Contents

Title

Rights

Title.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Acknowledgements

Also by Jessica Gadziala

About the Author

Stalk Her!

S E E K

H I M

L I K E

S H E L T E R

—

Jessica Gadziala

Copyright © 2024 Jessica Gadziala

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.

"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."

Cover image credit: Natali Smirnova / Pexels

“None of this book was written using AI tools. Each word was crafted with human hands.”

S E E K

H I M

L I K E

S H E L T E R

CHAPTER ONE

Elizabeth

The storm outside raged, the wind howling like a feral beast, rattling the windows and making my heartbeat thrum wildly against my ribcage. Lightning flashed, lighting up the corners of my darkened office.

A migraine was a vice grip on my temples, squeezing tighter with each clap of thunder. I leaned back in my chair, eyes squeezed shut as I rubbed my forehead in slow, deliberate circles in a futile attempt to dull the pain.

The screen of my computer was blinding to my overly sensitive eyes, piercing into my brain anytime I tried to look at it as the rain pelted rhythmically and relentlessly on the glass behind me.

Every ounce of me wanted to power down and finally head home for the night.

The neon clock at the corner of the screen taunted me. Midnight. The witching hour. Yet another day that passed me by while I spent every waking moment in this office that was steadily starting to feel more like a prison with each passing day.

Was it any wonder the stress had brought on yet another migraine? The third this week alone.

The storm outside and the one inside were fighting for dominance as I reached into my drawer for painkillers, set right there next to my trusty bottle of antacids that I was eating like candy most days.

I downed the pills with a swig of my long-cold coffee, the bitter taste a small price to pay if it would actually ease some of the pain, so I could get back to work.

My desk was a disaster, piles of folders and loose papers evidence of how behind I still was, despite pulling sixteen-hour days.

What can I say?

The reelection campaign wasn’t going well.

Polls were leaning out of our favor ever since a very motivated blue-collar worker from a bad area started her grassroots effort to take down the incumbent.

My boss.

A man who had held his position in the Senate almost as long as I’ve been alive.

Someone who, according to the aforementioned polls, was out of touch with the common man, who was in this for the money and the cushy government benefits, not to actually help the common man.

The thing was, the constituents weren’t even wrong.

That was the hardest part of this job. Running a campaign for a man you didn’t personally even respect, let alone like.

Michael Westmoore was the very definition of a slimy politician. Full of smiles for everyone he shit-talked behind their backs. Making speeches about the plight of the common man while wearing shoes that cost more than the average person made in a month. Preaching the importance of a strong middle class and unions while actively voting against anything that would actually help his people.

He’d also taken up a pretty severe filler addiction lately, on top of one too many facelifts, making his face look pulled too tight and emotionless.

The scandal of the week was him trying to give a moving speech, but his face had been so frozen that he looked like a robot.

The memes, God, the memes.

Hilarious, truly.

But really damning to the campaign.

And, man, the senator had been enraged. The whole office paid for that one. Even if, realistically, the only person to blame was his injectionist.

I was still trying to clean up that mess. Meanwhile the senator was already caught by some random member of the press saying something horrifically misogynistic about the young woman running against him.

If I didn’t need this job so much, I would jump ship and go work for her.

Alas, I’d been here for a while. The pay was good. The benefits… enough to keep me out of complete financial ruin if I found myself in the hospital for any reason.

It was a bad time to try to leave.

I just had to stick this out.

And silently vote for his challenger when the time came.

I clicked on my keypad, lowering the light on the computer in the hopes that I could just power through and get these new social media posts and newsletters drafted before I finally caught some sleep.

I willed the medicine to work faster, to bring me some peace amidst the turmoil.

Outside, the rain showed no signs of letting up.

A crash of thunder had me shooting up out of my chair, my nerves frazzled as I took myself into the bathroom in my office, leaving the light off as I wet some paper towels to press to the back of my neck, the pain making me sweaty and overheated.

I was still standing there when I heard the elevator ping, a sound I probably shouldn’t have been able to hear from so far away, but the migraine was making my hearing almost as sensitive as my sight and sense of smell that had me tossing out my dinner and throwing the bag down the chute before I even got to eat any.

It wasn’t uncommon for many of us to work late. But this was too late even for the most ambitious members of the team.

I heard the sound of footsteps, the stride awkward in the way only the senator’s was.

Michael Westmoore was a relatively short man. I actually had to stop wearing heels because it bruised his ego when a woman towered over him. To overcompensate for being vertically challenged, he had shoes with lifts specially made. The problem was, he wanted to be a lot taller than the standard lift would make him, which meant he added a slight heel to the shoes as well, making it so he ended up walking a bit like someone in high heels, only with flat loafers on.

I slunk back into the shadow behind the door, not wanting to engage with him. Not when my head was still screaming.

A loud ring had me fighting back a gasp before the senator’s voice flooded the hallway.

“Dimitri,” he said, making my brows pinch.

I knew the senator well. Well enough to know the names of every one of his family members—including the illegitimate son he’d never publicly acknowledged but who fleeced his father for money every month that he always sucked up his nose within weeks—but that name meant nothing to me.

“Are you alone?” A deep, heavily accented, man’s voice filled the hallway with the senator.

Michael Westmoore was completely useless with all forms of technology. He had this awful habit of always answering his phone on speaker without even realizing it, leaving one of us on his team to quickly turn the speaker off before he or someone he was talking to said something that would ruin his chances of reelection.

“Ah,” the senator said, and I could hear him turning into my office, likely having seen the computer still powered on. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, coming toward the bathroom, and glancing in, but not seeing me stashed behind the door.

“We need to talk,” Dimitri said, and I placed the accent as Russian as the senator walked back out into my office.

“About what?”

“You were supposed to get that case dropped,” Dimitri said.

In my hiding place, I winced.

I mean, it was an ugly truth of politics that most, if not all, politicians got corrupted eventually. Even the idealistic ones, the ones who swore they would never take corporate money or bribes, the lure money corrupted them all eventually.

I wasn’t surprised my boss was corrupt.

I was a little surprised that it sounded like he was involved in something actually criminal.

Michael Westmoore hated feeling like he answered to anyone. And when you involved yourself with criminals, you were never truly in charge.

“This kind of thing takes time,” the senator insisted. “It’s not like I can just go to the DA and tell him to drop the case against a man caught trafficking women into Brooklyn.”

Trafficking?

My heartbeat was punching against my ribcage, loud enough that I could swear it could be heard even from a room away with rainfall still hammering against all the windows in the building.

It was one thing to look the other way when someone was dealing cocaine to half of the politicians in the game. It was a complete other to try to get a man off of trafficking charges.

Trafficking.

Of actual human beings.

Women, it seemed like. And likely girls.

Lord knew there was only one reason women and girls were trafficked into a country.

“You are costing me money,” Dimitri said, voice getting rougher, a little more accented in his anger.

“I’m working on it.”

“Work harder,” Dimitri bit off. “Or there will be consequences, da?”

There was a pause.

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll see the district attorney tomorrow,” the senator insisted. “But I need proof that—“ he started, but Dimitri had already ended the call.

“Shit,” the senator said, and I could hear his footsteps go into his office, then back down the hall.

I wasn’t sure I released my breath until I heard the elevator doors chime as they opened, and swallowed up the senator.

What the hell?

I mean… what the actual hell?

I didn’t know if it was the painkillers or the adrenaline, but the migraine had started to ease. Not completely, but enough to be able to think straight again.

I stayed in the bathroom for another couple of minutes, wanting to make sure the senator was out of the building before I finally moved out, powering down my computer, grabbing my cell and my purse, and heading for the elevators myself.

I didn’t know what to do with this information.

All I knew was I needed to get the hell out of there, get some space, some room to think. Maybe some sleep. Then I could figure out what my next steps would be.

I didn’t realize, of course, as I exited the building twenty minutes after my boss that the streets weren’t as empty as they looked, that someone was watching me.

That I had now become a target.

CHAPTER TWO

Elian

I was usually the first one at the gatherings at Renzo’s, the boss’s, house. Hell, I used to be the one checking the levels of the liquor, ordering the food, and making sure there were clean glasses and plates to use.

But the music was already thumping and the chorus of voices and laughter met me before I even made it to the door.

I tamped down the thoughts that I was slacking on the job, reminding myself that it was Renzo himself who took me off my usual duties, and put me on this new gig.

Watching the Bratva.

The Russian mafia.

We needed to know what they were up to.

Because all signs pointed to them trying to make moves to take over Brooklyn. Which was our territory. Always had been, always would be.

So long as I didn’t fuck up my job.

I’d like to say that the pressure wasn’t getting to me. Problem is, that’d be a lie. I was having trouble sleeping, worrying that I was missing something, that my organization would suffer because of it.

“Hey!” a group of men greeted me as soon as I moved inside. “Where you been?” they asked, welcoming me into their circle.

But I still felt on the outs, not having caught up with any of them for weeks at this point.

“Heya, Saff,” I said when I saw a flash of blue hair in my peripheral vision as I stood at the bar waiting for Dav to pour me a drink.

“How goes stalking the Russians?” she asked, turning to give me her full attention.

Saff was short and slight with one of those delicate heart-shaped faces that made her look younger and more fragile than she was.

Fragile like a bomb, maybe.

She had her long blue hair pulled up into a mercilessly high ponytail that made her light brown eyes pop.

“They go to the massage parlors, to their restaurant, and home. That’s it.”

“And none of those places are penetrable,” Saff said, nodding. “Do you need someone in a too-tight dress to schmooze them and plant a bug somewhere?” she asked, waving a hand down her body.

That was an advantage to an organization that allowed for female capos. If you ever needed to run some sort of sweetheart scam or use them as a honeypot, you could.

The thing was, I could never bring myself to use them. Especially not Saff. She was too young, reminded me too much of a little sister figure. The idea of putting her in the path of an organization who seemed to specialize in forced sex work or sextortion made my stomach twist.

Even if, by all accounts, Saff was as tough as they came. Second only, maybe, to Cinna. Who likely had that reputation based on seniority.

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, taking my glass from Dav.

“But you’re not going to take me up on it because you’re afraid they might bruise my pretty little girly face,” Saff said, a bitter bite to her words.

“I don’t want anyone on the inside right now,” I insisted.

I mean, if I did, I could have had one of the men act as a john and go into one of the massage parlors. Find somewhere to place a bug. Then get a convenient phone call from their “wife” saying she tracked them there, and she was going to a lawyer or some shit like that.

I didn’t want any of us to get caught snooping right now. There was no way for me to know if they had watched us the way I was currently watching them, if they had files on us like I was compiling on them.

It wasn’t safe to go in.

The problem was, given their insane level of security, it also wasn’t safe to just take them out.

“El,” Renzo said, coming over, clapping a hand on my back twice as he moved in at my side. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I was following someone that was heading away from the usual haunts.”

“Any luck?”

“He’s fucking around on his wife,” I said, shrugging.

“Can we use her?” Renzo asked.

“Single mom,” I said, shaking my head. “Too much the Bratva can use against her if they get suspicious.”

Renzo nodded at that.

Maybe there was a time, when he was young and impatient, that he would have taken that risk. These days, though, he knew there were other ways, and we had the patience to wait to figure it out.

“Was his car empty while he was fucking his mistress?” Saff asked.

“No. These guys never travel alone. There’s always someone watching the cars, watching the doors. Even the wives and kids have small crews on them. Low and high level guys.”

“Paranoid,” Dav said.

“More like aware they are taking on the Five Families, and are being proactive,” Renzo said.

“Maybe they don’t know,” Saff suggested.

“Know what?” Renzo asked.

“Know that we have an alliance with the other families now?” Saff said. “It is still new.”

“It’s possible,” Renzo said, nodding. “Unless they have a file on all the Costas. They would know Lore is one of them, and that she’s married to me now.”

And then, it happened.

Everyone looked to me, expecting answers from me.

And I didn’t have shit to give them.

“Any news on that Russian guy who got pulled in on trafficking charges?”

“Still locked up. But from what I can tell, he’s someone important to the organization, so I imagine they are working on some way to get him out.”

“That’s why they are flirting with cops and politicians,” Saff concluded.

“Seems like it,” I agreed.

“And I’m sure Elian is all over that shit,” Cinna said, appearing out of nowhere to move next to Dav, who instinctively put an arm around her.

Not gonna lie, it was still weird as fuck to see them together after so many years of their little dance. But they looked happy together so I was happy for them.

I gave Cinna a nod, my eyes full of the gratitude I was feeling for having her support.

“On a real note,” Renzo said, leading me away from the group and toward his office, “you look like shit, El. This job is important, but you gotta sleep.”

“Really?” I asked, smirking. “This? Coming from you? Up until you settled down, you were pulling sixteen-hour days for over a decade.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “But you got a family. Make sure you’ve got time for them. Or my ass is gonna have them at my doorstep pitching a fucking fit about overworking you,” he said, giving me a smile before walking off.

“He’s right, you know,” a voice said, making me jerk and turn to find Lore, Renzo’s wife, curled up on the couch in the office, cuddled under a blanket, with a massive book open on her lap.

Lore, as much as she’d gotten used to being around the family since she came to live here, still preferred books to people a lot of the time.

“Hey, Mrs. Lombardi,” I said, smiling at the way she rolled her eyes at the title. “How you been?”

“Good. I miss seeing you every day,” she admitted. When she’d first come here, finding herself isolated and unsure of herself, I’d been her first friend. Once she and Renzo sorted shit out, I figured she wouldn’t miss me much. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“Miss seeing you too. Rather spend my time grabbing you coffee or following you to bookstores than sitting in a car watching a bunch of men carry on with their lives.”

“Why don’t you have one of your men help you out?” she asked.

The answer was simple on that. I didn’t really have a lot of men. My main priority for years had been working for Renzo, even if I was, technically, a capo.

I had a few men and they did little jobs here and there, enough to keep some money coming in, to provide a kick-up to the boss.

But because my crew was so small, I really couldn’t afford to move anyone around right now. And it would hurt my pride a little too much to ask one of the other capos to borrow one of their people.

“Renzo wants my eyes on this,” I told Lore.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean that your eyes should be on it twenty-four/seven,” she reasoned. “You need to have some downtime too. Promise me you’ll go see your family this week.”

“I promise,” I told her, knowing she was right. I’d already skipped out on several family dinners. And while everyone understood that work was important, I knew they must be missing me.

“Good. Now, go, so I can figure out who is trying to poison the queen,” she said, flashing her book at me, dragging the first real smile out of me in what felt like weeks.

I made my rounds for a little while longer, grabbing some cold pasta and meatballs, then made my way back out so I could grab a few winks before I got up to keep up my vigil.

It was a daily struggle to try to figure out which member of the organization to follow. I’d chosen to go with one of the enforcers for a change, deciding that the bosses had gotten enough of my attention, and maybe I was doing myself a disservice by only focusing on the higher-ups in the organization.

They drove out of their usual neighborhood, taking off to a much nicer area full of high-rise business buildings, all gleaming glass and smart-looking people walking around in suits and expensive jewelry.

If I was remembering correctly, this area was in one of the other capos’ turf, selling cocaine to the few handfuls of people who could afford that shit.

Most of us never had any reason to be in this area.

Which made me wonder what the fuck a Bratva enforcer was doing around here, hanging in their car like they were waiting for someone.

But they hadn’t moved in hours.

I was parked in the opposite direction, a few cars back, looking like I was reading a newspaper and possibly waiting to escort my boss to their next meeting. I wasn’t the only one, so I didn’t seem to stand out to them.

I was thankful for my good optical genes, and the fact that the sun was hidden behind moody clouds, as I sat there, being able to see in their windshield, seeing what they were doing.

Which was watching the building just a few yards ahead of me.

They were waiting for someone.

But who?

And why?

My gaze shifted to the building, wondering what kind of businesses could be found inside. I was about to reach for my phone to figure that out when I saw the door push open, and a woman moved outside, a phone pressed to her ear.

Whoever she was talking to was clearly chewing her out, judging by the way she was running a hand through her wavy blonde hair, how her head was tipped back, looking at the sky, and only managing to seem to squeeze in one-word answers here and there.

She was gorgeous, tall and long-legged, wearing a pair of high-waisted dress shorts in a khaki color and a white ribbed tank top, looking effortlessly put together but also comfortable. On her feet, she had a pair of tan leather pointed flat shoes with gold buckles. A giant matching bag was hoisted up on her shoulder.

Half of her face was hidden by giant black sunglasses, but I made out a square jaw and a small, straight nose.

I had this oddly strong urge to go out there and remove the sunglasses, so I could see her whole face.

She turned back toward the door, like she was about to go back in, so my gaze slid back to the Russians.

And found they’d rolled down the window.

And they were looking at the building intently as the driver shuffled with something in his lap.

I looked back, finding the woman decided against going back in. She had her phone held to her ear still, but she was starting to move away from the building.

My gaze cut back to the enforcer.

Finding him zeroed in on the woman as he turned in his seat.

There was no reason to assume the worst.

Maybe he just thought she was pretty, wanted to watch her walk away.

Or perhaps he even needed to snap some pictures of her for his boss.

But the hairs were standing up on the back of my neck, every instinct in my body telling me something was about to go horribly wrong.

My hand went to the gear shift without me realizing the thought even crossed my mind, shifting into reverse as I checked my mirrors.

Traffic was light as I slowly inched my way out of my parking spot. I was in the road finally when my gaze slid back to the enforcer.

It wasn’t a camera that I saw peeking out of the window.

No.

That was a gun.

I pushed the pedal down, but he was already squeezing off shots.

Screams erupted on the streets as I gunned it forward, watching the woman drop her phone, her body frozen, confused. Or in shock.

Cutting off the path of the bullets with my vehicle, I leaned over my center console and threw open the passenger door as a bullet dinged into the trunk of my car.

“Get in!” I yelled.

Her fight-or-flight instinct finally seemed to kick in, making her run toward my car, throwing herself in.

I was tearing off before she even closed her door, pulling down the closest cross street, then another, trying to get as far away from the Bratva as possible if they were going to follow.

It wasn’t until I was stuck at a red light that I finally looked over.

To find her hyperventilating.

With blood dripping down her arm.

CHAPTER THREE

Elizabeth

I didn’t sleep all night, tossing and turning, trying to decide what I was supposed to do.

Did I go to the police?

With what proof?

All I had was my word on what I overheard.

Sure, I had the name Dimitri. But I had to imagine there were more than a few criminals with that name in Brooklyn or the city as a whole.

And who was going to believe a random woman running a reelection campaign over an incumbent, highly respected, senator?

It was in the shower the next morning that I decided that my move would have to be to get evidence.

New York was a one-party consent state. Meaning if I was a part of a conversation involving corruption, I could record it without the other party knowing. But I couldn’t record a conversation between two other people without permission.

Short of finding actual paperwork proving a connection to Russian criminals that I could turn over to the police, my only choice was to try to get Michael to speak to me about it.

Or, of course, just record him illegally and then anonymously upload it to social media. Let the internet take it from there. Though, I’d have to make sure I could upload it without it tracing back to me. There were hefty fines for that kind of thing. Not to mention the several year prison sentence.

Or, of course, I could make sure there were no fingerprints or anything… and drop it off at a news station.

There were options.

Ways for this to get out there.

Without it tracing back to me.

But the public had to know that the politician they voted in was corrupt.

It would be risking my job. Especially if his fall from grace was swift.

But I’d get unemployment.

And I could freelance until I found something more permanent again.

It would be okay.

“Right, bud?” I asked my geriatric cat as I passed him on my way to the kitchen.

He’d belonged to my grandfather before he’d passed. My family had come in from all corners of the United States to clean out his condo, eyes on the money they could sell it for in the current market. No one cared about the eclectic art collection he’d built over sixty years in the city since most of it was from no-name artists who never really went anywhere. Or the journals he’d kept of all the crazy and wonderful things he’d witnessed in this city he loved so much. And they’d been minutes away from dropping Kevin off at the shelter where he would likely stay the rest of his life, never knowing love again.

My entire guest room, that served as my home office, was full of said art and journals. And my entire apartment was now full of Kevin’s favorite things. A treehouse that stood out hideously against my more muted decor. A suction-cup hammock in the window. Three separate beds in specific corners. A scratch post beside the couch that he’d already done some significant damage to.

I felt bad when I’d taken him in, knowing I work ridiculously long hours. But he was seventeen years old. He slept pretty much all day.

And, I reminded myself, even alone in an apartment most of the time was leaps and bounds better than in an overcrowded, stressful shelter.

“We’ll be okay no matter what,” I said after setting up my fancy automatic espresso machine to make myself my favorite cookie batter hot latte with oat milk and an extra shot.

I didn’t care if it was eighty-five degrees with seventy-percent humidity at six in the morning, I was always going to have my hot coffee treat first thing.

I rubbed Kevin’s silky black fur, feeling his body vibrate as he purred. “How about some mushy, disgusting loaf for breakfast?” I asked, walking back to my marble counter, taking out his plate—because, apparently, he had an aversion to eating out of a bowl—opening a can, and plopping a square of smushy wet cat food onto it, using the edge of the container to smush it up a bit because I couldn’t bring myself to use one of my forks for the task.

I grabbed my latte before going back to my bedroom to pick out an outfit as I tried to think of how I might get Michael to confide in me about his… less than legal dealings.

He did tend to be candid with me. Often too candid, to be honest. I was the unfortunate keeper of the knowledge that anything with cumin tied him to the toilet for half a day afterward. And that he was trying out a new erectile dysfunction pill to use with his mistress since his wife, who lived full-time in D.C., wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

If I approached it in a way where I was asking about any other skeletons in his closet that I would need to cover up, or try to deflect attention from, I might be able to get him to mention wanting to call in a favor to the district attorney.

Or I could mention someone named Dimitri calling the office asking for him. See if he confessed then.

Whatever I wanted to do, I had approximately only ten more days to do it. The Senate would be back in session in eleven, and Michael always took one full day to travel back and get settled.

