turns out they wanted him even more than we did.” “That’s good?” “It’s closure, for you, anyway.

The threat’s neutralized. You can go back to your life.” I looked up at the bookstore’s sign, then down the street where I knew Dante’s building sat, 20 blocks and a world away. “Thank you, Detective.” “Ms. Chen?” She paused. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the wrong choice, but I respect that you made it with open eyes. Stay safe.” She hung up before I could respond.

I walked the 20 blocks instead of taking the subway, thinking about choices and consequences, and the weird shape my life had taken. Jake was at his new school, private, expensive, arranged by Dante without asking. He’d fought me on it at first, but seeing the library and the computer lab, and the fact that nobody looked at him like he was just another broke kid from a bad neighborhood had won him over.

The penthouse didn’t feel like a prison anymore. It felt like, not home, not quite, but something close, something possible. Dante was on the balcony when I arrived, city spread out below him like he owned it. Maybe he did. “Ramos called,” I said, stepping out beside him. “Volkov took a deal, 20 years.” “I heard.

” “Marcoh has a contact in the DA’s office.” “Of course you do.” I leaned against the railing. “She said I could go back to my life now, that the threat’s gone.” “It is.” “So, I could leave, take Jake, find a new apartment, actually be normal again.” “You could.

” He turned to look at me, and I saw that same vulnerability he’d shown in the SUV two weeks ago, the one that made him seem less like a crime lord and more like a man who was terrified of wanting something he couldn’t control. “Are you going to?” I thought about that note I’d scribbled on a receipt, about the choice I’d made in a split second that changed everything, about how I’d spent three years keeping my head down, staying invisible, surviving instead of living.

And I thought about the past two weeks, dinners with Dante and Jake where we argued about movies, mornings where Dante taught Jake chess while I pretended not to notice how gentle he was with my brother, nights where Dante and I stayed up late talking about everything and nothing until the city lights started to fade. “No,” I said. “I’m not going to leave.

” Two weeks ago, I was refilling water glasses for people who never learned my name. Now, the most dangerous man in Manhattan was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. “Cassie.” “But I have conditions.” I held up a hand. “I keep my job at the bookstore. I pay my own rent wherever we end up living.

Jake finishes at that school, but I’m part of every decision about his future. And if this thing between us doesn’t work, if it gets too dangerous or too complicated or just too much, you let us go. No strings, no threats, no making it impossible for me to walk away.” “Deal.” He pulled me close, arms wrapping around me like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. “Anything else?” “Yeah.

” I looked up at him, this dangerous, complicated, impossible man who’d somehow become mine. “No more secrets. No more handling things without telling me. We’re in this together, or we’re not in it at all.” “Together,” he said, and kissed me. This time, it was different. Softer, slower, like we had all the time in the world instead of stolen moments between crises.

His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing along my jaw. And when he pulled back, his eyes held something I’d never seen before. “I love you,” he said simply. “I didn’t plan to, didn’t want to actually, but somewhere between the note and now, you became the only thing in my life that I’d burn this entire city down to protect.” My breath caught. “That’s a little dramatic.” “I’m a dramatic person.” “I noticed.” I smiled.

“I love you, too, even though you’re dangerous and controlling, and you make terrible decisions about when to be honest with people.” “I’ll work on that.” “You’d better.” He kissed me again, and the city spread out below us like a promise, dangerous and beautiful and ours.

I’d saved Dante Russo’s life with a note scribbled on a receipt, but maybe in all the ways that mattered, he’d saved mine, too.