I sipped my latte while I hemmed and hawed the professionalism of wearing shorts, even dress shorts. Ultimately, though, the little weather station I kept on my makeup vanity told me it was literally getting hotter and more humid by the moment, so I opted not to care what people thought as I slipped into the shorts, put on a tank top, then added a lightweight blazer on top, reminding myself that I would only be sweating on my commute, and that the air conditioning in the office was always set to arctic.

I used a light hand with my makeup, shoved my tablet with its folding keyboard into my purse along with my planner, notebook, and a small makeup bag.

With that, I headed out, mind on catching my boss in a criminal scheme. Which, by late morning, proved impossible when he refused to drag his ass into the office, even though he was supposed to have a meeting with all of us and then two video calls with big political vloggers.

Which was what I was arguing with him about when I stepped out of the office, the humidity hitting me like a wall as I listened to Michael wax on and on about how vloggers weren’t worth his time, not even if they had eight million followers on their socials, and the young people polled said they got most of their news from them rather than the actual news these days.

I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. I was too busy choking on my frustration while my boss yelled in my ear.

Not that I would have seen anything.

I mean, as a woman, I was raised to be aware of strange men looking a little too hard at me, of cat calling me, of suspicious parked vans. That sort of thing.

Not to be on the lookout for random guns aimed in my direction.

The first two pops only managed to confuse me.

It wasn’t until others on the street started to scream, run, and duck for cover that I realized what was happening.

A shooting.

Then there was this blinding sort of pain across my arm, making me drop my phone to the ground as I just stood there. Frozen.

Apparently, when it came to fight-or-flight, I was born with neither.

Until a sleek black sedan with dark windows pulled out in front of the cars parked on the street, the door flying open, and a man telling me to get in.

There was never a time in my life when I thought Oh, hey, a strange man in a car; I should jump in with him.

But I found myself ducking and running, throwing myself into the seat, and dragging the door shut as the driver peeled off, getting us out of the area of the shooting.

My heartbeat was punching against my ribcage as the driver took several quick turns.

“What—“ I started when we pulled up to a red light.

“You’re hit,” he said at the same time.

He had a smooth, rich voice, conjuring up images of coffee and leather and cigars. For reasons that made absolutely no sense to me.

But, then again, nothing was making sense right then. Sitting in a car with a stranger after being in the middle of a shooting.

I figured I was allowed to not be thinking clearly in that moment.

“What?” I asked, turning to look at him for the first time.

He was tall and seemingly fit under a dark gray golf shirt and a pair of pressed black slacks. His black hair and golden eyes offset his olive skin. And his square jaw and brooding brow were almost universally considered attractive.

He was.

Attractive.

I mean, the man belonged on billboards.

Not in getaway cars.

“You’re hit,” he said, reaching for my elbow to lift my arm from my side.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to glance down to see what he was looking at.

It wasn’t until I saw the little rivers of red slipping down my skin to drop onto my shorts that I remembered it.

The pain that had me dropping my phone.

I’d been hit.

Shot.

I’d been shot.

“My shorts,” I heard myself say, looking at the material that was surely ruined.

“Baby, I think you should be a little more worried about your arm,” he said, voice soft as he was forced to release me, a chorus of horns behind us letting us know the light had turned green.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at my arm, though. My gaze stayed fixated instead on the way the blood slipped off my arm and dripped onto my shorts.

“They were targeting you.” I was aware of him speaking, the sound of his voice shivering over my skin, but I couldn’t seem to focus on the actual words. “Hey, stay with me here,” he said, doing a couple snaps that had me looking over. “Why were they targeting you? Who are you?”

“I’m… nobody,” I said, slow blinking at him, sure I wasn’t understanding him.

Because no one would be targeting me.

No one would want to shoot me.

“I think I need a doctor,” I said, the pain finally starting to pierce through the shock, a sharp, burning sensation.

“I know,” he said, taking another turn, going the opposite direction of the nearest hospital.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I said.

“There’s a clinic right there,” he said, pointing out of the windshield toward a building with a line of people out front.

“What if I need surgery?” I asked.

“You don’t. It’s not that bad,” he told me. “I don’t know why you’re bleeding so bad.”

“Blood thinners,” I heard myself murmur, watching the blood continue to trickle, not seeming to slow down much. “My migraine meds are blood thinners,” I told him.

“That makes sense,” he said, pulling the car into a spot half a block up before cutting the engine and rushing out and around to help me out.

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion as he grabbed the elbow of my good arm and led me back toward the clinic, cutting in front of the people who had clearly been waiting around for a while, sweat stains darkening their armpits, collars, and chests.

“Hey, there’s a line,” a man with a clipboard said as he moved through the doors.

“Tell Dr. Conti that Elian Lombardi needs to see him,” he demanded, tone brooking no argument.

The man with the clipboard looked dubious, but he walked up to a woman who was standing behind a sheet of plexiglass, mumbling to her, then waiting for her to walk away. She came almost running back a moment later, unlocking the door.

“Let them back,” she demanded, tone almost frantic.

My brain wasn’t computing why that little interaction happened as I was led through a slightly rundown, but very neat clinic, and into a small exam room where the man, Elian, urged me up onto the vinyl exam table with the strip of paper that crinkled as I shifted my position.

I absentmindedly remembered then to finally reach up and remove my sunglasses.

I didn’t even get a chance to ask him anything before the door was flying open, and a young, handsome doctor came rushing inside, looking first at Elian before glancing at me.

“What happened here?” he asked, his calm tone belying the tension in his face.

“She was shot,” Elian said, making my gaze shoot over to him. “You’re okay,” he told me. “You’re in good hands. Right, Doc?”

“Of course,” Dr. Conti said as he slipped on a fresh set of gloves before coming over to gently touch my arm.

“She’s on migraine medicine,” Elian supplied, since I didn’t seem capable of advocating for myself right then.

Shock, I guess.

“Blood thinners?” Dr. Conti asked, looking at me, waiting until I gave him a slight nod. “Okay. Well, it looks worse than it is because of the blood loss,” he told me, grabbing some gauze, and pressing them against the wound, trying to stem the flow. “You are just going to need to get cleaned up and a few stitches. It just grazed you,” he told me.

A graze.

If this was what a graze felt like, I had a whole new level of empathy for people who got bullets lodged in them.

“Can you hold this here for me?” he asked, but I must not have registered that he was talking to me, because Elian moved over to press the gauze as the doctor moved away, removing his gloves. “I need to go grab a suture kit. I’ll be right back,” he said, waiting for Elian to nod at him before he left.

“What’s going on?” I asked, shaking my head. Nothing was making sense. I was just shot. I should have been in an emergency room. I should have been talking to the police. Not sitting in a clinic with a handsome stranger and getting treated by a man who seemed afraid of said stranger.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Elian asked.

“Elizabeth,” I supplied. “Riley.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, and I had just half a second to enjoy the way his voice curled around my name. Like something familiar. Like something intimate. “Do you want to tell me why a Russian enforcer wanted to shoot you?”

“Oh,” I said, feeling like the world had just fallen out from underneath me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Elian

She was clearly in a little bit of shock.

Even when the doctor was talking to her, her gaze seemed a million miles away.

It wasn’t until I said the words Russian enforcer that she seemed to snap back to the present moment.

Her gaze slid to me, those pretty cornflower blue eyes going wide.

“Oh,” she breathed out, her shoulders slumping.

“Are you involved with them?” I asked, feeling like shit for peppering her with questions right after a traumatic event. But I wanted to get answers out of her before she had a chance to try to formulate a convincing lie to feed me.

“No,” she said, head shaking infinitesimally. “No, but I think my boss is,” she said.

“Your boss,” I repeated. “Who is your boss?”

For a beat, I thought she wasn’t going to tell me.

But then she said something that confirmed a lot of my family’s suspicions about what the Bratva was up to. “Senator Michael Westmoore.”

“Sena—“

“We’re going to get you all patched up,” Dr. Conti said as he came back pushing a small metal rolling tray covered in a bunch of supplies.

If he looked nervous to her, it was because he was.

Our family didn’t have their own medical professional on staff for shit like random shootings that we didn’t want to send us to the hospitals where the cops would get involved. Which meant, most of the time, we were pulling bullets out of each other, and doing some seriously shoddy work on stitches without any local anesthetics.

It was like fate one day when we realized a certain doctor was in debt to our family for almost fifty grand that he was never going to be able to pay back with his bleeding heart job at a clinic in a low-income area.

So, we’d… made him an offer.

Which was a nice way of saying that Renzo leaned on him until he agreed to allow any of us to come into the clinic whenever we needed treatment. Without anything ever ending up on paper or in their systems.

As far as I knew, this was the first time we’d needed to use his services. Hence his anxiety. Maybe he was worried that if he screwed up, it would be his kneecaps we came after.

I stood back, letting the doctor work on the woman, Elizabeth’s, arm as I wrapped my head around what little information she’d given me.

She worked for a senator.

That slimy bastard who had too much filler in his face, tanned himself to leather, and wore hilariously obvious lifts.

And, for some reason, she was the target for assassination, not the senator.

“Okay. You are all fixed up,” Dr. Conti said, snapping off his gloves. “I put in dissolving stitches, so you don’t need to come back to get them removed. You should try to keep them dry for the first day or two. And try to keep them covered in sterile gauze,” he went on, getting little nods from Elizabeth, but it was clear to me that everything was going over her head; she was too overwhelmed for instructions. “After that, you can gently wash them for another day or two. After that, just wash as normal.”

“Okay, thank you,” she said, nodding.

“Does she have to worry about infection?” I asked.

“If she keeps it clean and covered, probably not. But keep an eye for any puffiness or especially any sort of oozing. If you see that, come right back in to see me, and we will go from there.”

“And pain?” I asked when she continued to just sit there, a little zoned out.

“Over-the-counter meds will likely be enough,” Dr. Conti said. “But if you don’t feel that it is,” he rushed to add, eyes going wide, “let me know. Anytime.”

“Okay. Thanks, doctor,” I said, jerking my chin toward the door.

He took the hint and left.

“Don’t they need my insurance card?” Elizabeth asked, looking over at me with scrunched brows.

“No, it’s all covered,” I assured her.

“That makes no sense,” she decided as she started to slide off the table.

“Whoa,” I said, rushing forward to grab her arm when she teetered on her feet. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” I asked, holding onto her as I led her back out of the clinic.

“Thanks,” she said numbly as I got in the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Elizabeth, we need to go somewhere to talk. Where do you want to go? A coffee shop? Your apartment?”

“Shouldn’t I be talking to the police?” she asked instead of answering, her gaze looking out the window, seeming a million miles away.

I reached into her purse, finding her wallet, and checking out her address on her license, then heading in that direction while she continued to zone out.

“Miss Riley,” her doorman greeted her, all affability as he went for the door, until he saw the blood on her clothes. “Are you alright?”

“Brian,” Elizabeth said, forcing a painfully fake smile. “Yes. Just an, ah, accident,” she said as we moved into the lobby of her building.

It was a luxe place with wide-plank slate floors, a wooden front desk with massive, pristine mirrors, a seated area with rounded couches, and a bunch of lush greenery that actually looked real.

This kind of place cost a pretty penny.

I didn’t know what, exactly, Elizabeth did for the senator, but she seemed to be paid well.

She led me to the elevators, pushing the button for the sixth floor, clearly still not fully herself, because I couldn’t imagine she would normally just bring a stranger right into her apartment.

It was a nice apartment, too. New hardwood floors, views of the city, a balcony, a nice-sized living room that melted into an all-white and marble kitchen.

Down the hall, it looked like there were two bedrooms.

Elizabeth liked to keep the place light and bright. The windows only had sheers, and they were pulled wide to allow the light to stream in on her off-white living room furniture, and giving lots of sunlight to her giant houseplants.

She had a framed TV across from her couch and chair set, the screen set to switch between different John William Waterhouse paintings. Below it was a line of white bookshelves with glass doors, all the spines turned inward, so all you saw were the cream pages.

The only things in the whole apartment that didn’t fit her very clean aesthetic were the cat scratch post, cat tree, and several beds.

“Nice place,” I said, because it was.

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said numbly, walking to her kitchen to turn on her pricey-looking latte machine. “It’s expensive,” she admitted as she pumped what looked like cookie batter syrup into a mug, the ritual seemingly grounding her, bringing her back to herself. “But it has a lot of amenities,” she told me. “When I did the math on what it would cost to get a cheaper place and pay for all those things separately, this just made more sense. Can I get you a coffee?” she asked as I walked over to the cat who was lounging in the sun near the sliding doors to the balcony, soaking up some rays.

“Sure. However you take it is fine,” I told her, even if I generally didn’t drink flavored coffee. If it helped her relax to make it her way, I would choke it down.

“His name is Kevin,” she told me as the cat purred. “He was my grandfather’s. He’s ancient and mostly deaf, but sweet. Do you have any pets?” she asked, bringing me over the first coffee, then going back to make another.

“Thank you. No. I work too much,” I told her.

“I do too,” she admitted. “But it was me or a shelter,” she went on. “I figured this is better.”

I heard the rattle of a pill bottle and looked over to find her in one of her kitchen cabinets that seemed to serve as a small pharmacy. Catching me looking, she went to shrug, forgetting her stitches, and winced. “Life is a constant battle of trying to decide if it is a migraine that I can manage with some over-the-counter pills, or if I need rescue meds. And then there are the vitamins that are supposed to help,” she said, waving at a line of bottles with matching labels but different words. Calcium, Magnesium, Zinc, Riboflavin.

“My mom used to get debilitating migraines,” I admitted. “If we came home from school to find her in bed with all the lights off, we knew we needed to keep it down. Luckily, they seemed to go away after menopause.”

“Only about twenty more years to see if that works for me too,” she said, giving me a shrug as she took a long sniff of her coffee before taking a sip.

She walked over to the living room, waving toward the couch as she took a seat in one of her chairs. “I’m assuming you’re here because you want to talk.”

“About your boss, it seems,” I agreed, taking a sip of my coffee to put her at ease. “Wow,” I said, brows going up. “This is surprisingly good.”

“I know, right?” she asked, shooting me a small smile. “I used to pay, what, eight dollars for one of these a few times a day. Until I realized that just buying that latte machine actually saves me a lot of money.”

“So, you work for Senator Michael Westmoore,” I said, watching as she took a deep breath.

“Yes,” she said, her tone tight, making me think that it was definitely the senator who seemed to be chewing her out on the phone with before the shooting who seemed to be chewing her out.

“And he’s involved with the Bratva?”

“The Bratva?” she repeated, brows pinching.

“The Russian mafia,” I told her.

“Oh. Oh,” she said, eyes widening. “That… that makes sense, I guess.”

“How so?”

“Last night, I was working late at the office, and I overheard a conversation my boss was having with a man named Dimitri,” she told me.

“What were they saying?”

“It seemed like a veiled threat,” she told me.

“Over what?”

“Someone who has been arrested for human trafficking.”

That tracked, since it seemed likely that the women at the ‘massage parlors’ were probably not there willingly. Especially in these days where it was easier—and more profitable than ever—for someone interested in doing so to run their own sex work service. Without even needing to sleep with men if they didn’t want to.

“And your boss is supposed to try to get them out?” I asked.

“Yes. And if he doesn’t, well, the Dimitri guy made it sound like there would be, you know, consequences. I guess… we learned what kind today.”

“Are you that valuable to your boss?”

“I’m probably the only person who can get him reelected,” she admitted. “But… I doubt he even realizes that.”

“He seems like a real dick,” I said, getting a surprised laugh out of her.

“He is,” she admitted, nodding. “But I never thought he would be involved with human trafficking.” She sat with that a second, then shook her head. “Why would he get involved with the… Bratva?”

“Money,” I said. It always traced back to money.

“But how?”

“The senator votes in ways that loosen laws on trafficking, or imports, or things like that. Or they work their connections to get police or district attorneys to look the other way. In turn, they get a cut of the money that comes from the Bratva’s business endeavors.”

“You mean trafficking,” she said, face going tight. “Of women and girls.”

“In this case, yeah, I do mean that, unfortunately.”

“He’s profiting off the exploitation and rape of innocent women.”

“Yes,” I said, understanding the horror on her face. I felt it myself each time I had to go anywhere near those massage parlors. “Does your boss know you overheard his conversation?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I was behind the door in the bathroom. I had a migraine, so I was in the dark,” she admitted. “He had no idea. And he was… his usual self today.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” I asked.

“Because who the hell would believe me?” she asked, snorting. “I, ah, I decided to try to see if he would open up to me. Because I could record it then.”

“And it would be admissible in court.”

“Yeah. Or, I figured, if I couldn’t make that work, I would just record him on the phone with them, and drop it off to a news station who wouldn’t have any qualms about sharing it.”

“Could the Bratva have learned of your plans? Did you tell friends? Family? Boyfriend?” I asked, the last word having a strange bite to it for reasons I didn’t exactly understand.

“No. I don’t have… anyone,” she admitted. “I mean, I have family. But they’re across the country. And we’re not close.”

“Friends?”

“I work too much for friends. And too much for boyfriends,” she admitted. “I didn’t even search anything online. Maybe I wasn’t the target today,” she said, sounding hopeful.

“They were aiming right at you,” I told her.

“Maybe they thought my boss would come out.”

“I don’t think so. These are professionals. They don’t fuck up a hit.”

“How do you know so much about them?” she asked, finally zeroing in on the strangeness of my presence.

“Because I’ve been watching them for a few weeks.”

“Why?”

“To figure out what they are up to.”

“Are you a private investigator?” she asked.

“No, sweetheart,” I said, shaking my head.

I watched as her gears turned, those cornflower blue eyes keen when they pinned me again.

“Who do you work for?”

“Renzo Lombardi,” I admitted.

“Why does that sound so… oh,” she said, eyes going round as her posture stiffened. “You’re… in the mafia.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Elizabeth

The man I’d invited into my living room was a member of the mafia.

Now that was a thought I’d never imagined I’d think before. Let alone a reality I’d find myself in.

I had a mafia member sitting on my couch, drinking out of one of my coffee cups, and watching me with those lovely golden eyes that were offset by enviously thick black lashes.

Maybe if I hadn’t been so zoned out for so long I would have noticed it earlier.

I mean, just remembering how nervous and fidgety the doctor had been anytime he looked at or spoke to this man.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Elian said as he watched me process this information.

“Isn’t that what everyone says? Right before they hurt you?” I asked.

“Probably,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “If it helps, logically, I have no reason to want to hurt you,” he said. “My interest is in the Russians and their business dealings. I was watching them today and saw what they were about to do. That’s why we are here. I just wanted to know why they wanted you dead.”

“Did you really think I’d be involved with the Bratva?” I asked, unable to stop my lips from curving up.

I mean, no one would ever have accused me of being something quite as exciting as involved in organized crime.

Growing up, I’d always been a glass child—invisible to my family because my older brother required so much more attention.

In school, I got the reputation of a goody-goody because I had perfect attendance, because I got good grades, because I never got in trouble. And, later, because they thought I was a complete prude since I had no interest in dating.

I’d been too busy trying to get into a good college, so I could get a good career, and get the hell away from my dysfunctional family.

In college, it had been more of the same. My roommate hated me because I didn’t want people in our room. Eventually, we ‘compromised’ with me spending pretty much all of my time in the library while she did whatever the heck she wanted in our room.

Sure, I dated here and there then. But I never took it seriously. It wasn’t in my five year plan, or even my ten year plan to get serious with anyone.

I mean, I’d never smoked weed, had a one-night stand, or even gotten stupid drunk.

So the idea of being involved with crime was both a little flattering and hilarious.

“In my defense, I had no idea who you were,” he said, giving me an odd look as I tried to flatten my smile.

“Sorry,” I said, a little laugh escaping me. “It’s just funny to think someone like me would be involved with crime.”

“Someone like you,” he repeated.

“Oh, you know. Someone who pays their bills on time, is nice to telemarketers, tells the stores if they forgot to scan an item…”

“Good people get involved with shady shit all the time.”

“I’m not offended,” I told him, “I’m actually kind of flattered, in a weird way.”

“You—“ he started, but was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said after checking his screen.

He stood, moving closer to the door as he answered.

“Yeah, I saw. Up close and personally,” he added. “I got the target out of Dodge. Yeah. I know. No. It’s… somewhat what we thought,” he said, choosing his words carefully, aware that he had an audience.

My gaze slid down, catching sight of the blood on my shorts, darker as it dried.

I jumped up, worried for the chair fabric, but had lucked out. I moved down the hallway, going into my room, then my closet, sliding into a pair of yoga pants, then taking my shorts to the bathroom sink, wondering how ruined the dry-clean-only material would be if I spot-treated the blood.

It was probably a silly thing to focus on when someone had literally tried to kill me just a few hours ago, but, well, I had a very small wardrobe of nice items I mostly got secondhand. The idea of losing an important part of that wardrobe rotation made me anxious.

There was a soft knock at my door.

“Elizabeth?”

I moved back out, finding Elian waiting for me, Kevin slamming his little body against his pant leg, leaving a trail of black hairs on his gray slacks.

“You alright?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I just wanted to get changed,” I said, moving back out of my bedroom. “So, do you have any more questions for me?”

“I guess I should ask what you plan to do now.” “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, someone tried to kill you today. Things can’t be business as usual.”

“Oh,” I said, shoulders sinking as I realized he was right. But also, what other choice did I have? It wasn’t like the world stopped turning because someone shot me. The electric company and my landlord wouldn’t care if I was a little afraid to go back to work. I didn’t have the luxury to just… stop going.

“I have to go back to work,” I told him, thinking of how much work I’d already missed out on. And I didn’t even have my phone anymore. The senator was likely losing his ever-loving mind.

“You can’t.”

“What choice do I have? I have a job to do.”

“For a man working with someone who tried to kill you.”

“If I want him to go down for this, I have to catch him talking to them.”

“You won’t be able to catch him talking to them if you’re dead.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“How?”

“I’ll… order a ride-share to and from work, so I won’t be walking on the street. And I’m safe at work. There’s too many people around.”

“That’s incredibly risky.”

“I understand, but I don’t have the luxury of just not going to work.”

To that, Elian sucked in a deep breath that had his shirt expanding over his solid chest. “I understand,” he said. “But I don’t like it. And I’ll encourage you to think hard about it before you make a decision. Better to fall behind in bills than end up in an early grave,” he said.

“I will think about it,” I told him. I would be doing nothing but thinking about it for the rest of the day. “Thanks for, you know, saving me today,” I said.

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he said, reaching into his pocket to produce his wallet, then pulling out a card that said nothing on it, save for a phone number. “Here. Take this,” he said, handing it to me. “If you ever need help, let me know.”

“Thank you,” I said, placing the card on my counter as we walked past it on the way to the door.

“Make sure you take care of those stitches,” Elian said as he moved into the hall.

“I will.”

“And, hey, Elizabeth?” he called after starting to walk down the hall, turning back to me.

“Yeah?”

“Try to stay alive, okay?”

He wasn’t waiting for an answer, though, as he turned the corner and disappeared.

Alone, paranoia had me locking my door, then adding the little alarmed door stopper that I brought with me when I traveled and had to stay in hotels. Not that it would be much help if someone tried to break in here. The door was the only way out. But it might, you know, alert the neighbors. Who might come to see what was going on.

I debated grabbing Kevin and taking myself to a hotel for a few nights. But, honestly, my building felt somewhat safer than a hotel. At least there was a doorman here whose sole job it was to make sure no one came in who wasn’t supposed to.

I grabbed my tablet out of my purse, shooting off a message to my team to get in touch with Michael for me, tell him that my phone was broken, and that I would be in touch as soon as I got a new one.

From there, I ordered a new one to be delivered to my apartment building.

Did I maybe also order some pepper spray and an ear-splittingly loud personal alarm? Yes, yes, I did.

Because as the hours ticked by, the reality of this seemed to settle in more and more.

Someone had tried to shoot me.

Kill me.

They would follow me, look for openings to try again.

Paranoid, I also placed an order for some heavy drapes for my apartment, not knowing enough about snipers to know if it was possible to shoot me from a rooftop across from the building or not, but not willing to take the risk.

“Thank goodness for same-day delivery,” I said when Brian brought my packages up for me. It wasn’t his job. But I learned from watching powerful men and women that if you gave the right people—doormen, cleaning people, concierges—a little more cash than they expected, they would often go above and beyond for you.

Brian was still thankful for his very handsome Christmas bonus. And I was thankful not to have to leave my apartment unless absolutely necessary.

I busied myself over the next hour by setting up my phone and hanging my curtains before, finally, calling Michael.

“Where have you been?” he snarled in my ear as I walked through my bedroom, feeling safer the deeper into my apartment I got. “There was a shooting out front of the building today, Beth, a shooting.”

I hated being called Beth.

I introduced myself by my full name for a reason.

I stopped in my bathroom, catching my reflection, still seeing drips of blood on my white shirt, and the gauze taped to my upper arm.

“Yes, I know,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“I had to do a press conference without you,” he ranted.

I imagine that had not gone well.

Without being given the proper talking points, he always ended up saying the wrong thing.

“How did that go?” I asked.

“Isn’t it your job to know that?”

“I’ve been too busy to watch TV,” I told him. “How did it go?”

“Well, I denounced the assassination attempt,” he said, making me squeeze my eyes shut. Clearly, it was not an assassination attempt on him when he wasn’t even in Brooklyn at the time. “I made it clear that we will not tolerate this sort of hate for us.”

Oh, lord.

He’d made it about his party. An us versus them thing. Which only sowed the seeds of more division. When we were trying to run on a campaign of unity, of working together, of overcoming our differences to work on the things that really mattered.

In one press conference, he’d undone months of work on my part. Not to mention the dozen or more staffers and volunteers who’d been clocking nearly as many hours.

“Was anyone shot?” I asked, realizing just how selfish I’d been, not checking the news, not finding out if anyone else caught a bullet meant for me.

“One man was grazed. One witness said a woman was bleeding, but no one knows who she was.”

“Did you happen to make a statement about them?” I asked.

“Why would I make a statement about them?”

Oh, because they were hurt when you were safely forty minutes away?

“Did you denounce political violence in all forms?” I asked, knowing by his silence that he hadn’t. He’d rather be made the victim, to rile up his support base.

Even though this literally wasn’t even about him.

I mean, it was, but only indirectly.

After a full day of thinking about it, my best conclusion was that someone had seen me leaving the office after Michael had already left. Then they’d, rightfully, assumed I had overheard the conversation.

“This is why you were supposed to be in the office!” Michael roared, mind likely racing about all the ways his press conference could be spun against him.

Really, it wouldn’t even take any spinning.

“I will be there first thing tomorrow morning. We will do damage control. Put out statements. Get you another interview, claim you were shaken up after the news of the shooting, and weren’t being as eloquent as usual.”

All the old standbys.

“You better fix this,” he warned.

The or else was silent.

But the threat of it wasn’t as upsetting as it would have been just a day or two ago.

It was hard to be worried about your professional future when your actual future existence was kind of hanging in the balance.

“I will get us back on message,” I said instead of claiming I would fix this. Especially when I didn’t know what he’d said, or how he’d said it.

“I won’t forget you leaving me when I needed you most,” he said before ending the call.

Politicians, especially spoiled ones who’d been in office, objectively, a little too long, all tended to be a little, well, childish. They blamed everyone else for their wrongdoings. Threw tantrums. I almost expected them to hold their breath until they went blue to get their way.

I stuck my new phone on the charger as I walked into my study to bring up the news conference, wincing my way through it, and jotting down notes on how we could fix it before sending out emails to the team.

It was easy to fall back into work, to let the rest of the world, and all my worries, fall to the background. Maybe it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, especially when I wanted to get my boss out of the race and in prison for his connections with human traffickers. But it helped me not to feel so overwhelmed.

If I stopped working for even ten minutes put together, the fear became a scarf around my throat, tightening and strangling with each passing second.

It was easier just to keep going, keep grinding, until my eyes were so heavy that it was impossible to keep going.

Done for the day, I took a comically short shower, jumping at every random sound from my neighbors or Kevin as he wandered around the apartment, wondering why we hadn’t gone to bed yet.

When I finally did climb into my bed, though, sleep was evasive. I lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering if maybe I should have grabbed one of the big chef’s knives in my kitchen, slipped it under my pillow, or grabbed a bat to keep beside me.

I tried to remind myself that I was as safe as I could possibly be in my apartment.

There was no other choice anyway. Even if I’d gone to the police and told them that I’d been involved in the shooting, that I was the one being targeted, what were they going to do? Wasn’t it always a running theme in movies that women who went to the police got, at most, a cruiser that went around their neighborhood or parked out front of their home? As if someone couldn’t come in between shifts or slip in through the back.

Aside from hiring a bulky bodyguard or something like that, I was on my own.

Eventually, I worried myself to a fitful night of sleep, waking up constantly because I’d turned onto my side and rubbed against my stitches.

When I woke up, I was groggy and paranoid, gaze constantly going to my door and the windows with the drapes pulled closed, a moody Kevin swatting at the material, mad that he couldn’t sun in the morning rays like he always did.

“Sorry, buddy. It’s just for a couple of days,” I told him, even if I had no actual idea how long this might go on for.

I ordered my ride-share, and didn’t go downstairs until I knew he was out front.

I tucked my obvious blonde hair up into a baseball cap, then I ran out the door and into the car, praying that no one could pick me off through the window like they did in movies.

In the end, though, I made it into work, where I kept myself safely surrounded by as many people as possible as we worked on the messaging we had to put out.

Then, around noon—because he didn’t have any actual assassination attempt to worry him—the senator strolled in.

It was time to try to get some information.

CHAPTER SIX

Elian

“I don’t like it,” Renzo said as we stood in the back room of the butcher shop that was now Rico’s legitimate business.

It ended up being a convenient choice, actually.

During the working hours, it created a lot of income that the family could use to wash their illegal money with.

After hours, there was a room in the back with a drain in the floor and decades of blood that had been spilled. So if we ever needed to spill some of our own, we had a nice, easy way of getting rid of the evidence.

Rico had set up an office toward the back where a lot of us went to have meetings with the boss or each other instead of relying on taking walks down the street like we used to.

Whether anyone would admit it or not, we were all getting really fucking paranoid about our safety. Because of the moves the Bratva was making, because we didn’t know just how far they were going to take this.

I mean, they’d tried to kill an innocent woman whose only crime had been being inside a building while a phone call had been made.

They didn’t even have any proof that she’d actually overheard it.

That was how paranoid and ruthless these bastards were.

“I don’t like it either,” I agreed. “But what other choice is there? It’s not like I could force her to stop going to her job, stop living her life.”

“From the sounds of things, she’s not going to have a life to live soon. They won’t miss a second time.”

“I know,” I agreed. They’d barely missed the first time. Hell, if my car hadn’t pulled into their path, I was sure pretty Elizabeth Riley would be dead right now.

“I get why she feels like she needs to go back and get dirt on her boss,” Renzo added, shrugging. “But the chances of him going down for this are slim. And the chances are even lower that any of the other Bratva members will ever get convicted. They caught that one fuck because of a random search.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“What are the chances that the senator can get the district attorney to drop charges?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t know enough about our DA to know if she is corruptible or not.”

“I think we know from experience that they almost all are, if the motivation is strong enough. If it’s not money for her, it will be the threats that the Bratva can use against her. She’s got a family. Two kids in college. Big risk right there. No way for her to protect them.”

“True,” I agreed.

“And the chances of this girl—“

“Elizabeth,” I interjected.

“Elizabeth,” Renzo said, brows pinching a bit, but he pressed on, “will be able to get enough proof to go to the police, have them build a case, and get anyone arrested before the Bratva finds those weaknesses and uses them against the DA, are almost nonexistent.”

“So what do you want to do?” I asked, finding myself thankful to have him make the decision, since I felt like all I was doing was floundering, following people who never did anything publicly that could get them arrested, who were never alone, so I couldn’t even start picking them off, chopping away at their numbers.

“Fuck if I know,” Renzo admitted, letting out a deep breath, looking as lost as I’d been feeling for months. “All I do know is these fucks took control of two of the street gangs that used to kick up to us. It won’t be long before it’s three, five, ten, until we are fucking outnumbered by them.”

“We could take out the street gangs,” I suggested. Ugly business, killing that many people, but there was nothing pretty when it came to a turf war. And they’d chosen sides against us.

“I got Rico looking into that,” he admitted, nodding his chin toward the man himself who was walking toward the back, bringing a tray of coffees with him.

“The gangs?” Rico asked, passing out the drinks.

I took a sip of the coffee, feeling an immediate and irrational disappointment that it didn’t taste like fucking cookies.

“Yeah.”

“My guys have been reporting back to me. Looks like we could easily take out the Lincolns. They haven’t been strong ever since someone clipped their leader.”

“Someone,” Renzo scoffed.

“Yeah, well, they’re too fucking stupid to realize it’s the goddamn Russians who did it. And now they’re kissing their boots.”

“Do you think the Bratva will retaliate?” I asked.

“Not if we make it seem like the Brook Boys did it,” Rico said, meaning the other gang that the Bratva had turned against us.

It was a common strategy in the playbook. Take out a few members of one crew, make it seem like a rival crew did it, and let them finish taking each other out while you sat back and watched.

Both of our gazes slid to the boss, who sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Do it. We can’t keep sitting around letting this shit happen. This won’t stop the Russians from coming for more of our turf, but at least it cuts the numbers down against us.”

“I’ll get it done,” Rico said, nodding. “Coal has been chomping at the bit for a job. You good with me taking him on it with me?” he asked.

Coal was a kid who’d originally been working against us. But when he’d been chained to a chair and tortured without breaking, Renzo had developed a grudging respect for the guy. And eventually offered him a job on his crew. He’d been relentlessly working to prove himself since.

“Yeah. He’s done a lot of fucking people up so far, but it’s probably time for him to make his bones,” Renzo said, nodding.

We all had to do it.

Make bones.

Take a life.

It was a rite of passage to eventually become a made man in the mafia.

Coal had been working as an associate for Renzo for a while now. But if he got ‘made,’ he’d be a soldier. And possibly on track to becoming a capo some day.

We’d all been Coal’s age or younger when we’d been made. Of course, back then, shit had been different. Renzo had been making a power grab to get control over the area after decades of shitty leadership that left the Lombardi crime family a laughingstock of the Five Families.

He, and by extension all of us capos, had needed to be hard and ruthless to get this borough to bow down to and respect us.

It was still a daily struggle, little crews deciding they didn’t want to kick up to us anymore. Or local businesses claiming they no longer wanted to pay for protection. But it was nothing like it’d been back then, the bodies practically piling up, blood always staining our hands and clothes.

I knew I spoke for all of us when I said I was glad those days were behind us. But with this threat of the Bratva getting bigger by the day, I couldn’t help but wonder how close we were to having that be our reality all over again.

If we couldn’t get this under control.

If I couldn’t get this under control.

But that wasn’t exactly comforting. Because if this was a move right out of the criminal playbook, then they had a copy too, they’d been studying it, they would know to look toward us as the ones who’d carried it out.

“Should we be worried?” I asked, thinking of my family, of my little sister the most. Not exactly little anymore. She was an adult. Just barely. But she was young and carefree. Because everyone in this area knew they better not put their hands on her.

But if the Bratva wanted to strike, they would know the best way to do it would be through those we loved the most. The wives, the children, the siblings who weren’t in the organization.

And because these fuckers were into sexual exploitation, it wasn’t a huge leap to assume that they would take our women and girls and force them into that fate.

My stomach twisted at the idea of any of those fucks putting a hand on her.

“You’re worried about your sister,” Renzo said, looking at me.

“You’re not worried about Lore?” I asked.

His face darkened at that, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. His marriage might have been a simple arrangement at first, but he’d clearly fallen hard for his wife since then. He’d almost lost her once. He’d be damned if he let that happen again.

“If I am worried about Lore, I can send her to her family,” he said, even though I knew it gutted his pride to say that.

The Costas, while an ally of ours now, weren’t exactly our friends. We’d spent our lives fighting against their reign, their determination to stay on top of all the families, and impose their rules on us.

The bitterness ran pretty deep.

But, at the end of the day, Renzo was right. If there was one safe place in the world for Lore to be if the war between us and the Russians got worse, it was back in Manhattan with the Costas, with those five brothers of hers who would move heaven and earth to keep her safe.

The thing was, none of the rest of us had that luxury. I had no one to cart my little sister off to. Hell, I don’t know if she would go even if I demanded it of her.

“Why don’t I put Cinna on your sister?” Renzo asked.

“As a bodyguard?” I asked, skeptical. Cinna was a capo. She didn’t work as a bodyguard.

“For the time being, yeah. She and Dav are on punishment for that shit they pulled still. She would probably welcome a distraction. Plus, if you get Cinna, you get Dav. And if you get them, you get those kids they got now. Lots of people around to keep an eye on your sister.”

“Okay,” I agreed, nodding. “She’s not going to like it, but okay.”

“We’ll figure out plans for the rest of the women too,” Rico said, gears already turning.

There was a reason Rico was Renzo’s right-hand man. Sure, Renzo had kept me close until recently, too. But it was different with Rico. Rico was a family man, through and through. He lived, slept, and breathed this shit. If you ever needed to know information about something, he was your guy. If you needed someone to help you strategize something, he was who you turned to.

Honestly, the only reason Rico wasn’t the boss himself was because he and Renzo were so close. And Renzo wanted it more.

“And then we will move,” Renzo agreed, nodding.

I nodded at that, still feeling that churning sensation in my gut, though.

“What do you want from me?” I asked Renzo as Rico walked out to go work on his plans.

“Stay on the Russians. Especially after we make this move. I need to know if there’s more activity, if anyone seems to be gearing up. That kind of thing.”

“Got it,” I agreed, making my way back outside to get in the car I felt like I’d been living in lately. The same car that now had a fucking hideous bumper sticker on the bullet hole from the shooting and new fake plates, in case the Russians clocked me.

I drove back toward the massage parlor, telling myself that there was nothing I could do for Elizabeth, that she had made her own decisions, that there was nothing for me to feel guilty about.

I just barely fought back the urge to go and sit outside of her office building, knowing I was practically putting a target on my back if I did so, but wanting to make sure she at least made it home from work safely.

If she needed my help, I reminded myself, she would ask for it.

But she didn’t.

Not the day after the shooting.

Or even the day after that.

But late on the third night, my phone rang.

And she was frantic on the other end.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elizabeth

I always found the senator frustrating.

Hell, that was probably being nice.

He drove me up a wall most of the time when he was in the office, spouting off his opinions and ideas that would get him nowhere because, well, they were not only antiquated—like the man himself—but they were getting crazier with each passing day.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep on my part—not to mention the debilitating fear I felt every waking moment—but I almost jumped down the man’s throat no fewer than ten separate times when he finally came into the office nearly toward the end of the workday on the third day after the shooting.

He was in rare form, ranting and raving about what he heard some daytime talk show say about him.

“It’s supposed to be about my politics,” he’d grumbled, throwing out an arm, and nearly slapping an intern across her face.

I’d caught a snippet of that show earlier, thanks to one of the staffers who always tried to keep us updated on what was being said about Michael.

Apparently, they’d made endless jokes about his line-less face, and his too-dark tan that made his too-white teeth look like Chiclets.

I actually had a little much needed laugh myself.

They were only expressing the very things we were all thinking.

I mean a few of the interns at one point had tried to come up with a plan to discuss the excessive tanning with the senator. In the end, though, no one had the balls to bring it up to him.

Which meant that Michael just kept doing what he was doing. And that made him fodder for the comedians and talk show hosts.

“Senator,” I said, trying for an authoritative, but calming voice, “how about we have a few minutes alone?” I suggested, and the staffers looked thankful as they gathered their things and scurried out of the room.

He started in again on the program, but I had just about enough of it, likely thanks to the telltale pressure I was feeling in my temples, leaving me to wonder if it was just going to be a headache, or if I had another all-night migraine ahead of me. So I needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Senator, how about you have a seat?” I suggested, waving toward the other side of the tufted leather couch I was seated on.

Normally, I attempted to stay as far away from the senator as possible.

What can I say? Sometimes—okay, a lot of times—men in power thought that any woman nearby was open game. I learned early on in my career to make sure I hurried right out of events as soon as all the official work was done.

I had no interest in getting felt up by a politician.

It wasn’t my goal to become one of these men’s mistresses or wife.

It didn’t help, in Michael’s case, that I looked alarmingly similar to his mistress. Same wavy blonde hair, same blue eyes, same general body type. The only real difference was she liked to pile on the glam, and I didn’t have time for my makeup to get all runny or smudged, so I went light on it.

The senator sighed as he wrestled his tie loose before dropping down on the couch.

“Why did you send everyone away?” he asked, and there was something slimy in the smile he shot in my direction.

“I need to talk about the more… sensitive matters involving your campaign,” I said, watching as he stiffened.

“Has Aaron caused more problems?” he asked, meaning his illegitimate son with the heavy cocaine addiction.

“Aaron is always… in touch,” I admitted. I’d given him my number early on, so he stopped calling the office, where other people might be willing to use that information against the senator.

To that, Michael shook his head, looking a little more human for a moment. “That was a mistake.”

“It might be smart never to call your son a mistake out loud. It’s not a good thing to get accustomed to saying, because it might slip out accidentally in the future.”

“He’s not my son,” Michael insisted, chin jutting out. “I have my boys already.”

He also had a daughter, but he never mentioned her. The two of them had a falling out twenty-some-odd years ago when she’d gone on a news program and begged everyone in Brooklyn to vote for anyone other than her father.

It was an incident that had fractured the family. He still didn’t speak to her. From what I understood, though, his wife was still very close with her daughter. She probably silently agreed with her daughter’s stance. But also liked the fact that her husband kept his Senate seat, because it meant he was busy most of the time, and left her the hell alone.

“Regardless, this isn’t about Aaron per se. I think it is just time we sat down and had a heart-to-heart about anything else you might want to tell me,” I said, closing my tablet, and placing my hands on it, folded over each other, looking welcoming.

“You want to know if I have any more dirty laundry.”

“We all do, Senator,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah? What kind of dirty laundry do you have, Beth?” he asked, and I wasn’t sure if he was actually being slimy, or if I was just taking it that way because I was tired and the headache was definitely taking a turn toward a migraine, judging by the way the sound of a phone ringing in the next office had me wincing.

“We’re not talking about me,” I said, lifting my chin, making my voice a little firmer. “I’m not running for a public office,” I reminded him.

“As unfortunate as it is, your private life is for public consumption. I need to know if there is anything else you have not told me yet. As you know, we are only a few months away from the election. This is the time when your political rivals will pull a card out of their sleeves to play. When there’s not enough time for me to fix it.”

He nodded at that, knowing how true it was. There were many times over the years he watched friends of his lose their seats because of random scandals.

“You know about Aaron. And my mistress…”

“I do,” I agreed, nodding, keeping my face impassive. You’ll find no judgment here. Even if I totally judged as much as the next person. If not more. Because someone on the inside saw all of the ugly things that no one else got to witness.

“Senator, I can’t protect you if I don’t know,” I told him, leaning forward again, using the little tips and tricks I learned in a psych class I took once, wanting to put him at ease.

“Well,” he said, making a steeple with his hands in this incredibly pretentious way I kept trying to tell him to stop doing.

Hope swelled, and I discreetly made sure my phone was recording. “I have sort of gotten myself involved with some—“ he started, but was cut off by a loud knock on the office door, making both of us jolt.

“What?” the senator barked.

The door opened, and one of the staffers was holding up a phone.

“It’s for you,” she said, looking sheepish. “Amber,” she said, making me close my eyes as I tapped off the recording app.

Damnit.

He was so close to saying it.

To ending this once and for all.

I could go to the cops.

They could… do whatever they needed to do.

And I could collect unemployment while I got a steady gig going for myself again.

All to have it thwarted by his very needy mistress.

“We’ll put a pin in this,” the senator said to me, tone pointed. Time for you to go.

I walked out of his office and into mine, grabbing some painkillers out of my drawer, and downing them with a fresh coffee one of the interns had brought me.

Then I sat in my office, just rubbing my temples as I tried to figure out if it would be possible to go back into his office later to talk to him.

That question was answered no more than ten minutes later, though, when Michael rushed past my office and into the elevator.

Off to see Amber, I was sure.

“Hey, Elizabeth, do you need anything else from me?” one of the staffers asked, popping her head in my door. She already looked like she’d done her makeup to head somewhere fun. Who the hell was I to stop her? We were standing on a sinking ship here. I might as well start cutting their hours.

“No, actually, can you tell everyone for me that it’s time to head out? Let’s call it an early night. We’ve been burning the candle at both ends,” I said, reaching for my phone to order a ride-share. I was going to power down my office, then walk out with the crowd.

There was safety in numbers.

And I still wasn’t convinced that someone wasn’t going to try to shoot me again.

“Another migraine?” she asked, wincing as she looked at me.

“It’s starting,” I agreed, powering off my computer, then making neat piles of my paperwork as she made her rounds.

Finally, as the crowd moved down the hall, I grabbed my purse and joined them, pushing myself into the center of them all, feeling a bit like a coward as the guilt swirled for putting them at risk.

But no shots rang out as everyone said their goodbyes, talking about their plans, as I threw myself into the ride-share and lowered down in my seat.

I didn’t remember the last time I left work before ten at night, but the sun was just setting as the car pulled up to my building.

“Early, Miss Riley,” Brian said, giving me his usual warm smile.

“Time for a little break,” I said, forcing a smile that I didn’t feel with the migraine starting to stab in my temples.

I felt like I breathed a sigh of relief as Brian closed the door behind me, feeling like I was out of harm’s way.

Until, of course, I was walking down the hall toward my apartment.

And saw my door cracked open. Not enough that anyone else would probably even notice. But knowing how paranoid I’d been the past few days, there was no way I would have walked away without the door being latched completely.

I mean, even on a normal day, I wouldn’t have been that careless. Kevin could have escaped.

Panic surged, the blood pumping hard, making my migraine reach a fever pitch, stabbing sensations into my temple and behind my eye.

I turned away from my apartment, fighting the desire to close my door before walking toward the elevator, mind on going downstairs to ask Brian if he would come and tour my apartment with me to make sure no one was around.

“Oh,” I said, jerking back when one of the apartment doors opened, and my neighbor moved out, dressed in basketball shorts and a moisture-wicking shirt, likely heading to the gym on the main level. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?” I said.

I didn’t technically know any of my neighbors. But I’d seen them in the laundry room and gym, or passed in the halls. We exchanged, you know, pleasantries. Nothing deeper.

Still, this was a man. A bigger one than Brian, even.

“What’s up?” he asked, not wanting to agree until he knew the details. I was pretty sure this particular neighbor was a lawyer.

“It’s just… my door is open,” I told him, waving back toward my apartment. “I was wondering if you could take a look around with me,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, straightening, shoulders squaring, chest puffing a bit. It was both sweet and a little bit funny how eager he was to be a hero. “Absolutely,” he agreed, closing his apartment door, then walking toward mine.

I followed behind, wincing at the lights in the hallway, even though they’d—thankfully—changed out the stark white LEDs for soft white ones.

“Stay behind me,” he demanded, all machismo as he reached to push open my door.

I was happy to follow his order, though, as we took a step inside my quiet apartment.

What struck me instantly was how much darker it was than it should be since I always left at least a few lights on for Kevin.

Sure, it was entirely possible that a bulb had blown out, but the way my hairs were standing on end said that it wasn’t that simple of an explanation.

I followed my neighbor as he walked into my living room.

It wasn’t until he walked into my bedroom ahead of me as I fell back, looking around for Kevin, that I was justified in my paranoia.

“Eliza—“ my neighbor started to yell, before there was a loud grunt, a slam, and a curse.

My heart tripped into overdrive as I took an automatic step back, the island in my kitchen jutting my back, preventing retreat, even as a form all in black came rushing out of the bedroom, coming right for me.

“No,” I cried out, hearing more curses in my bedroom.

He was still alive, at least. He could maybe still come to save me.

“We’re coming for you, bitch,” the man in the hoodie snarled before cocking back, and swinging.

The punch landed high on my cheekbone, the force behind it sending me flying to the side, crashing to the ground before I could even try to grab for the counter to slow my momentum.

I landed with a cry, my shoulder aching, as I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself from more strikes.

But they never came.

“Elizabeth,” my neighbor called, coming out of the bedroom.

I heard his footsteps near me, but he didn’t stop until he checked around, then closed and locked my door.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming up to me.

Unfurling from my ball, I sat back against my cabinets, reaching up to press a hand to my throbbing face.

“Yeah,” I said, looking up, seeing blood trickling from his nose. “Are you?” I asked.

“Nothing a little ice won’t fix. He was standing behind the fucking bathroom door,” he said, shaking his head. “Must have heard us coming in and panicked. We should call the police,” he said.

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” I said, shaking my head. “They won’t be able to do anything.”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted.

It was a sad fact in a city as populated as ours that the cops weren’t exactly going to go out of their way to try to track down a faceless burglar. It would probably be hours before anyone even showed up at my door to take a report.

“We should at least tell Brian and maybe put a note up on the board downstairs, so everyone is aware that someone who shouldn’t have been in the building broke into an apartment.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding, even if I was pretty sure I knew who was in my apartment, and that they likely weren’t a threat to anyone in the building but me. “That’s a good idea,” I added when he just kept staring at me. “Thanks for coming in with me,” I added. “Who knows what might have happened if you weren’t here.”

I had a feeling I did know.

And I wouldn’t be alive right now.

“Anytime,” he said, nodding. “Do you mind if I go and tell Brian?” he asked, eager to continue to be the hero.

“Please do,” I said, nodding.

“Do you need anything? Can I call someone for you?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” I said, pulling myself off the floor even if all I wanted to do was stay down there. “Really, thank you,” I said as I walked him to the door.

“Anytime,” he said, nodding.

As soon as he was into the hall, I closed the door and slid the locks before walking numbly into the kitchen, grabbing my purse off of the floor.

It was when I was placing it on the island that I saw it.

The edge of a white card that was stuck under a bowl of fruit.

Elian’s card.

I reached for it like a lifeline as I grabbed for my phone, then plugged it in before I could think better of it.

“Hello?” he answered, sounding distracted.

“You said to call if I ever need help. I, ah, I think I need help,” I admitted, sniffling as tears started to flood my eyes.

“Elizabeth? Is everything alright?” he asked, voice tight.

“Um, yes. But also, no,” I admitted, reaching up to wipe some tears off of my cheek as my body started to tremble as the adrenaline continued to move through me with nowhere for it to go.

“What happened?” he asked, and I could hear the beep as his car turned over.

“My door was open when I got home, and there was someone in here,” I told him, my hand going to my face, fingers and palm pushing into my eye that felt like someone was driving an icepick through it and into my skull.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. My neighbor came in to check it out with me. I don’t know if I’d be okay if he hadn’t,” I admitted. “He got a bloody nose…”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, making some sort of driving maneuver that had a chorus of horns objecting.

“He punched me,” I told him. Then, “I’m okay.” Though, it didn’t feel that way.

I could handle this situation when the only place I thought I was truly unsafe was on the street. But now that my own apartment was compromised, I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to function.

There was no way I could sleep, that was for sure.

“I’m on my way,” Elian said.

“He’s gone,” I told him, suddenly realizing there was nothing this man could do. So why the hell was I even bothering him? “There’s nothing you can—“

“I’m on my way. Tell your doorman to let me up,” he told me, then ended the call before I could object again.

I called downstairs, having to try twice—likely because Brian was talking to my neighbor—before I got him on the line, then explained to let Elian Lombardi up for me before unlocking my door.

I was halfway back to my kitchen, ready to grab an icepack for my cheekbone and my rescue medicine, when the nausea came on hard and fast, leaving me no choice but to run into the bathroom and retch.

I was still sitting on my bathroom floor, rocking in pain, when I heard footsteps making their way through my apartment.

If this was how I died, so be it.

I couldn’t muster any motivation to try to get up and run for my life.

“Elizabeth…” Elian’s voice said, tone soft. “Oh, baby,” he added at my pathetic whimper.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Elian

I knew they weren’t going to just let it drop. Not after something as serious as an actual public shooting.

Some part of me hadn’t been able to sleep at night, wondering if I was going to see her face on the news, if they were going to say she was a victim of some tragic, senseless shooting.

I was actually fucking relieved to hear her panicked voice on the other end of the phone because at least it meant she was still alive.

Even if someone was still actively coming for her.

The doorman was busy talking to a group of residents, telling them about the break-in, so all he did was spare me a nod as I told him my name.

I felt a surge of concern when she didn’t answer her door, and then the knob turned in my hand. I moved inside, that feeling of unease growing as I walked into an empty space.

It wasn’t until I moved into her bedroom that I heard it, a low whimpering sound coming from the attached bathroom.

That was where I found her, knees to her chest, arms around her legs, and rocking in pain next to the toilet.

A migraine, it seemed like.

As if she didn’t have a bad enough night already.

“What can I do?” I asked. “Do you want some meds?” I asked.

The balls of her hands pressed into her eyes as she nodded at me.

“Over the counter or prescription?” I asked.

“Script,” she said, voice small.

I rushed back out to the kitchen, going into her cabinet to find two different prescription meds. Not really knowing the names, I brought both of them back with me and a bottle of water.

She reached for them frantically, uncovering her face for the first time, and letting me see the bruise blooming across her cheek.

I wasn’t aware that a growl had escaped me until her head whipped up, her eyes tiny with her pain as she squinted at me, unsure why I was making that sound.

“He hit you?” I asked.

She dropped one of the bottles into her lap, using both her hands to open the one she wanted, shaking a pill into her hand, then throwing it into her mouth with a sip of water.

“I’m okay,” she said, pressing her hands into her eyes again.

She was anything but okay, but she wasn’t exactly in a place where I should impress upon her just how bad this was that they were in her place waiting for her.

“Can I get you anything else?” I asked. “Cold compress? Those pain strips?”

“Coffee?” she asked, back to rocking.

“I can do that,” I agreed, even if I was dubious about her fancy machine. I made my way back out, figuring out the buttons, then getting some espresso dripping.

I didn’t imagine she’d want cookie syrup when she was being sick, so I opted to just put a little sugar and milk into it instead, then brought it back to her.

She cradled it between her hands, taking short sips here and there, likely not wanting to throw it—and her rescue medicine—up.

Feeling useless, I moved behind her, sitting off the edge of the tub, and reaching out toward her shoulders, gently rubbing at the tension in her neck and shoulders, figuring that couldn’t be helping anything.

Slowly, she stopped rocking, her breathing going a little less frantic.

“How about you go try to get a little sleep?” I asked, fingers going to her scalp, rubbing light circles. “See if that takes it the rest of the way away?”

“I can’t—“

“I’ll stay,” I assured her. “Trust me, baby, no one is getting past me to get to you.”

That seemed to mollify her, and she let me help her up and lead her to her bed, where I pulled the covers up around her in the dark.

“Wait!” she said, shooting up, then wincing hard as the movement seemed to make pain slice into her brain.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Kevin,” she said, eyes going panicked.

“Your cat?” I asked.

“The door was open…”

“I will find Kevin,” I told her. “Just rest. I’ll find him,” I assured her. I didn’t care if I had to bring my fucking crew off their jobs to look for him, I’d find the cat.

“Okay,” she agreed, rolling onto her back and pressing her arm hard against her forehead.

I closed her bedroom door most of the way, then made my way around her apartment, flicking on lights, and looking around for the cat.

He wasn’t on any of his tree stands or beds.

I made my way into her spare room that was set up as an office. It looked like Elizabeth was some sort of art fanatic, judging by the dozens of canvases she had leaning against the walls.

Kevin was nowhere to be found in there either, though.

Concern growing, I moved toward the door, unlocking it, and looking out into the hall. But he was nowhere to be seen.

I found it hard to believe that he would have been able to find his way into the elevator or the stairwell, so I made my way back into the apartment.

I was about to lose hope when I pressed open her bedroom again to check on her, and found a mound of black fur curled up by her feet.

I took myself back out to her living room, noticing the new drapes that she had pulled closed, the alarmed door stopper right next to the door, and the little can of pepper spray now attached to her purse.

She was being careful.

But being careful wasn’t going to be good enough when you were up against a criminal organization who wanted you hurt or dead.

I sat there, trying to figure out how to break the news to her that I knew I needed to.

She couldn’t stay here.

At the very least, she had to leave this apartment. Though, ideally, she would leave Brooklyn. Hell, even the city as a whole.

She said she didn’t have any family or friends here. It wouldn’t be a huge hardship for her to leave.

Sure, it would cost money, but she seemed like she was doing okay for herself. Better to spend a few grand to take herself across the country and out of the reach of the Bratva. There were plenty of other big cities for her to live in.

I had a whole speech worked out in my head by the time I saw her door inch open an hour and a half later.

She looked like hell.

The migraine had left her eyelids puffy like she’d been crying for hours, and that bruise on her face had spread and darkened into shades of maroon and violet.

“Hey,” she said, voice small.

“Hey. How’s your head?”

“Tolerable,” she said, giving me a small smile as she moved over to sit in one of the chairs. “Thanks for staying,” she said. “And finding Kevin.”

“Kevin found you,” I told her. “I think he was probably hiding under your bed until you climbed into it.”

“That makes sense. That’s where he was most of the day when I first moved him in here. How’s this looking?” she asked, reaching up to gently probe the bruise on her cheek, wincing at the pain she caused.

“It’s gotten a lot darker.”

“I guess I have some research to do on what kind of makeup will cover it up before work tomorrow.”

“Elizabeth, you can’t go to work tomorrow.”

“I have to.”

“No, you need to leave.”

“Leave work?”

“No. Yes. Work. This apartment. Brooklyn. You need to leave.”

“I can’t just… leave. My whole life is here,” she insisted, posture going rigid.

She was going to dig her heels in about this.

“Why not? You don’t like your boss.”

“No,” she admitted. “But if I just leave, he gets to get away with what he’s doing. And so do they.”

“It’s not your responsibility to make these people pay for what they’re doing.”

“If not me, who?” she asked, gaze hard. “No one else knows what I know. No one has access to the senator like I do. He almost told me tonight. If we didn’t get interrupted, I know he was going to talk to be about it. And I had my phone recording. It was almost a done deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong here. This is never going to be a done deal. No matter how solid your evidence is against your boss, that isn’t going to stop the Bratva.”

“But if Michael decides to tell the police about the Bratva—“

“He will almost guarantee the murder of everyone he loves,” I cut her off, watching her deflate. “He knows the risks he has taken with getting involved with these fucks. So he will either lie, or won’t say anything to the police.”

“But…” she started, but couldn’t find anything else to say.

“Trust me here. I know more about this than you do,” I said.

“Right,” she agreed, gaze going down. “But… I can’t let him get away with this. Even if I do have to leave after I turn him in. I have to do something. Everyone needs to know. He can’t get away with it and get reelected, making decisions on laws that will make it easier for these monsters to keep doing what they are doing.”

You could make a solid, persuasive argument against a lot of things. But they rarely worked against someone’s moral beliefs.

She wasn’t going to hear sense about this. She wanted to take her boss down. She thought it was worth the risk.

“You’re not safe here,” I told her, waving out at her apartment. “Even with your neighbors and the doorman alerted, if they got in once, they will get in again.”

“How did they get in?”

“Lots of ways these days with so many people getting things delivered. Or the right uniform will often get you in the front door of most buildings. And when all else fails, almost any building can be broken into.”

“I could go to a hotel,” she said, willing to give in on this, at least. “But that feels even more risky,” she said. “Anyone can walk into a hotel. And I’ve seen horror stories about how easy it is to break into hotel rooms.”

“That’s not wrong,” I agreed. A lot more crime happened in hotels than people realized.

“I could—“ she started at the same time something completely fucking unexpected escaped my lips.

“You could come stay with me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Elizabeth

Some part of me was begging me to take Elian’s advice, to pack everything valuable, stick it in a moving van, and just… drive somewhere.

Objectively, there were better places than Brooklyn to work on political campaigns.

Washington D.C. was the most obvious choice.

The thing was, it wasn’t like I was super passionate about politics. I’d kind of stumbled into campaign management when I’d been looking for jobs with good benefits. I’d been working since college on marketing and public relations jobs, but doing it all freelance. So I’d been paying for my own insurance. And, yeah, that got expensive as hell.

But I didn’t care about the game of politics. The parties and their platforms. Because the more you worked inside of politics, the more you knew that these people would say whatever they needed to say to secure a vote, even if they didn’t believe it, or intend to make good on it.

And, sure, that was all of public relations and marketing. Getting people to believe something, to buy into, or buy, something.

It just felt a lot more slimy when it came to public servants who were supposed to represent the people who voted for them.

I didn’t imagine I was going to manage another campaign again once I was done with this job.

Which meant I could literally move anywhere. There were big cities in so many different states, each having different vibes to offer.

And I had no connections here.

But the other voice in my head, growing louder with each passing moment, knew I couldn’t give up. Not yet. Michael couldn’t get away with this. He had to face justice.

I was the only one who could make that happen.

I could leave after.

“I could—“ I started.

But Elian cut me off.

“You could come stay with me.”

“What?” I asked, sure I misheard him.

He almost looked as surprised as I did for a second before, suddenly, he was nodding. “Yeah. You could come stay with me. I have room. You will be safe there. You could continue to go to work, so long as you leave before you’re alone in the office, and then come back to my place until you get the recording you need. Then… you can decide from there what to do.”

“I couldn’t ask—“

“You’re not asking,” he cut me off. “I’m offering. I understand you don’t exactly know me, either. And I know this might sound cocky as fuck, but I’m probably the only person who could keep you safe right now if you’re insisting on staying in Brooklyn.”

He was right, I didn’t know him.

Save for knowing he was a literal member of the Italian mafia.

But he’d saved me, a complete stranger, from being gunned down on the sidewalk. He’d taken me to get medical care. He’d come running when I called upset about the break-in.

Maybe, objectively, this man was closer to these Bratva guys than he was to a normal person like me. But wasn’t that what made him the right kind of guy to protect me? At least for a day or two? Hopefully that was all I needed to be able to get the recording and turn it over to the proper authorities. And maybe some news stations, just to keep the police accountable as well.

Was it taking a risk to trust a stranger? Yes. But it was just as risky to stay here, wasn’t it?

“Kevin…” I said.

“Can come,” he said, nodding. “You can even bring that hideous tower if you want,” he said, making my lips curve up for the first time in what felt like days as we both turned to look at the stand in question where Kevin was sitting licking his paws.

“It will only be for a day or two,” I insisted.

“It can be as long as it needs to be,” he said, shrugging. “So pack heavier than you hope you’re going to need, just in case. Is there anything you want me to get together?”

“Would it be insane of me to ask you to bring the espresso maker?” I asked, glancing over at it. I wasn’t sure I could motivate myself to go into the office without my usual morning treat.

“Probably,” he agreed, eyes bright. “But I’ll grab it while you get everything else ready. Do you want the tree stand?”

“It’s his favorite thing in the world,” I said, tone apologetic.

“Then we’ll bring it. Go get packed.”

With that, I did, rushing into my closet to grab my biggest rolling suitcase, a duffle bag, and a weekender, then throwing a bunch of clothes in before going to get necessary things from my bathroom.

I even stopped to grab my fireproof bag full of my essential documents and tucked that in as well. Just in case someone came back into my apartment while I was gone and took my things.

Finally, I made my way out to the kitchen to find that Elian had located one of the delivery boxes I hadn’t broken down, and had stuffed my espresso machine, my beans, and my syrup into it.

I rushed around to grab a bunch of things for Kevin—food, bowls, and one of his beds—before locating his soft carrier and wrangling the unhappy cat into it.

“Your meds,” Elian reminded me, gesturing toward the cabinet where I kept them.

“Right,” I agreed, emptying them into my purse.

“We’re going to need to do several trips,” I said, looking at all the stuff I’d accumulated.

“No. We’re gonna do this in one,” he said, starting to grab my duffle and weekender bags, throwing them up his shoulders, then walking over to grab the tree stand with one hand and then coming back for the box with the other.

“Oh, I forgot his litter box.”

“Is it a special one?” he asked.

“Ah, no…”

“Then we’ll just grab a new one as soon as you’re safe at my place,” he said.

I didn’t want to argue with that logic, so I grabbed my purse, my rolling suitcase, and Kevin’s carrier, and we were heading out.

My heartbeat was hammering in my chest as we rode down to the lobby, sure some men all in black would come charging out of the shadows or around the corner and shoot me.

In the end, though, it was an uneventful trip into the lobby where he instructed me to stand with the group of concerned neighbors who wanted to ask about my ordeal while he stuffed everything into the car.

And then, finally, he was shuffling me into the car, positioning his body in such a way as to try to block me from view.

“Slump down into the seat until we’re moving,” he told me as he tried to turn out into traffic.

It was a surprisingly short drive from my apartment building to his. He lived in a smaller building than mine. Older. With a classic limestone exterior, complete with ornate details that made me a little envious.

“He’s not a fan of that thing, huh?” Elian asked as we climbed out of the car as Kevin hissed and shrieked as I accidentally jostled him around.

“I think the only time he was ever in a carrier when my grandfather had him was to take him to the vet. He’s making his objections to getting his temperature taken known,” I told him.

The lobby of Elian’s apartment building was a lot less assuming than mine was, but I figured that had a lot to do with the fact that it was a much older building.

We rode up silently, save for Kevin’s incessant shrieking, to the top floor, then exited into a hallway that bisected through the two apartments that took up the entire floor.

“Wow,” I said, looking between the two. “Only one neighbor.”

“No neighbor,” Elian said, shaking his head. “When that went up, I bought it too,” he said, waving to the door opposite of where he was sticking a key in a lock.

I think I was gaping at that when he turned because he gave me a little smile. “I want a family one day,” he explained. “I’m gonna need the space. And I like this building. It seemed like a no-brainer.”

I wouldn’t pretend to know everything about real estate prices in this area, but given the neighborhood and the sizes of these condos, he had to have spent at least a couple million to own both of them.

“I figure I can hire someone to connect the condos when the time comes,” he told me as he pushed open his door, and reached inside to flick on a light. “Let that poor guy out before he has a stroke,” he said when I stood there in the hallway, still a little in shock over the idea of him having millions on hand to spend.

I moved in the door.

And went ahead and did some more gaping.

I guess some part of me was expecting more of the usual hyper-modern, all white and marble everything. It was the design of every apartment I’d checked out when I’d been ready to move into my own place after college.

And while a part of me had really grown to like the clean, bright feel of it since moving in, I had to admit that Elian’s place had a little more, I don’t know, charm.

The gray lime wash walls, wooden kitchen cabinets and floors, and concrete countertops seemed like they should feel cold and industrial, but it somehow managed to feel welcoming and warm.

There were floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall that must have let a lot of gorgeous light in during the day.

Elian’s decor was almost nonexistent, save for the charcoal gray sectional, a wooden console table under a large TV, and a dining room table that felt almost comically large for a condo in Brooklyn.

“I have my family over on occasion,” Elian explained, catching me looking at it. “And I plan to have a wife and kids one day.”

I had to admit it was kind of refreshing to hear a man talk so openly about wanting a wife and family one day. While I still had a few years of plugging away at my career ahead of me, I liked the idea of having a family myself. Though maybe not as many kids as it seemed like Elian was looking forward to.

I put Kevin up on the island, unzipping the bag, and waiting for him to peek his head out, dubious about his surroundings. Then, spotting his tree stand, he was off.

“I’ll show you to your room, then go grab the box and litter for Kevin,” he said, leading me through the living room and into the hallway that featured two bedrooms and a hall bath.

If I thought my bedroom was reasonably roomy, given the average square space of apartments in Brooklyn, then this guest bedroom was absolutely massive.

The same warm wooden floors carried on into the bedroom, but the walls were painted a cream color. The bed was queen-sized and covered in a linen cream and white striped comforter.

“Do you want me to move Kevin’s tree in here, or do you think he’d rather have it in the living room?” Elian asked, placing my luggage near the closet.

“I think it might be best to leave it where it is, since he’s used to it being in the living room. Unless you’d rather I keep it in here. I know it’s hideous.”

“Living room it is,” he said. “I’m gonna pick up some dinner before I head back too. Any restrictions?” he asked.

“You don’t need to feed—“ I started to object, getting a raised brow out of him, and changing tack. “No, I like just about everything. Thanks.”

With that, he was heading out, and I was left to hang up my clothes so they didn’t wrinkle before heading out to the kitchen to set up my espresso machine and Kevin’s bowls.

He seemed happy at the change of venue, walking around the back of the sectional until he found his new favorite spot, and sat down to clean himself.

“Nice digs, right, bud?” I asked, taking a deep breath as I looked around, feeling the way tension was slowly seeping out of my body at finally feeling safe.

The exhale ended on a laugh, though, as I realized the one place in Brooklyn I felt safe… was in the home of a member of the Italian mafia.

It was right about then that there was the click of a key in the lock, making me move out of the kitchen.

“Did you forget—“ I started, then trailed off when two women were moving into the apartment.

“Elian,” the first one called out, a short, slight woman with dark hair pulled into a French braid, and big-golden brown eyes in her young, pretty face.

“Who are you?” the second woman asked. She was taller with a lot more presence, looking fierce and strong in jeans and a black tank top, her sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Oh,” the first woman said, golden eyes going wide as she looked at me. “Hi,” she said, seeming to shrink into herself in the presence of a stranger.

“Hi. Um, I’m Elizabeth,” I explained. “I’m a friend of Elian’s,” I said, not knowing how else to describe what I was.

“A friend?” the taller woman asked, tone dubious before her keen gaze landed on the bruise on my face. “What the fuck is that?” she asked, moving away from the younger woman toward me, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she approached. “Did Elian—“

“My brother would never hit a woman,” the younger one insisted, outraged on behalf of her brother.

“Elian didn’t hit me,” I was quick to explain, wanting to defend him too. The man had been nothing but good to me in the short time I’d known him. “He’s… trying to protect me from the people who did,” I added.

“No shit,” the taller woman said. “You’re the one who got shot,” she said, gaze going to my arm.

“I, ah, yeah,” I agreed.

“Is she the reason I have to have a bodyguard?” the younger woman asked.

“No,” the taller one was quick to say. “But I think she’s proof of why you need me, don’t you?” she asked, waving again at my face.

“That bad, huh?” I asked, not having seen it since right after it happened.

“It’s not pretty,” the tall one said. “I’m Cinna, by the way. This one’s bodyguard for the time being,” she said, waving at the younger one.

“And you’re Elian’s sister?” I asked, not seeing much of a resemblance save for the dark hair and golden eyes.

“Islah,” she said, giving me a small smile.

“Is Elian here?” Cinna asked, glancing around.

“He ran out to get a litter box,” I said, waving over toward Kevin.

“Oh, hey!” Islah said, immediately melting as she went over toward Kevin, kneeling on the couch to pet his silky black fur.

“How strong of coffee does that thing make?” Cinna asked, waving to the espresso machine.”

“About as dark as you can handle,” I said.

“Make me a cup?” she asked, looking tired.

“Sure,” I agreed, looking through the cabinets to find mugs, then getting to work on that. “So, you’re a bodyguard?” I asked, turning back to find her leaning against the counter watching me.

“I’m a capo. Same as Elian,” she explained.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t think…”

“That women could be capos?” she finished for me. “They can’t in any of the other families. This one is progressive like that. I’m playing bodyguard because of the Bratva. Elian is protective over his baby sister. And she’s not very comfortable around men, so she’s stuck with me for the time being.”

“They seem busy, huh?” I asked, loading up the machine for another shot. “The Bratva,” I clarified.

“They’re making big moves, that’s for sure,” she agreed. “What happened to your face? That looks fresh.”

“Someone was in my apartment when I came home tonight,” I told her.

“And you called Elian,” she said, shaking her head. “Should I be planning on a spring wedding?” she asked.

“Wedding? No. No, it’s not like that. He’s just… being nice.”

“Sure, sure,” Cinna agreed, a strange smile tugging at her lips that I didn’t understand, and didn’t know her well enough to interpret.

I finished making her coffee and handed it over before asking if Islah wanted one too.

“Tea, please,” she said sweetly as Kevin climbed up on her lap, then onto her chest, nuzzling his face against hers.

“Ah, tea,” I said, looking around at the cabinets.

“He has it somewhere,” Cinna said. “He dotes on Islah, so anything she likes has to be in stock somewhere.”

Cinna was right about that. I found a kettle in the cabinet and tea in a cupboard, then got to work making cups for the both of us.

I was a coffee girl through and through, but I figured that tea would be a lot more soothing after the day I’d had.

Islah and I made small talk about Kevin until fifteen or so minutes later, I heard the rustle of bags in the hallway before the door pushed open.

“I got… oh,” he said, gaze landing on his sister, then Cinna, before they found me.

“You have company,” I declared, cradling my hot mug as he put down the box of litter and moved further into the apartment.

“Your sweet little sister wanted to come here to chew you out for sticking me on her watchdog duty,” Cinna explained. “We didn’t know you had a… guest.”

Again, there was something strange in Cinna’s tone and face as she said that, and the way Elian glared at her told me he heard and saw it too, but I felt out of the loop about it.

“Islah, you gotta work with me here,” he said as he brought the bag of food over to the counter and set it down. “It’s for your protection. And I’m sure Cinna isn’t getting in your way. The other option is for you to get out of Brooklyn for a while,” he said, seeming to know he was going to strike a nerve because his lips were twitching.

“It’s fine,” Islah said, jumping up, not even bothering to try to swipe the cat hair off of her shirt. “We should get going, though. Thanks for the tea, Elizabeth.”

“I feel another tour around a bookstore in my immediate future,” Cinna said, exhaling a bit, then downing the rest of her coffee. “Nice to meet you,” she said, then shot a strange smile at Elian before following Islah out.

“I can’t imagine your sister chewing you out.”

“She’s shy around strangers, but has no problem… asserting herself around family,” he told me, fishing plates out of the cabinets, and setting our meals on top of them.

The conversation over dinner was light, mostly involving talk about his family and Cinna. Who, apparently, was now involved with a fellow capo, and while everyone supported it, Elian admitted it still felt strange to see them together after so many years.

Then, after cleaning up, and setting up Kevin’s litter box, we both went to our separate rooms. Where I fell almost immediately asleep, lulled by the feeling of safety I hadn’t known in several nights.

Everything was fine.

Going to plan.

Until the next morning while running across the hall in only a towel because I’d forgotten my clothes, I slammed right into an equally undressed Elian.

CHAPTER TEN

Elian

I didn’t remember the last time I had a woman in my space.

And, actually, I wasn’t sure I’d ever had one in this condo.

So I was kind of running on autopilot as I made my way out of my room the morning after I brought Elizabeth home with me, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sleep pants.

If I’d remembered I’d had company, I would have put on a shirt.

And if Elizabeth had realized she might, quite literally, run into me in the hall, she likely would have been wearing more than a towel.

“Oh,” she exhaled at the impact. My hands went up automatically to steady her. Only to find my hands meeting her completely bare back. “Don’t,” she squeaked, hands grabbing my waist and keeping me from stepping back. “We, ah, we seem to have a problem here,” she admitted.

It was right then that I felt it.

The brush of her bare skin against me, hot still from the shower.

There was nothing between us.

The collision had undone the tuck of her towel.

That I now felt on top of my feet, damp and warm from her body.

She shifted slightly, and I felt the brush of her breast on my chest. She felt it too, judging by the way she sucked in her breath, her posture going rigid.

Desire sucker-punched my system as I stood there, trying to recite fucking state capitals, so my cock didn’t start to get ideas about backing her up against the wall and sealing my lips over hers as my hands started to drift, to explore…

Fuck.

No.

Her fingers still situated on my waist damn sure weren’t helping the matter either because I couldn’t help but think about them shifting down a bit and over, of rubbing over my cock that was getting hard despite my efforts to keep my mind on other things.

“How about I close my eyes?” I asked, watching as she angled her head up to look at me.

And, damn, if it wasn’t desire I saw reflected back at me.

That… complicated things.

Especially since she was going to be living in my place for the time being.

“Okay,” she agreed, voice huskier with her desire, and I really, really could have gone without knowing how she sounded when she was turned on. Because now all I could imagine was her calling out my name in that same thick voice.

I forced my eyes closed even if that was the last thing I wanted right then.

The problem was, Elizabeth didn’t take a step back before bending down, and her shoulder ran down my body as she lowered to the floor to retrieve her towel.

Her sharp intake of breath was all the proof I needed that she’d been very aware of her arm brushing over my hard cock as she leaned down.

She said nothing, though, as she stepped back to wrap herself up again. And I didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“Okay,” she said when she was done, but she was already walking away, closing herself behind the door of her room.

“Fuck,” I sighed, leaning back against the wall in the hallway for a second before deciding that coffee was going to have to wait as I turned back into my bedroom, then walked into the en suite bathroom, closing the door, stripping down, and stepping into the shower.

I wanted to shock the desire out of my system with the splash of cold water, knowing it would only be worse if I fed into it. But I couldn’t seem to stop my hand from sliding down, from grabbing my cock and starting to stroke to thoughts of her.

What can I say?

It had probably been too long since I’d gotten laid.

There was no denying that much repressed desire.

It probably didn’t even have anything to do with Elizabeth personally.

Though, even as I tried to convince myself of that, it was absolutely her face I was seeing in my mind, lowering down to her knees, her pretty blue eyes focused on me as her hand wrapped around my cock, then dipping her head to suck me into her mouth.

I came hard to the idea of her working me with her mouth, but somehow felt just as frustrated as before I’d gone into the shower as when I made my way out, getting myself dressed before I went out to the kitchen to find she’d already made me a coffee.

“You seemed to like it the last time,” she said with a shy little smile that told me she absolutely hadn’t missed my reaction to our little run-in before.

“I did, thanks. My boss’s wife got me into frozen coffees a while back. But I think this might be even better,” I told her. “Are you hungry?” I asked as I took a sip, knowing it was way too sweet of a drink first thing in the morning, but enjoying the fuck out of it regardless.

“I don’t have time to order anything,” she said, checking her phone that she had sitting on the island.

“I was going to make something,” I said.

“You cook?” she asked, brows shooting up.

“You don’t?”

“Well, I can… no,” she admitted with a head shake. “My mom absolutely hated cooking. I think the only time we had actual home-cooked meals growing up was on holidays when someone else was actually cooking,” she told me. “My mom was the queen of the microwave and frozen dinners. I guess I just… never really learned.

“Then in college, it was all about what was cheap. I think I existed wholly on—and developed very strong feelings about—ramen, bananas, and peanut butter sandwiches for four years.

“And ever since then, I just haven’t had the time to learn. I will sometimes have like yogurt or instant oatmeal in the morning. But every other meal is usually ordered in. Did your mom cook?”

“My mom, my aunts, even some of my uncles. My family is big on food,” I explained. “My ma said it was a life skill, and boys need to learn that shit just as much as the girls do. So I learned young. Can I make you something?”

“I mean, if you’re offering, I’m not going to turn you down,” she said with an eager smile.

Knowing she was short on time, I got to work on simple omelets with cheese, some spinach, and bacon. I felt the almost overwhelming urge to make an entire fucking spread, to impress her, but I tamped that down, knowing it was only going to feed into the growing interest I clearly had in a woman who was only going to be a transient part of my life.

The moan she made as she had her first bite, though, had me wanting to say Fuck it to my convictions not to let things get physical.

“Good?” I asked, watching her cut off another bite and shove it in her mouth.

“I know you have a job and everything, but I think you missed your calling as a chef,” she told me.

“You like this, you’re gonna love an actual full meal,” I said, starting to eat my own food even if my appetite was for something else entirely. “If you give me a roundabout time you might be home, I can make dinner.”

“You don’t have—“ she started.

“I want to,” I cut her off.

“I’ve been trying not to stay too late anymore,” she admitted. “I leave when the interns and staff head out. Maybe… eight?” she said.

“I can do eight. You’ll take a ride share back and forth, right?” I asked, wishing I could offer to drive her. But the only thing worse than her being on her own was her being seen with me again, letting the Bratva think we had some sort of plant inside the senator’s world.

If we wanted a full-scale war, that would be a good way to go about getting it.

It might come to that regardless. But I was sure Renzo wanted us to pick off their new allies and cut down their numbers before we actually had to face off with the fucks.

The longer I could keep Elizabeth’s presence in my life a secret, the better.

“Yeah. Is that okay?” she asked, plowing through her omelet like she’d been starved for weeks.

“Yeah. I am just going to suggest that you have him drive you around a little bit first, just to make sure you’re not being followed here.”

“Oh,” she said, face falling. When the light hit her just right, I could still see the shadow of her bruise. But I was pretty sure that if someone didn’t know it was there, they wouldn’t be able to tell. “You think they’ll follow me?”

“I’m hoping not.”

“What if I do see someone following me?”

“Call me,” I told her.

“But…”

“Let’s not create worries that might never come to pass, okay? I’ll follow the enforcers today. They’re the ones who shot at you, and who likely broke into your place. If they aren’t anywhere near your work, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding.

“I will text you if they are there, so you know not to come out, or to come out in a crowd, and then I will give you instructions from there.”

“You’re good at this,” she said, exhaling hard and rolling the tension out of her shoulders.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told her. “I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe,” I assured her. “Hopefully, you can get your boss to confide in you tonight, though. In which case, you can just quit going there and can just hang here where we know you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding, but looking a little sad.

“Hey,” I said, waiting until those blue eyes of hers lifted to look at me. “I’m not trying to rush you along. Even if you get the recording and give it to the police or the press, you are free to stay here as long as it takes for you to figure out your next move.”

“You don’t think the police are going to take down the Bratva, do you?” she asked.

“No,” I told her. “I’m not trying to be a pessimist here, it’s just the reality. Big organized criminal empires don’t fold overnight because of one scandal. The man your boss is trying to get off his charges was a high-ranking member of this family. They’re getting on just fine without him.

“Not even when the law got all high-and-mighty in the eighties, using RICO to bring down the mob, did the whole thing just crash. It went through growing pains for a while, sure, but it never went anywhere. The same can be said of the Bratva.”

“So I will never be safe in Brooklyn again,” she said, eyes sad.

“Hey, I’m never going to say never here. Who knows what could happen?” I asked, thinking of gunning all the fucks down myself just so she could walk free without fear again. But that was some crazy shit, so I shoved those thoughts right down.

“Yeah,” she agreed, finishing her food, and reaching for her coffee. “It’s probably best to just focus on the next step right now. Which is getting Michael to confide in me. And on that note,” she said, checking her phone, “I really need to order my ride and get going.”

She did that, feeding and loving on Kevin—the lucky fuck—before rushing out to meet her driver.

I went out with her, fighting the urge to follow her to work, knowing that anything that connected the two of us was going to mean trouble.

“El,” a voice called, making me turn to see Renzo walking toward me, brows raised, keen eyes saying he’d just seen Elizabeth take off. “You got something you want to talk to me about?”

Shit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Elizabeth

I was in the back of the car at two after eight.

I’d let everyone leave early again.

Michael hadn’t deigned to show up to work at all, so I figured why the hell should we all waste our time? Especially when my plan was for him not to win his reelection. On the account of him being impeached and awaiting criminal charges.

I felt guilty making everyone pull a normal workday knowing what I knew. But, then again, we were all getting paid for our time, so I guess it didn’t matter. The only people I truly felt bad for were the idealistic interns who actually believed Michael’s campaign promises. Though, if they worked side-by-side with him and heard all the things we all did every day and still believed him, the real problem was their gullibility.

My head was on a swivel in the backseat, looking for any cars that might be following me as I gave the driver the wrong directions twice in an attempt to shake a tail even if I did have one.

In the end, though, there was no one following us when we finally pulled onto Elian’s street, and it felt good to climb out casually instead of making a mad dash for the door, trying to get inside a safe building and away from any windows someone might shoot me through.

Without a key, though, I did feel a little exposed as I hit the buzzer for Elian’s condo, and had to wait for him to let me up.

I was barely a step off of the elevator on his floor when the tangy scent of tomatoes wafted over to me, making me take a deep, greedy breath.

I don’t know about other women, but the idea of a man cooking for me was almost ridiculously sexy.

Almost as sexy as that little run-in in the hallway that morning that I kept trying to remind myself to stop thinking about.

And failed.

Over and over and over.

I was sitting at my desk with my thighs pressed together for most of the day because of the way my body was reacting just to the memory of that little incident.

It had been hot enough just to be close to a man as gorgeous as Elian without his shirt on. But to actually be up against him without a stitch of clothing on? That was another level.

I’d been careless when I went to take my shower, so used to my usual routine and apartment, where I could walk out of my bathroom and right into my bedroom, that I’d just simply forgotten to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me.

Hence the mad dash across the hallway.

Where I plowed right into a half-naked Elian.

And like some bad movie, the towel untucked and fell to my feet, leaving me completely naked against his bare chest and stomach.

The brush of his skin against my breast had desire pinging off every nerve ending, igniting a fire that burned through me slowly until it overtook me completely. I mean, I was just barely strong enough to not turn and brush myself against him again.

I’m not proud to admit that when he closed his eyes to protect the privacy I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, I took a good, long look at him.

It’s not even my fault.

The man had the kind of body that demanded you step back and really drink him in.

Wide shoulders, a firm chest, corded biceps, and a six-pack that tapered into that sexy V that disappeared into the low-slung pajama pants.

And, well, then there was the proof of his own desire pressing against that thin material, leaving no question that he was as impacted by the moment as I was.

I kind of wish my shoulder had brushed him a little more.

God, what the heck was wrong with me?

I don’t ever remember being so consumed with the idea of a man before. Maybe because the focus in the past had been almost exclusively on my schooling and career.

Now that said career was kind of crumbling, I guess I had more mental space for thoughts of Elian to slip in.

I was actually kind of disappointed when I went into the condo to find him fully clothed.

“Bad day?” he asked when I let out a deep sigh as I kicked out of my shoes, then walked barefoot over to where Kevin was hanging out on his tree stand, lazily patting at the swinging yarn ball that hung from it.

“He didn’t even come in today,” I told Elian. “Hey, bud. Did you have a fun day in a new place?” I asked, getting a little purr out of him in response.

“I’m sorry. I know you really wanted to be done with this,” he said as I made my way back to the kitchen, where he was standing in a plain black tee and slacks. “Are you interested in wine?” he asked, waving toward a bottle of red he had breathing on the island.

“Only if you won’t judge me for putting ice cubes in it,” I said.

I knew alcohol could be a migraine trigger, but I could really use something to release some of the tension that had crept into my neck and shoulders. And, well, other places as well.

Elian grabbed a wineglass, slipped a few ice cubes into it, then poured me a glass. While my horny self watched the way his forearm muscles moved with each motion, thinking of other things that might make those muscles twitch and tense in similar ways.

“You alright?” Elian asked, picking up on something strange in my face, leaving me praying that he wasn’t great at reading desire.

“Yeah,” I agreed, giving him a small smile as I reached for my glass. “Thank—“ I started to say before our fingers brushed on the glass, and I swear a spark sizzled up my arm. “Thanks,” I said, ignoring the slight husky sound to my voice. “So, what are you cooking?” I asked.

The tomato scent was much stronger now. But this close, I could make out hints of other scents. Garlic, oil, basil, and oregano.

“Cheese ravioli,” he said, going over to the counter to grab a large metal bowl, bringing it back to the island, sprinkling some flour on the surface, and then dropping a ball of dough onto the concrete countertop.

“From scratch?” I asked, mouth falling open.

To that, Elian’s brows scrunched. “How else is there to make it?” he asked.

“Well, from the freezer,” I admitted, suddenly feeling a little stupid because, obviously, someone had to roll the dough and fill the ravioli before freezing it.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had it fresh,” he assured me, producing some weird, wavy metal utensil that he used to slice the dough ball in half, putting some of it back into the bowl, then reaching for a piece of wood.

“What is that?”

“A rolling pin,” he said, looking even more confused.

“Don’t rolling pins have handles?” I asked, looking at the thing that tapered to each end, but didn’t have actual handles.

“This is a French rolling pin,” he told me. “They’re easier to use, I feel,” he said, sprinkling flour on it and the dough, then rolling it out, and giving me another forearm show to gawk at.

“You are clocked in,” Elian said a while later as I watched him drop little blobs of cheese in rows along the dough, then place the other flattened bit of dough over top of them.

“This is practically meditative,” I told him, even if calm was the last thing my body and mind felt right then.

“Come here,” he said, and I was off the stool before I could even think better of it.

Elian wiped off his hands, then dug in a drawer until he produced a little tool that had a spiky circle at the end.

“That looks like a boot spur,” I declared as he reached for me, moving me between him and the island, the whole of his front against my back.

I actually felt the chuckle vibrate from him and into me. Which wasn’t helping the chaos moving through my body.

“This is a pastry wheel,” Elian said as he reached around me to run it down a row of the cheese blobs, cutting the dough. “You try,” he said, pressing the wheel into my hand, but not moving away, just standing there right behind me, smelling like heaven and feeling even better as he watched over my shoulder.

I set to work, cutting vertical lines between the blobs of cheese, then doing horizontal ones as well.

“That’s it?” I asked, excited at having helped, even if it was in the simplest way possible.

“Nope. Now we need this super specialized piece of equipment,” he said, opening a drawer… and producing a fork.

“A fork?” I said with a smile. “For what?”

“For sealing the edges of the ravioli,” he said, demonstrating by pressing the tines of the fork around all four edges of each ravioli. “Here. You got this,” he said, handing me the fork, then turning his attention to stir his sauce. He produced a loaf of Italian bread, then set to slicing it, filling it with butter, garlic, and herbs while I worked at sealing the ravioli.

Elian even let me lower the ravioli into the boiling water when they were done, and I moved to take my seat again, feeling like I’d finally had my first cooking lesson. Even if, objectively, Elian had done all the actual cooking. It still felt like an accomplishment.

“I can’t wait to try it,” I admitted, sipping my wine again as Elian tossed a quick salad, then set the table as we waited for the ravioli to finish.

Within another twenty minutes, we were sitting at the table with our food, and I was trying not to seem like I was rushing through my salad to get to the ravioli.

“Oh my God,” I groaned as I finally got a bite.

“Better than the omelet?” he asked, eyes warm as he watched me shove another ravioli into my mouth.

“I know it is good manners to talk during dinner,” I said. “But I need to focus on this food,” I said, getting an appreciative chuckle out of Elian as I continued eating until the waistband of my pants was cutting into my stomach.

“I’m going to need to start a more intense fitness routine if you cook like this too often,” I told him, sitting back against the chair to take more sips of my wine.

“Wait ‘till you try my lasagne,” he said, getting a little groan out of me.

“Are you committed to this career path of yours?” I asked. “Because I’d pay good money to have a live-in chef.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, his gaze slipping to my lips for a second before moving back up. Or was that wishful thinking?

“How about, since you cooked, I wash dishes?”

“That’s what a dishwasher is for,” he said, gathering the plates, and bringing them to the kitchen. “Do you want more wine with dessert? Or coffee?” he asked.

“Let’s go with coffee,” I said, not wanting to risk another glass, no matter how good it was. “You bake too?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said, reaching into the fridge and producing two slices of cheesecake. “This is bakery-bought. Never could get the hang of baking. My ma used to say that cooking is an art, but baking is a science. Guess science isn’t my strong suit.”

The closest I come to baking is cutting up those pre-made log cookies with the little festive designs on them, and throwing them in the oven. It makes it feel at least a little bit like the holidays.

This past holiday season had been especially sad without my grandfather around to spend the time with. Sure, we ordered in meals, but at least we shared it with one another in my apartment with the pretty little tree I’d put up.

But without him, I almost didn’t even put the tree up at all. The only reason I did was because it felt too depressing not to. Though as I sat there looking at it while eating out of a Chinese food takeout container, I figured maybe it was better to just… pretend the holidays weren’t happening if you had no one to share them with. To eat meals with, to watch movies with, to exchange gifts with.

“Did I lose you?” Elian asked, placing a mug of coffee and a plate with the cheesecake on it in front of me.

“Just for a second,” I admitted.

“So what are your weekend plans?” he asked.

“Working,” I admitted as I sliced off a bit of the cheesecake. “There really aren’t any days off when you’re working on a campaign.”

“What happens after the election is over?”

“I’m out of a job until the next election cycle. Some politicians keep us on in a different capacity, but not usually senators. Most campaign managers majored in marketing and public relations. So after a campaign is over, we find steady jobs in those areas, or we freelance.”

“What are your plans?”

“Freelance. It’s honestly the same amount of work, or less, than I’m doing now, but I get to do it from home. And when you’re paying that much for an apartment, it’s nice to actually be there to enjoy it.”

“Why’d you take the campaign job then? Did you believe that much in Michael?”

“God no,” I said, then pressed my lips together at how bad that sounded. “No. Our politics don’t exactly align. And our morals even less so. But I think after my grandfather’s illness and passing, I’d been kind of paranoid about having really good benefits. As soon as mine kicked in, I had every test imaginable run.

“I’ll have to go back to paying one hundred percent of my health insurance after this job ends. And I’ll probably try to get the lowest one I can to cut costs. That’s what I was doing before. But at least this time, I know that everything is good for the time being,” I said, waving a hand down at myself.

I thought nothing of the movement.

Until Elian’s gaze followed the motion.

I swear each inch of me that his eyes slid over warmed.

And we weren’t going to focus too much on how my pulse quickened, nipples hardened, and sex fluttered in interest.

Because those were dangerous thoughts.

I only half paid attention to the conversation as we finished our food because my slutty inner dialog was thinking about other things he could do with that mouth as he ate his cheesecake off his fork. The way his tongue flicked out slightly to lick his lip nearly had me spreading myself on the table in front of him and demanding to be his second dessert.

Those were the same thoughts that were on my mind as I took myself to bed a while later, changing into silky pajamas that only made me more aware of the heightened sensitivity of my skin as I tossed and turned in bed.

Finally, I kicked off the covers, feeling too overheated for them, and let my hand travel down my body, slipping under the waistband of my pajama shorts and panties.

The brush of my fingers nearly brought me to climax immediately, I was so fired up.

It wasn’t long until my back was arching, and my breathing was coming in fast and shallow huffs, little whimpers escaping me as my eyes drifted closed, and I imagined Elian’s hand where my hand was. Then his mouth.

And, well, another part of him as my fingers slid inside of me.

The second I let out a little gasp of pleasure, though, I heard something else entirely.

“Fuck,” Elian’s husky voice rushed out of him, making my gaze fly open, head whipping over to find Elian standing in the crack of the door I was positive I’d shut. “Kevin…” he started to explain as the cat lazily walked in, tail swishing, completely oblivious to the tension.

Elian didn’t finish his sentence, just pulled the door shut on the scene he’d just walked in on.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, hand sliding out of my panties as I sat up in bed, face flaming, as embarrassment flooded my system.

No one had ever walked in on me in a compromised position like that before. I had no idea how awkward it was for Elian. But I was pretty sure at that moment, I would welcome an assassin’s bullet cutting through the bedroom window and putting me out of my misery.

How the hell was I going to face him again?

Well, the simple answer was I wasn’t.

Mature of me, I know.

But that was a humiliating position to be caught in.

I was just going to get up before he did and rush out of the condo. Then, hopefully, I could record the senator, and be done with this whole ordeal.

We were going to go ahead and pretend that I didn’t feel a surge of disappointment about being out of Elian’s apartment, out of Elian’s life.

Because that was just craziness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Elizabeth

My hair was still wet as I ran out of the condo in the morning, trying to twist it up into a neat bun using the elevator car as a makeshift mirror as I rode down to the lower level, grumbly because of poor sleep and a lack of coffee.

And not at all because of the sexual frustration that was starting to feel like my whole pelvis was in a steadily tightening vice grip.

Nope.

It had nothing at all to do with that.

I checked the ride-share’s license before climbing inside.

“Early morning,” he said, looking like he hadn’t slept yet.

“Always,” I said, looking around the car for any other cars following us, but the streets in Elian’s neighborhood were surprisingly empty.

I fretted the idea of going into work early, before everyone else showed up, making myself an easy target, so I had the driver drop me off at a random coffeehouse a few blocks away instead, deciding I would work on my tablet and get my caffeine fix until it was a more reasonable hour.

But all I actually managed to do was stare out of the window and fantasize about Elian. Which, as you can imagine, wasn’t exactly helping the ache in my core.

By the time I made it into the office, I was already frazzled and short-tempered.

I think I actually almost growled when the senator’s footsteps stopped in front of my open doorway.

“Can I help you?” I asked, hearing a bite in my words, but I was too tired to give a damn about it. This job would be over soon anyway. What did I care if I was snippy with the boss?

“What are you doing?” he snapped, making my gaze lift.

“Care to elaborate?” I asked, barely able to contain my sigh at how ruddy his face was. He was pissed about something. And, it seemed, it involved me.

“We’re supposed to be in the car already,” he said, pointedly flicking his wrist and turning his arm to check his Rolex.

“Remind me for what?” I said, my mind too chaotic to pull the schedule up right then.

“The town hall meeting,” Michael said, tone clipped.

“Right,” I agreed, gathering my things and shoving them into my purse before getting to my feet and following him down the hall.

I was busy fretting about being in the car with him with unknown bad guys wanting to hurt me possibly following behind, but the senator interrupted that train of thought that was swiftly barreling off track.

“Am I to assume you haven’t written me my notes?” he asked.

“I have them mostly done,” I admitted, pulling them out of the folder in my purse. The tops of the index cards were tipped in various highlighter colors to coincide with the “issue” that might be brought up at the meeting, so he could quickly glance at them and find an artful response written by me rather than some unhinged rant he would likely go off on given the chance.

“Mostly isn’t going to help me, is it?”

“I’ll finish in the car,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral as he rushed ahead.

As always, he slid into the back.

Normally, I would sit with him.

But I climbed into the front passenger seat instead, using the dashboard to steady my tablet as I used it as a desk to scribble my notes as clearly as possible. In big, block-like print. The senator hated cursive and small print, even if it would allow me to fit more on the page. He was too vain to wear his glasses.

It was about a ten-minute drive to the meeting hall that was taking place in a middle school gymnasium, even though I was reasonably sure the senator wouldn’t draw the kind of crowd that would require that large of a space.

He went in to get his makeup touched up—and hopefully look over my notes—as I rushed into the gym itself, running around trying to rearrange the folding chairs so there were fewer of them, each of them spaced much further apart. This way, it would look full, even though I’d removed more than half of the actual seats.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard a familiar, teasing voice call out, “Expecting a big crowd, huh, Beth?” Nathan Evans, a popular political vlogger, asked as he strolled, casually cocky in his jeans and t-shirt. To be fair, all handsome men had a bit of a swagger. And Nathan was definitely attractive in a dirty-blond, blue-eyed way that had just never been my type.

“Nathan, you’re supposed to be waiting outside with the press,” I reminded him.

“Finally willing to admit I’m part of the press?” he asked.

“I’ve never had any problem admitting that,” I said, standing back to check my configuration of the chairs, then trying to hide the ones I’d taken out behind the bleachers where Michael wouldn’t see them. “Any idea how to close the bleachers?” I asked, thinking we would definitely not need more than one on each side, not all four of them.

“There’s a button right back here,” Nathan told me, showing me it, but reaching around me to push it himself.

This was the moment when, if I was just horny because I desperately needed the touch of a man, any man, I would have felt the spark of interest again. Especially given how worked up I’d been since the night before.

But there was just… nothing.

Actually, no. There was a slight annoyance that he felt like he could press up against me like he did.

So it was just about Elian.

The man I was living with.

Who I needed to avoid from now until eternity, lest I die of humiliation.

Great.

Just great.

“So tell me, Beth,” he said, seeming to enjoy how my eyes narrowed at the nickname, “when are you going to quit working for Westmoore, and sign up to work for the candidate who actually has a chance to win this race?”

“Senator Westmoore has as good a chance as anyone,” I insisted.

“The only chance he has is because you’re crafting his statements for him,” Nathan insisted, and I knew he was right. “Maybe I’ll ask him something that you didn’t think to jot down in your notes for him,” he said, looking smug.

And, damn him, how did he know that?

“The senator will surely have the answers to any questions you may ask.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Nathan said, smirking. “Looking a little tired there, Beth. It’s stressful to be at the helm of a steadily sinking ship, isn’t it?”

I was normally quippy, damnit. That was the job. Being able to think on your feet. To spin a situation in my favor.

The problem was that he was right.

Only he had no idea why he was right.

And that I was the one who planned on making this ship capsize.

“No one’s job is guaranteed,” I managed to say, my tone colder than usual. Which, it seemed, made him take that as a threat. His brows shot up. His shoulders squared.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, tone deceptively calm.

“I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“What skeletons you have in your closet. And who might be looking to drag them out and show them around,” I said.

It was a good veiled threat. Something he could never claim was proof that I was coming after him. But it got him off my back. Which was good because my patience was paper thin, and I didn’t have what it took to be sharp and peppy for him.

I just hoped Michael was ready as I heard the doors finally open and people milling in as I walked out of the gym.

I made my way into the locker room that the senator was using as a prep station and was about to remind him of the time when I got a look at him.

Good God.

The makeup artist made him even more overly tanned. He looked like leather. And, what’s worse, she’d used too much highlighter under his eyes which gave him a crazed look.

I was sure the expensive cameras that the newspeople and vloggers carried would also pick up on the way the makeup was settling into the creases of the senator’s wrinkles, which only made him look older.

“Big crowd, right?” Michael asked, pulling off his paper bib before I could suggest the makeup artist run a wipe over his face before he headed out there.

“It’s what the team was expecting,” I told him. It wasn’t a lie. Even if he took that to mean he was going to get some sort of presidential reception.

The senator gathered his cards that he slipped into his pants pocket, so he could discreetly put them on the podium as he waved and charmed the cameras.

I followed him out, but stayed in the doorway of the locker room, not wanting to be accused of trying to pull focus away from him as he smiled his too-white grin and waved the hand that had the Rolex. Like he wasn’t supposed to be running a campaign of caring about the common man. You know, the kind who would never be able to afford a watch like that despite working sixty-hour weeks. While he worked a few days a week and spent the rest of his time wining and dining his donors and screwing his mistress.

I reached toward my shoulder, wanting to grab my phone so I could text him in case he stumbled. He kept his cell on the podium next to his notes just for that reason.

But my shoulder was empty.

My vision flashed back to arriving and needing to put my bag down on one of the benches to fetch the mouthwash strips I kept in my purse for the senator since he’d clearly had a drink or two in the office already that morning.

I must not have picked it back up when I’d rushed out to fix the chair situation.

I could literally live out of the damn thing, keeping it stocked with protein bars, a small bottle of water, mints, deodorant, makeup, wet wipes, medicine, bandaids, hair ties, a stain stick, lip balm, eye drops, money, a power bank, my tablet, and a notebook, even a change of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag in there in case of a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction, or a sudden event that I wasn’t properly dressed for.

Feeling naked without it, I turned back into the locker room while Michael still waited for everyone to take their seats and calm down, knowing I had a minute before he could possibly need me.

It was exactly where I left it, and I plunged my hand in to grab my phone before I started to zip it closed.

It was right then that I heard something.

A shuffling.

There was no reason for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. This was a pretty public event. And it was a school, besides, and there was likely maintenance staff around as well as a security guard to make sure no one was messing around with school property.

I had no expectation of privacy in the locker room. Hell, even the makeup artist was probably hanging around to gather her things.

Still, though, paranoia had my stomach twisting and my heart hammering before I could even swivel my head around and try to find the source of the sound.

“Hello?” I called, wincing at how much I sounded like one of those stupid girls in a horror movie even as I did the exact same thing one of those dumb girls would do… started to walk around the rows of lockers, looking for the source of the sound. Instead of, I don’t know, going back out into the gym where I would be safe.

A sick sensation rose up my throat as I heard the shuffle again, but this time coming from the row where I’d just walked away from.

Making my footsteps as quiet as possible, I inched forward toward the end of the row of lockers, intent on peeking around and trying to calm my nerves.

But as soon as I stepped out from the relative protection of the lockers, I saw him.

My mind flashed back to my apartment, to the figure all in black charging at me, hitting me, then issuing one final threat before disappearing again.

For a split second, I tried to tell myself that there were lots of people here, that there was no reason to assume he was here to hurt me.

Until I remembered it was summer.

And there was absolutely no reason for a man to be wearing a hoodie, with the hood up, unless he was trying not to be recognized.

Panic, already swirling, surged, making my pulse pound in my chest, throat, and wrists as a cold sweat broke out across my neck and back, chilling me instantly.

I needed to run.

But he was standing directly in front of my exit back into the gym, where I would be, hopefully, safe.

I opened my mouth, ready to scream, just as the crowd in the gym erupted in outrage, people yelling, cursing, the cameras likely catching all of it.

I was about to lose hope when I remembered that this was a public building that had to live up to fire safety protocols. Meaning there had to be another exit from this locker room.

Decision made, I turned and ran back into the row of lockers, finding myself dead-ending at the bathroom with its stalls that would provide only the illusion of safety. Anyone could get over or under them if they were determined enough. Why weren’t stalls full rooms?

On a whimper as the chaos seemed to reach a fever pitch in the gym, I flew down another row of lockers, then took a hairpin turn when I saw him appear, taking me back down the other way.

It was then I saw it.

A door.

Thank God.

I flew at it, for once glad that the senator was so insecure about his height, because I would be much slower in heels. And, I guess, I had to thank my mother’s side of the family for my long, athletic legs too as I flew through the door and into an empty hallway lined in nothing but lockers, minus the deadbolts that would be there during the school year.

As I ran, I silently wished for once that I was one of those petite, dainty women. The kind who could save themselves by slipping around a corner, climbing into an open locker, and just waiting things out.

Alas, I was not that.

So all I could do was run, ever aware of the pounding of feet behind me, not exactly gaining, but keeping pace, making it so that if I slowed at all, tripped, or paused to try to open a door, he might catch up to me.

I took a turn down the hall, seeing nothing at the end of my path but a staircase moving up.

My thighs started to burn, but I was safe if I kept moving, kept pace ahead of him.

Unless he had a gun.

A whimper rising up in my throat, I veered closer to the side of the hallway, hand slapping down on door handles as I went, but finding none that opened.

There was literally nowhere to hide.

I pushed myself faster, chancing a look over my shoulder, seeing my attacker losing a little steam.

He was bigger. Taller. Wider. Slower.

Saying a silent prayer that I wasn’t making a painfully stupid move, I threw my arms out into the stairwell door, then made my way up, thanking myself for the many hours spent on a stair climbing machine at the gym in an attempt to get one of those high, round butts that looked really good in tight workout pants like the influencers I saw all over social media.

Because I flew up those stairs, my heartbeat increasing, but not enough to slow me down.

And in the big, empty space of the enclosed stairwell, all I heard below me was panting as I made it to the top, charged through another door, then down a hall before my attacker could even get up the stairs.

The doors were frustratingly locked up here as well.

All except the one to the library. Since it didn’t have a door, just an open, welcoming doorway.

Figuring it was better than being out in the open, I ran in, rushing through the lines of books, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide.

Then, like someone was actually answering my prayers, I saw it.

Behind the circulation desk was an open door.

I didn’t stop to think.

Because it was a room.

One without windows.

And that was as safe as I could hope to be in this situation.

I rushed behind the desk, going into the room, and forcing myself to close it slowly so it didn’t make a sound.

Then, hands shaking, I flicked off the light before turning, looking for somewhere to hide. Because while my attacker might have been slower and less skilled in cardiovascular activities than I was, he was certainly much bigger and stronger. I imagined, if he was determined enough, he could break down a door if he saw me behind it.

It was a cramped, claustrophobic space without windows, the walls painted a prison gray. Given that school wasn’t in session, the space was almost clinically clean, not a stray book to be found anywhere.

But there was a desk with a solid bottom, the side facing outward would hide me from the window in the door.

I ran behind it, squatting low, and folding myself up as tightly as possible to fit underneath it, my knees crushing to my chest, making breathing difficult.

I tried to take slow, short breaths through my nose to keep myself quiet, paranoid that he would even be able to hear me breathing.

Safe, at least for the moment, I reached for my phone, ignoring the endless texts from Michael that had come in just over the past five minutes.

He was pissed off, sending me text after text in all caps.

WHERE ARE YOU?

ARE YOU TRYING TO SABOTAGE ME?

IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME, YOU’RE FIRED.

I ignored those, finding a different number, and drafting up a message.

HELP!

I made sure my volume was silenced, and I lowered my screen to as dark as possible, not wanting the light to give me away when I finally got myself relatively safe.

I was watching my screen, praying to see the dot-dot-dot that said he was paying attention, that he would come to save me, when I heard the pound of my attacker’s feet moving through the library, frantically trying to find his missed target.

“I’ll find you, you stupid bitch,” he snarled, sounding winded still from the steps as I curled myself tighter, as if I tried hard enough, I could just disappear.

With no way for the adrenaline to escape now that I was stationary, it had me starting to tremble, starting in my belly, then moving outward until my whole body was shaking so much that I didn’t trust myself to lift my phone again to check and see if Elian had responded to my call for help yet.

Suddenly, the handle of the door was rattling, making me have to press my hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering, from crying out, as my breathing went fast and shallow again.

Sweat on the back of my neck dripped down my spine as he pulled it harder and harder.

He knew I was in here.

He was going to get in.

Then I had no hope of escape.

Both his hands slammed onto the door, a frustrated, childish move.

But then… then he was retreating, his footsteps growing quieter as he moved away, retracing his footsteps.

I pulled my hand from my mouth, cradling my phone with both of my hands so there was no chance of dropping it, and seeing a message from Elian. Several, actually.

Where are you?

What’s going on?

Are you okay?

Tell me where you are.

Elizabeth?

I could practically hear the panic through his words as I tried to type with my shaky fingers.

Town hall @ Jackson Middle School. Man here. Chased me.

It wasn’t long before I got a response saying he was ten minutes away, telling me to just hold on, asking me if I was safe.

Hiding under a desk in the office in the library. He tried to get in, but couldn’t. Walked off.

He texted me again, telling me to stay put, to keep calm, that he was coming to get me.

I had no idea what was going on outside of this office, if the town hall meeting was still going on, if there was still a crowd of people around.

All I knew was that Elian was coming, that I would be safe with him.

But no amount of knowing that eased the adrenaline still coursing through me, making my heart race and my skin feel like it was vibrating.

I did manage to slow my breathing, focusing on slow pulls in through my nose and hard exhales out through my mouth.

Slowly but surely, I wasn’t gasping for air anymore, wasn’t terrified that my attacker might come back before Elian could get to me.

My phone lit up against my leg, making me reach for it, still worried the low light might be seen through the window.

But it was Elian texting me, telling me he was here, that the meeting was over, and the place seemed deserted.

Panic swelled again, the idea of my attacker in this sprawling building, maybe hiding somewhere, waiting for me to think it was safe and move out, of him getting Elian instead.

Are you alone?

The response was immediate.

No. Gotta sweep building. Give me twenty.

Twenty minutes felt like an eternity as I sat there, listening, wondering if I would hear a fight, would hear gunshots. There was nothing but the sounds on the street outside, though, as I sat there listening to my own breathing, my own heartbeat. Until there was a knock at the door that made me almost jump out of my skin.

As it was, I jolted, making the whole desk move in the process, fear surging through me once again.

“Elizabeth, open up. It’s me. It’s safe,” he assured me.

Slowly, I crawled out from my makeshift shelter, and got to my feet, my legs wobbly and unsteady as I walked to the door to disengage the lock.

I didn’t even need to reach for the handle, though. Because the door was pushing open, and then I found myself in Elian’s arms.

My own went around him, holding on tight, not caring how desperate it made me seem as I sat there, breathing in his spicy scent, and feeling his arm anchor around my lower back as the other went to the back of my neck, massaging gently at the tense muscles he found there.

“It’s alright. I got you,” he murmured, making a little shiver move through me.

He had me, alright.

More than he could ever know.

And I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Elian

I wasn’t surprised when I woke up to an empty apartment. Though I won’t lie and say I wasn’t disappointed, that a big part of me had been excited at the prospect of having coffee with her, of making breakfast for her.

Hell, I’d woken up early with the sole purpose of making something more impressive than a simple omelet.

But she was already long gone, the steam evaporated from the hall bathroom.

She must have been tiptoeing around if she didn’t wake me, but she’d managed to feed Kevin before she headed out, even if the coffee pot wasn’t even on.

I knew she must have been freaking out about the night before if she had sacrificed what seemed like an important morning ritual to her just to avoid running into me.

It’s not that I didn’t understand. I did.

And, really, I owed her an apology.

I had no right to open her bedroom door without knocking. That was insanely invasive. But it was kind of late, and her room had been quiet for a long time, so I figured she was asleep. I didn’t want to wake her up just to let the anxious, pacing Kevin in.

But, yeah, she hadn’t been sleeping.

I wish I could say that my immediate reaction wasn’t one of desire. That I didn’t fantasize about walking in, closing the door, and taking over for her, teasing her with my fingers and tongue until she was screaming my name as she came.

I couldn’t say that, though.

Hell, it was a lot more than just that going on in my head as I watched her for just a moment, arching and writhing and whimpering.

And I guess part of me had anticipated… interest on her part when she saw me there. Unless I’d completely misread the looks she’d shot me several times over dinner and dessert.

But it wasn’t interest. It was horror.

Which made me feel like a complete fucking creep.

So, yeah, I owed her an apology.

I considered sending it via text, but I thought that bringing it up that way might only make things worse at this point. I was just going to have to wait to say it when I caught her in person again.

I was just about to head out for the day to do yet another seemingly useless stakeout when my phone started to ring.

Rico’s name was on the screen.

“What’s up?”

“Come over to the meat shop,” he said, then ended the call before I could ask for any further details.

I’ll admit that I was much more excited to see what Rico had going on than I was about more endless hours spent alone in my car, following Bratva members as they went out to lunch or got their dry cleaning.

Rico’s shop opened later in the day since there weren’t exactly a ton of people looking to buy steak at six in the morning, so I went around the back, finding Renzo’s kid Coal standing by the back door, keeping guard.

He looked rough. But, then again, I didn’t remember the last time I saw him without cuts and bruises. The kid was earning his keep, that was for sure.

“Everything alright in there?” I asked as he reached to open the door for me.

“Always something going on,” he said with a casual shrug. That was Coal. Calm. Unflappable. He was going to be a good capo some day.

I made my way in the door, expecting to turn and move into the office, when I found myself faced with a man in the middle of the floor, strung up by the chain around his wrists, the tips of his shoes just barely touching the ground to give his shoulders a break from the strain of hanging.

He was breathing heavily, sweat cascading down his face, mingling with the cuts on his cheek and lip, turning it all a light pink color as it dropped off his chin and onto his white shirt.

“What’s this?” I asked, gaze moving around to Rico, Renzo, and Saff.

Of the three, it was the small, blue-haired Saff who was out of breath with roughed-up knuckles.

“The leader of the 34th Street crew,” Saff said, gesturing toward him before turning to grab a bottle of water, and taking a long sip.

“We have another crew working with the Russians,” Renzo explained, his dark gaze landing on the guy who, despite the way he was trying to snarl at us, looked close to pissing himself.

“Just so happened to be helping my bagman around that area today, and I saw him get out of the car with one of those fucks,” Saff said. “So I had one of my guys bring a car, threw his ass in it, and brought him here for some questioning.”

I was honestly surprised he was still breathing. Saff had a raging temper when she was riled. And it was often explosive and violent. The guy was lucky a few bruises and cuts were all he had to show for his betrayal. So far. Lord knew we weren’t done with him.

I nodded at Renzo, then moved toward the office. “Did we do the hit between the other crews yet?” I asked.

“It’s supposed to go down tomorrow night. The leader of one of the crews was out of town, but we hear he should be back sometime tonight. So by tomorrow, he should be back on the street again. Then we’ll strike.”

“What are our plans with this one?” I asked, jerking my head over toward him as Saff and Rico joined us.

“Taking out another crew cuts off another stream of income,” Rico said, exhaling hard.

We all got his frustration. Back in the day, we wouldn’t have hesitated. You fucked us over, you went down for it. The thing with growing an organization, though, was that there were men, women, and children who relied on the stability we provided.

We were already taking out two whole crews.

And, sure, others would come up and take their place, but it would require time.

So losing a third revenue stream was really pushing it.

“So what are the options?”

“One, we finish him, then put one of our men in charge of that crew. Move an associate over to that instead,” Rico said. “Sure plenty of ‘em would welcome the opportunity.”

“And two?” I asked, getting a grumble out of Saff.

“Clearly, Saff doesn’t like this one,” Rico said, shooting her a smirk, the kind a brother gave a pain-in-the-ass little sister. Which, admittedly, was what Saff was to him sometimes. Since Saff often acted before thinking of the family first. And Rico was a family man through and through.

“But the other option is to see if we can turn him, make him double-cross the Russians. See if we can get some decent intel out of him, since just surveilling isn’t going to cut it when they’re so careful.”

I nodded at that.

“Which way are you leaning?” I asked, looking at Renzo.

“So, is this some Soylent Green shit going on around here now?” Dav’s voice called from the back room, making all of us let out a chuckle as he made his way toward us. “Because I’ve been buying the meat assuming it wasn’t human, man,” he said, smiling at Rico.

“Human would be cheaper,” Rico admitted, sighing hard, and it was interesting to see him worrying about anything other than the family itself. “Short of it is this fuck is working with the Russians. We’re trying to figure out if we kill him, or we turn him into our spy.”

“Want me to take a few rounds with him?” Dav asked, a wicked look rising on his face, conjuring up images of him on the floor on top of one of Cinna’s attackers, his finger digging into his eye sockets.

“If I want him blind, I’ll know who to call,” Saff said, lips curved up slightly.

“As opposed to having his balls chopped off?” Dav shot back.

“That was one time!” Saff insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. “And he had it coming. You don’t want to get neutered, don’t act like a dog. Simple enough.”

“Focus, you two,” Renzo said, shaking his head. The light in his eyes, though, said he was amused by their banter.

“So, did you need something from me?” I asked, wondering why I was here when they had more than enough hands on deck.

“Seems like he’s working directly with Dimitri,” Rico told me.

“That’s… pretty high-ranking,” I said, brows lifting.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “So we want to know if you think it’s possible to use this guy against them, or if it is too risky with it being Dimitri.”

That was a good question.

On the one hand, this was likely the only way we would ever be able to get this close to one of the fuckers without holding a gun to their backs. On the other, I’d heard various people claim that the guys at the top of the Bratva were practically human lie detectors.

“If you think he’s smart and calm enough to pull it off, I think it’s worth the risk. But if there’s a chance that he’s too jumpy or a shitty liar, just end it now.”

Rico was nodding at that when I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it, figuring it was just one of my men sending me some update or another. Or maybe my sister wanting to know if I was going to be coming to family dinner that week or not.

It wasn’t until I was making my way out the back door when I finally reached for it. Then felt my heart lurch in my chest.

It was Elizabeth.

Asking for help in all caps.

And I’d fucking ignored her.

“Yo,” I called to Coal, “you’re with me,” I said as I shot off a text back.

Coal banged on the door twice, then took off at a run to follow me as Dav moved out to stand guard at the door, his brows pinched, but knowing better than to ask what was going on when shit was looking emergent.

“You gonna tell me what the fuck I’m getting myself into or nah?” Coal asked, climbing in my driver’s seat as I took the passenger, wanting to be able to text Elizabeth and get more details, to reassure her that I was on my way.

“Got a girl who Bratva enforcers keep trying to kill,” I told him, getting a nod. Nothing fazed the kid. “She’s hiding in the library after getting chased through the middle school.”

“Middle school?” he asked, shooting me a look.

“She’s a grown-ass woman,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She was there for a press conference or some shit, I guess. She works for Senator Westmoore.”

“That fuck,” Coal scoffed.

“He’s working with the Bratva,” I told him. “She’s been trying to get proof of that.”

“No wonder they want to take her out,” he said, weaving into the oncoming lane to cut around nearly standstill traffic, getting a chorus of horns, and making my fucking heart seize in my chest with how close he came to colliding with a damn city bus.

“The fuck you learn to drive like that?” I asked.

“Been around,” he said, shrugging, protective of his past.

I was used to that. Renzo, Rico, Cinna, Dav, and Saff were similar. In the Lombardi family, I was one of the very few who had a traditional family. Which was, I guess, what set us apart from most of the other Five Families who were mostly made up of blood relatives.

What should have been a ten-minute drive even pushing the speed limit ended up being under eight.

“What’s the plan?” Coal asked, climbing out with me.

“Are you packing?” I asked. In response, he lifted his shirt to show me a gun in a waist holster. Then his pant leg to show me one situated there as well. “Good. We need to sweep the whole building before I even think about bringing Elizabeth out,” I told him.

“Got it. Together or separate?”

“Separate, so no one can sneak past us. One floor at a time, bottom to top, then you do another sweep downward while I go get Elizabeth.”

With that, I got a nod, and we were moving down the side alley of the school that was locked down tight after the town hall was over.

“I got it,” Coal said, waving me out of the way as he reached in his back pocket for a lock pick kit.

“Should I be concerned you just carry that around with you?”

“Shit happens. I like to be prepared,” he said, making impressively short work of the lock before swinging it open for me as he reached to release his gun.

I had mine out already, so I moved in, taking the lead as we walked down the deserted halls. The doors to all the classrooms and the main office were locked. And there was no way a grown man could fit in one of the short, slim lockers.

We went into the gym, finding chairs still set up, and half the bleachers open. We went into the boys’ locker room. Then the girls’, which is when Coal tapped my shoulder, nodding over to the ground when I turned to look.

And there was Elizabeth’s purse. It was upturned, the contents scattered all over the ground.

I pointed toward it as I took a few steps back to keep an eye on the doorway as Coal quickly gathered all of Elizabeth’s shit into her purse—which was an impressive amount of stuff—before slinging it up on his shoulder, and wordlessly continuing the search of the first floor. Then the second. And, finally, the third.

But there was no one.

I imagined her attacker doubled back to the gym, thinking she might have slipped out with the crowd. Then had gotten himself locked out as well.

I pointed to the library and Coal nodded, moving on to do another sweep while I collected Elizabeth.

When she rose up from the desk, she was white as a sheet, her eyes saucers, and her entire body was shaking as I pulled her against me.

“It’s okay,” I assured her, my lips against her hair. And if I went ahead and pressed them to her head, so the fuck what? “But I have to get you out of here, okay?” I said, getting a frantic nod from her as she slowly untangled herself from me.

I felt the separation like a pang in my chest. But there was no time to focus on that when there could be a fucking Bratva enforcer out to get her still.

“I got your purse,” I told her, getting a nod from her. “I need you to stay behind me, okay?” I asked, reaching again for my gun, watching her stiffen, but she did what I asked, moving behind me.

Reaching back, I wrapped an arm around her, keeping her close as we made our way down the hall, the stairs, and then out onto the lower level.

Coal was waiting right near the main entrance, then led us toward the side where we’d broken in.

“Back the car up onto the sidewalk,” I instructed as we both looked out the door, scanning the streets and rooftops.

With that, he ran off, getting in the car, and doing what I instructed.

“I’m going to pull open the back door, you fly in and go flat on your stomach. Stay low until I say otherwise.”

I waited for a nod from her before we were running to the end of the alley. From inside the car, Coal leaned between the seats, throwing open the back and passenger doors, and we both jumped in in unison.

“Go,” I said as soon as the doors slammed but Coal was already peeling off, driving up and down side streets, making sure that if there was any tail, that it was impossible for it to keep up with us in the traffic.

It wasn’t until we were only a few blocks from my place that I finally spoke.

“We’re almost home,” I told her, hoping my voice was calming because I was pretty sure I heard her sniffling back there by herself. “Two more minutes,” I assured her. Then, quieter, so only Coal could hear me, “We’re good, right?” I asked, looking in the rearview mirrors.

He gave me a nod as he pulled up to the curb, but he cut the engine and climbed out, scanning the streets and buildings as I shuffled a splotchy-faced Elizabeth out of the car and into the safety of my building.

“Come here,” I said in the elevator when she tried, and failed, to hold in a cry.

I pulled her against me and kept her there as we moved out into the hall, then into the apartment before I felt like I could truly breathe again.

And as soon as the door closed and locked behind us, Elizabeth finally stopped trying to hold herself together, and completely fell apart, sobbing in my arms, clinging to me, as I murmured quiet assurances that she was okay, that no one was going to get her at my place.

As I held her, I decided I needed to make sure that was a promise I could keep. I was going to need to pull two of my men off of their usual work and have them doing security outside of my building or the floor of my condos.

It would be a pain in the ass for my crew, but it would be worth it if I never got a text like that from her again.

“How about I draw you a bath?” I asked. “In my bathroom. It’s got the good tub,” I told her when she finally stopped crying.

“Okay,” she agreed, voice small as I led her into my room, then settled her on the end of the bed before going in to get the bath going.

“Want me to bring you anything?” I asked. “Wine? Coffee?”

“Coffee and my rescue meds?” she asked, looking up at me, and I saw how swollen her eyelids were. I figured it was from crying, but it seemed like the craziness of the day had brought on another migraine.

“Sure. Hold tight,” I said as I rushed around to make her coffee, brought her one of her pills that she took quickly, then carried the coffee with her into the bathroom, and closed the door.

And I stood on the outside of it, trying and failing, not to imagine her in there naked.

“Fuck,” I hissed, walking back out into the hallway to lean against the wall, taking deep breaths that I hoped would reason with my cock about the whole situation.

When that didn’t work, I went out into the kitchen and got myself a drink while I shot off texts to my men, then Renzo, to explain the situation. And, finally, to Coal to thank him for helping out.

It was only then that I realized Elizabeth had nothing to change into.

Feeling like I was invading her privacy for the second time in twenty-four hours, I went into her room, finding a pajama set in a soft material I figured she might find comforting, grabbed a pair of panties—trying again not to imagine her in them—and made my way into my room to knock on the bathroom door.

“Come in,” she called, making me straighten, figuring maybe she was wrapped in a towel.

But when I pushed open the door and moved inside, she was still in the tub. Naked. And looking at me with heat in her pretty blue eyes.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Elizabeth

The migraine was a deep throbbing ache behind my eye and in my temple as I slipped into Elian’s massive soaking tub. It was big enough to have an entire orgy in it, for God’s sake, and the luxury of being inside of it wasn’t lost on me, even if my headache was gearing up to be a real banger.

It was the running.

Extreme high-endurance exercise could trigger migraines. I was always careful at the gym to stay in my target heart rate range without going overboard and ending up suffering for the rest of the night.

The crying also didn’t help, I was sure.

But there was only so much you could take before you had to let all those feelings out before they ate you alive from the inside out.

And, God, it had felt good to have a cry like that in the arms of someone who kept assuring you that it was going to be okay, that they were going to take care of you.

I didn’t remember the last time I’d had that.

Yes, I did.

Never.

I’d never had that before.

Which was probably why it was affecting me so strongly as I leaned back against the cool porcelain of the tub, letting my eyes drift closed against the bright light, and waited for my meds to kick in, praying I caught it early enough to avoid a full-blown intractable migraine.

The last thing I expected to feel after such an ordeal was desire starting to flicker, then catch flame as the water teased over my skin, as I listened to Elian walking around the apartment.

But it wasn’t long before it was a full-blown wildfire coursing through me, making me press my legs together, remembering the failed attempt the night before to ease the constant ache inside.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel quite so embarrassing to be caught. If anything, it only managed to fan the flames of need until there was a pressure on my lower stomach, a throbbing sort of need between my thighs, and the sudden urge to climb out of the bath, and walk naked until I found him, then demand we finally ease the tension between us.

Then, as the meds kicked in, chasing away the migraine, like the universe was agreeing with my idea, I heard him knock on the bathroom door.

Before I could think better of it, I was inviting him in, watching as he came in a step before freezing, his back stiffening, his brows lifting.

I watched as he seemed helpless but to let his gaze move from my face, gliding down to where my breasts were just barely hidden by the water, then over the length of me, obscured by the depth of the water, but clearly conjuring up his own images. Because by the time his gaze was on my face again, his lids were heavy, and his golden eyes were scorching into me.

“I thought…” he said, forcing his gaze to the floor. “I thought you said to come in,” he said, reaching out to the side to rest a change of clothes on the sink cabinet.

“I did,” I said, voice smaller than I wanted it to be, but I was trying to prevent him from backing out of the room.

At those words, his gaze lifted again, landing on my face, searching for something.

I guess he found what he was looking for, because he was walking toward me then, dropping down to his knees beside the tub. His arm raised, his fingers moving up to skirt over my temple, then down my cheek and jaw.

“How’s your head?” he asked, voice soft, but thick with his growing desire.

“It’s a lot better,” I admitted, touched by his concern.

“So you don’t need more pain relief?” he asked, and the combination of the heat in his eyes and the sexy little smirk he shot me had my belly flip-flopping.

“It’s not completely gone,” I said, leaning my head back, watching his gaze helplessly move over me again. Then, surprised by my own boldness, I asked, “Do you have a remedy?”

I expected him to tease me, to drag it out.

But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, a rumbling sound moved through him, and then his hand was plunging under the water and pressing between my thighs.

There was no stopping the moan that escaped me as my legs fell shamelessly open, inviting more.

Elian was happy to provide exactly what I needed.

His fingers slid up my cleft, finding my clit, and rubbing the pad of his thumb over it before moving away to tease around, never quite giving me the contact I so desperately needed.

My hips were writhing against his touch as my head fell back, my breathing going fast and shallow.

Elian’s gaze slid from my face, moving over me once again. Then his free hand was moving out, teasing over my breast, making my nipple twist to a hardened point.

With that rumbling sound moving through him again, his thumb and forefinger closed around my nipple and started to do delicious little rolls that had my hips rocking and my moans filling the bathroom.

“Elian, please,” I whimpered, the need a coiled pressure deep in my core.

His fingers shifted, two sliding inside of me just as his thumb glided over my clit. I nearly came apart just like that as Elian made a little approving sound at the back of his throat.

His fingers started to thrust, and I couldn’t help but let myself imagine him settled deep inside me as his weight pressed down on me, as his lips claimed mine.

Inside of me, his fingers turned, crooked, and started to stroke over my top wall, making a surprised groan escape me as my legs squeezed together, wanting to feel the sensation more intensely.

Elian’s palm flattened against my cleft, engaging my clit as his fingers moved inside me, as I writhed against his touch.

My breathing got shorter and more frantic as he drove me closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with his own desire.

Like I’d been waiting for the command, I did, crying out as the pleasure shot through me, making my legs shake and my hand shoot out to grab Elian’s wrist, holding on as the waves kept crashing through me.

Elian’s hand slid from between my legs as I was trying to slow my ragged breathing.

Even sated, I wanted him to reach for me, to pull me out of the tub, to carry me to the bed, to strip then surge inside of me.

It was enough to make me need to press my thighs tightly together again to ease the growing ache.

“How about we make something to eat?” he asked, making the haze of desire pull back.

“Hm?” I asked, still a little dazed.

“Food. You’ve got to be hungry,” he said, his voice still rough.

“I, ah, yeah,” I said, though I was feeling nothing but desire right then.

“I brought some clothes. I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said.

Then he was standing and walking away. But not before I saw just how impacted he was by what just happened.

Part of me wanted to call out to him, to make him come back, to reach into his pants, free him and take him in my mouth.

But he was gone before I could say anything.

Surprisingly disappointed about that, I hit the drain, then climbed out of the water, drying off and slipping into the clothes Elian had brought me before moving back out of the bathroom.

I’d been a little too distracted on the way in to truly appreciate his bedroom, but now I stopped to take it all in.

The deep merlot color of the walls, the dark wood bed frame, nightstands, and dresser. There were massive walk-in his and hers closets. One was completely empty, despite his being close to overflowing. Like he was keeping it empty for his future wife.

That thought made a strange tightening feeling move across my chest.

Choosing not to let myself spend too much time thinking on that, I made my way back out into the hall, taking a deep breath that wasn’t full of his spicy scent like his bedroom was.

“Heya buddy,” I said, scratching Kevin’s soft head as I passed him in the living room on my way to the kitchen. “So, what are you making?”

“We are making fettuccini Alfredo with chicken and broccoli,” he told me, making my heart feel all warm that he wanted to include me when it would likely be a lot easier to do it all himself. “I had to order the chicken and broccoli, so that is on its way, but we can get started without it. Oh, I also have to tell you something,” he said, giving me a serious look.

“Okay,” I agreed, spine straightening.

“From now on, there is going to be one of my men either outside in the hall up here, or down on the street. Maybe even both. I don’t want you to panic if you happen to look out and see someone hanging around.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” he said, going into his pantry to bring out a box of fettuccini.

“What about the sauce?” I asked, then watched as he went from confused to offended to bemused in the span of a blink.

“Do you really think I would be using jarred alfredo sauce?” he asked, shaking his head at me.

“I guess not,” I said, shooting him an upside-down smile.

“Alfredo is a fast and easy sauce. It’s kind of silly to use a jar,” he told me, going into the fridge to pull out a big block of parmesan cheese, garlic cloves, butter, and heavy cream. “This is pretty much all there is to it. Plus some salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Once you grate the cheese, the whole process takes something like ten minutes. And that,” he said when there was a knock at the door that had me jumping embarrassingly hard. “Is the chicken and broccoli,” he told me. “But also… why I do need to have a guard around here,” he said, voice soft as he ran a hand over the top of mine on the island before going to open the door.

There was some quiet talking in the hallway before Elian was leaning inside. “Baby, do you want to meet the guard? Just so you feel more comfortable with him?”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” I said, suddenly very aware of my lack of a bra. Which had been an enticing feeling a moment before when it was just the two of us, but now made me feel a little too exposed.

I rolled my shoulders forward a bit so the material wasn’t highlighting the lack of undergarment, then plastered a small smile on my lips as Elian opened the door for the guard.

Which was good.

Because I was pretty sure my mouth would have been catching flies if I hadn’t already been smiling.

I mean, what the hell?

Were all the men in the mafia ridiculously handsome?

“Elizabeth, this is my cousin Serano. Serano, this is Elizabeth,” he said, waving between us as I let my eyes quickly run over the man.

He was tall and fit like Elian, if maybe a little more bulky, like he enjoyed more time at the gym. His hair was dark, but shorn shorter. There was a golden hint to his eyes and an impressive amount of thick lashes around them.

It was the facial structure that was different. Serano had a wide, square jaw that I was pretty sure could cut glass, sunken cheeks, and a broody forehead. There was a nasty gash down his cheek that looked like it was a few days into healing.

There was something a little menacing about him, despite him seeming to be a few years younger than Elian.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, offering him my hand, something that was a knee-jerk habit at this point after working in politics for the past year and a half.

His brows furrowed, but he reached out a strong arm and his wide, calloused hand slipped into mine.

“Yeah,” he said, the one syllable spoken in a deep, growly voice that I was pretty sure would have most women swooning. I would have been one of them if he wasn’t a little too young for me, and if I wasn’t completely enamored by his elder cousin.

Elian rolled his eyes at his cousin’s manners.

“We’re making fettuccini alfredo,” I told him. “We’ll save you a plate,” I added. “Don’t worry, Elian is actually doing the cooking. I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”

“You’re learning,” Elian said, defending me against myself.

“Sounds good,” Serano said, giving me a nod. Apparently, a solid home-cooked meal melted even a big, cold guy like Serano. “We good?” he asked, looking at Elian.

“Yeah,” he agreed, shaking his head at his cousin’s retreating form. “Don’t take offense. He’s so fucking reclusive that this little interaction likely filled his social battery for the week. Or month,” he admitted with a little chuckle.

“I don’t remember him in your stories about your family,” I said.

“I have a pretty big extended family,” he admitted. “Some of the other more extroverted people made for better stories. But Serano works for me. So does his younger brother, but you probably won’t be meeting him unless I need someone to fill in,” he told me, taking the items out of the bag that Serano had brought over.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Grate the cheese or cut the broccoli up,” he said, waving between my options.

“I’ll do both. I’ll leave the ingredients most likely to give us food poisoning to you,” I said, looking at the chicken. “Where’s your cheese grater?” I asked, then watched him produce this thing with a crank that suctioned to the island. It made the grating take all of five minutes. Then I was moving onto the broccoli as Elian started to sear the chicken in a pan.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t notice how much butter and heavy cream is in this,” I said a while later, wincing as I whisked the sauce in a pan, the heady scent of garlic wafting up to me and making my stomach let out a grumble.

“Hey, it’s got protein and vegetables too,” Elian reasoned.

“I’ll need to do an extra hour on the stair climber to burn it off, but if this tastes half as good as it smells, it will be totally worth it. Oh,” I said, brows lowering.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t go to my gym anymore,” I told him.

“You can go to mine. I have guest passes. You’re not in prison here. You can go out if you need to. But I just want you to be careful. Maybe have at least one of my people with you when you do go anywhere. Just to be sure.”

“Believe me,” I said, sucking in a deep breath, “I don’t want a repeat of today. I think the only thing working in my favor was the fact that I clearly work on my cardio more than that guy does.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be out of the office today, or I might have tried to send someone with you to prevent that.”

“I honestly didn’t know either. I totally forgot until the senator came into the office barking at me about it. And it was too short of notice to say anything. I was barely there like fifteen minutes before the guy snuck up on me,” I admitted.

“No one else saw him?” he asked, flipping the chicken that had little grill marks on it from his fancy pan.

“Everyone was at the meeting. And then when I maybe could have called for help, there was some kind of eruption in the gym.”

“Eruption?” Elian asked.

“I assume that the senator said something stupid or offensive. Or both. The outrage was… loud. So I just ran. And then I didn’t want to waste my breath screaming as I was running. Maybe I should have.”

“Hey, you acted the way that felt right in the moment. And you did get yourself safe.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, exhaling hard. “But what if I didn’t have you to call on?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, brushing aside my concerns. “Because you do have me.”

But for how long, a needy little voice in my head asked.

Because I was suddenly imagining coming home to this apartment everyday instead of my own, standing barefoot in the kitchen with Elian cooking together, talking to each other over a meal, enjoying a cup of coffee afterward, sitting on the couch with Kevin moving between us to get petted.

The only thing I wanted different from reality was how we went to bed in separate rooms, leaving me lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and trying to find the nerve to walk across the hall and climb into bed with him.

As it was, though, I reached for my phone instead, finding the courage to face the barrage of angry texts from my boss and the frantic texts from our team, asking me what the hell we could do to fix this.

Despite myself, I sat up in bed, then brought up the town hall meeting, cringing as the senator went painfully off-topic, and all but blamed blue-collar workers for not working hard enough or not getting an education for why they couldn’t get ahead. Instead of the real issues—you know, the ones on the cards I’d written for him—like stagnant wages, out of control rent prices, and corporate greed leading to inflation that was taking more out of their pockets.

If anyone at that press conference had been on the fence about their vote, Michael’s comments all but ensured that they would vote for his competitor.

Unable to stop myself, I shot off a number of texts and emails, explaining that I’d had a ‘medical emergency’ and had to leave.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. I mean, if I hadn’t been quick enough, the medical emergency would have been that I was dead.

Then I explained how we were going to fix this, asking them to work way past a reasonable hour to set up endless interviews the next day. Where Michael would be cool and collected and would clarify what he actually meant. Things like how he wanted to make it easier for blue-collar workers to get further education, about how it didn’t matter how much they worked because there was no getting ahead when the odds were against him thanks to, again, greed.

It would all be bold-faced lies. And anyone who looked into the senator and knew how many big corporations owned him, would know that. But this was the job. Politics were all about spin and promises pretty much no one was ever going to make good on. Because no one politician had as much power as their constituents thought.

I don’t know why I was bothering trying to fix this.

I guess a part of me didn’t want to let the team down. At least not until I got the dirt I needed on the senator.

I’d brought that up over dinner, getting a sigh out of Elian who seemed to think the almost attack would have scared me off my mission.

But it felt even more imperative now that I get the recording. I mean, otherwise, all of this would be for nothing.

And despite what that vlogger, Nathan, claimed, the senator did still have a chance. Polls were either deadlocked, or leaning slightly in his favor just because of familiarity, the fear of the unknown that the other candidate posed.

If I walked away now, he could get reelected. He could go back to the Senate and pass laws that would make it easier for monsters like my attacker’s boss to keep getting away with their exploitation of women and girls.

I couldn’t have that hanging over my head if there was even a slight chance that I could do something about it.

I just… wouldn’t go with the senator anywhere anymore. There were plenty of senior staffers who could go with him to the interviews and feed him his lines. Maybe literally. With a damn earpiece. If he couldn’t stay on brand and topic.

I could claim I needed to be in the office to do damage control. Where I would make sure I was surrounded by as many people as possible.

Just two more days, I promised myself. If, at the end of that, I still couldn’t get it, I could give up. Walk away. Let the chips fall where they may.

Or, I don’t know, go work for the woman running against him, and make sure she won, so he had no power to change laws.

On those thoughts, I drifted off to sleep, sure I would dream of being chased through endless halls by a man who kept gaining on me.

Instead, I dreamed of rolling around in bed with Elian, making me toss and turn, twisting myself up in my sheets, so that I felt like I was being strangled as I tried to kick out of them, then took myself into the hall to take a cold shower before heading into work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Elian

She was a lot more stubborn than I had anticipated.

I figured that after a real near-death experience that she would give up on her mission to take down her boss and start planning her next steps.

Which would include moving out of Brooklyn, I reminded myself, feeling the familiar gut-punch I got each time I thought of that. Especially as we spent more time together, as we got closer and more comfortable with each other.

She wasn’t mine to keep.

But, fuck, I was starting to want to.

And, honestly, I guess her steadfast determination to do what she felt was her moral duty to take down the senator was one of the reasons I was starting to like her so much.

You had to respect someone who would do just about anything to do what they thought was right. Even if there was a threat of danger involved.

Outside of my family, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt that much conviction toward something. It was admirable. And I fucking hated it.

Because I couldn’t be there.

I couldn’t protect her.

I couldn’t watch the way she gathered her hair over one shoulder when she was trying to concentrate, or scrunched her nose when she heard something unpleasant, or…

“Yo. The fuck?” Serano called, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to the present.

With no one at the apartment, save for Kevin, he’d decided to hang with me in the car as I waited for Dimitri to emerge from his apartment building until it was time to go keep an eye on Elizabeth for me.

“What?” I asked, trying not to look as caught as I felt.

“Fucking smiling to yourself and shit,” he said, shaking his head at me.

That was practically a fucking speech for Serano, who seemed to struggle to string together three or four words at a time. And even then, it seemed to annoy him to have to do so.

I didn’t know much about Serano’s upbringing. His parents had divorced when he was young, and his mother had taken him out of Brooklyn and raised him in Chicago with her family. All I knew was when he came back at eighteen, he was just like this. Moody, standoffish, quiet. But you could always get a little bit of a reaction out of him if you fed him.

I’d taken him on with my crew mostly because I thought that if I didn’t, he would end his ass up in jail because he always rubbed people the wrong way.

So far, he’d been an asset. Even if he wasn’t the most pleasant company to keep.

I didn’t answer since I had no good comeback to that.

Surprisingly, though, Serano didn’t let it drop.

“Thinking of her.”

“Elizabeth?” I asked, brows lowering.

“Quick with her name.”

“She’s living with me, so who else’s name would I be quick with?”

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” I corrected, getting a shrug from him. I didn’t know what his type was. I don’t think I’d ever seen him with a woman, come to think of it.

“Why isn’t she yours?” he asked.

“Because it doesn’t work that way,” I said, catching a quick sideways look from Serano. “I can’t just tell a woman that she’s mine.”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t like that kind of shit. We aren’t fucking cavemen.”

To that, he only had a shrug to offer me.

“I’d like to see you tell a woman she’s yours, then see her smack the shit out of you,” I said, smirking at him.

But something caught his eye, and he was jerking his chin toward the windshield.

Half a block ahead, Dimitri was walking out of his front door flanked by two of his men.

I was about to reach to shift the car into drive when Serano’s hand stopped me, nodding toward the street again.

Another car pulled up the street, stopping right in the center, and dropping off someone alarmingly familiar before pulling off again.

It was the man who’d been strung up at the meat shop.

Renzo told me they’d opted to try to use him as a spy, but everything about the fucker’s body language told me he wasn’t cut out for it. He was jumpy and paranoid, gaze casting around. I could practically see him vibrating with anxiety from half a block away.

“Not good,” Serano said as Dimitri nodded toward his men, and one of them pushed the guy in the back, then both of them climbed in with him, blocking him in.

Leaving Dimitri himself to drive, something he rarely did.

Reaching for my phone, I rang up Rico.

“Yeah?”

“That double agent of yours…” I started.

“What about him?”

“Think you should start planning his replacement with his crew,” I said as the car pulled off.

“Fuck. What happened?”

“He wasn’t cut out for it. Think Dimitri clocked something being off right away. Just drove off with him.”

“Well, one less problem for me to deal with, I guess,” Rico said, sighing. “Thanks for the heads up,” he added before ending the call.

“Not gonna follow ‘em?”

“Don’t feel like watching anyone get murdered today,” I admitted, checking the clock, wondering how late Elizabeth was going to be.

I’d caught a recap of the mess that had been that damn town hall meeting that had been going down while Elizabeth had been running for her life through the school. And, yeah, it looked like there was a fuckton of damage control to be done. But she’d agreed that she would leave when the rest of the staff did, so she would be more protected in a crowd.

I was planning to teach her to make a bolognese sauce that we would put over some wide pappardelle noodles. Maybe a side of cicoria ripassata to get some greens in. I might even have time to stop at the bakery to pick up some cantucci—almond biscotti—before heading home to meet Elizabeth. She would love dipping those in her after-dinner coffee.

Then, well, maybe we could cozy up on the couch.

And perhaps one thing would lead to another.

Until we tumbled into bed and finally got our fill of each other.

I’d barely been able to think of anything else since she’d invited me into that bathroom. Since I’d slipped my hand between her thighs and had her writhing and moaning for more. Since my fingers slid inside her tight…

Christ.

I had to get it together.

I couldn’t be going to the bakery with a raging hard-on.

“Where are you going?” I asked as Serano opened the door and started to climb out.

“Coffee.”

“Aren’t you supposed—“

“Be at your place after,” he said, slamming the door before I could offer to drive him to whatever coffee place he was heading to.

He was probably itching to be alone anyway.

So I took a deep breath, deciding I’d done enough staking out for the day. I headed to the bakery to pick up the cantucci. Then to the market to grab more of her cookie syrup, since she was getting low, and some treats for Kevin because his stash was slim, and he’d been doing a lot of begging lately. The cat was ancient; I wasn’t about to deny him extra treats in his old age.

I was just pulling up out front of my building, the sun setting low behind the buildings, when I saw Serano walking down the street, a large to-go coffee looking tiny in his massive hand.

He gave me a nod as he waited at the front of the building.

I was about to climb out when my phone started to ring.

I thought nothing of it until I saw Elizabeth’s name on the screen.

“Is every—“ I started.

“Elian,” she cried, her voice shallow, like she was gasping for air.

“Where are you?” I asked, rolling down my window to bark at Serano. “Get in,” I called, waiting for him to rush around the hood and fold his long body into the passenger seat, his keen eyes watching me.

“W…work. You didn’t see?”

“See what?” I asked, setting her on speaker and dropping the phone in my lap as I peeled off into traffic, ignoring the beeps as I did.

“News,” she said, sniffling hard.

“No, baby, I didn’t see the news. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m… alright,” she said, but everything about how her voice was shaking and how often she was sniffling, told me a different story.

“He’s shot,” she said.

“Who’s shot?” I asked, slamming my hands against the wheel as we hit a red light.

“The senator,” she said, voice breaking. “It was supposed to be me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Elizabeth

I was so busy for so long once I got into the office that it was impossible to think of anything else.

I may or may not have insinuated that my ‘medical emergency’ was of the lady problems variety, which, blessedly, made everyone too uncomfortable to ask me any questions about, so I didn’t have to lie to anyone’s face.

As much as I may not have bought into Michael’s politics like a lot of the people who worked for him did, I liked them all as people, and it didn’t feel right to lie to their faces. It was hard enough not to blurt out that this man they almost idolized was owned by the Bratva and was helping them get away with exploiting women.

Everyone seemed to be congregating in my office, so overwhelmed by the damage control we needed to do that they wanted to be close to me to make sure whatever wording they used on social media or to answer emails was crafted in such a way that no one could twist it into a different narrative.

That was my specialty after all.

For once, I was happy to have all the buzz around me, the crowd making me feel safe. Even if the energy in the room was frenetic and overwhelming.

Hey, at least it made the day fly by.

Especially because all I wanted to do was slip into a ride-share and go home to Elian. Maybe have a repeat of the little tub scene. And more.

“You okay?” one of the staffers asked, making me realize I’d grumbled aloud about my ever-present desire that was a constant dull ache in my core, no matter how busy I got.

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling hard. “How did his interview go?” I asked, waving toward the TV where several of the others were still gathered. I couldn’t bring myself to watch him use my words to get himself out of trouble for using his own.

“Great, actually. Better than we could have hoped. Even the interviewer was agreeing with him at the end, and she’d started off coming for his throat.”

“Nice,” I said. “Alright. What is he up to now…” I said, talking to myself as I tried to find my notes where I’d scribbled his schedule.

“He’s coming back here to be coached a little, then he has that one late-night show to do.”

Right.

That was the one we had to be the most worried about. That particular host was smart and very quick with comebacks and facts. Who would fluster and piss off the senator if he didn’t keep his cool and take his time to answer, staying on message.

“Okay. Perfect. We can all head out as soon as he does,” I said. “He won’t come back here after. And we’ve had a busy day.”

They all nodded, looking as tired as I felt. Shirts that had been buttoned up all the way were looser, their clothes wrinkled, their hair mussed. And I was pretty sure someone had gone on no fewer than five trips to the local coffee shop to keep us all energized and going.

I was sure Michael would be just as tired as we were, so he was likely to be grumpy and short-tempered when he came in, but I was still going to try to use the opportunity to get the confession out of him.

It felt like a good time, actually. I could put it in a ‘we just put out one fire, and I need to know if there are any more that could be coming’ way.

He’d been so close to telling me the last time.

I just had to get a few moments alone with him before he had to leave again.

Then all of this would be over.

For all of us.

No more running for my life through buildings or getting attacked in my own home.

And, for the staff, no more working their tails off on a campaign that wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Of course, the end of this also meant the beginning of my new life. Which included leaving Brooklyn, my apartment, and, well, Elian. Who was probably the first real connection I’d made since my grandfather passed.

True, he said I could stay there as long as I needed to figure out my next steps. But I was pretty sure he didn’t mean indefinitely. No matter how much I wanted that.

“He just pulled up,” one of the staffers said, coming in with another desperately needed coffee for me.

“You’re a god amongst men,” I told him, taking a moment to enjoy my first sip before the senator made it up here. “When he comes in, let everyone know I want a couple of minutes alone with him before we all gather,” I told him, getting a nod.

“Beth,” the senator said, coming into my office looking a little bleary-eyed.

“Senator,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Did you stop somewhere on your way back from the last interview?” I asked.

“Stopped to have a drink,” he said, shrugging.

From the looks of his eyes, it wasn’t one drink. Three at least. And liquor worked one of two ways on him. One, it made him horny and handsy. Or two, it made him short-tempered.

I was silently praying for horny and handsy. The late-night host was male. So that wasn’t likely to be as big of a problem.

We had about two hours until the show. Hopefully that was enough time to sober him up.

Until then, maybe it was time to try to take advantage of his lowered inhibitions.

I clicked on my recording app, then moved over toward where he was sitting on the couch, yanking at his tie.

“You did great today,” I told him. “I think polls are going to show things turning back in our favor. But I think we need to revisit that conversation we were having a few days ago,” I said, heart starting to hammer, some part of me knowing that this was it, that I was finally going to get what I needed to prove his connection to organized crime.

“Refresh my memory,” he said, lounging back, looking like he was ten minutes away from a nap. And that might be the best thing for him.

But first…

“About possible skeletons in your closet,” I reminded him. “Anything at all that, if it got out, might lead to bad press,” I told him. “Any other affairs…”

“Just the one,” he said.

“Or unsavory connections…”

To that, he sucked in a deep breath, seeming lost in thought. Like the Russians weren’t even at the forefront of his mind.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said, pretending like this wasn’t even related. “We got a call today from a man who wanted to speak to you. He had a really thick accent. Maybe Ukrainian… or Russian,” I said, throwing a hand up at my pretend eureka moment.

“Russian?” Michael asked, sitting up, posture going stiff.

“Is that someone important?” I asked, tone pure innocence.

“Fuck,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands.

“Senator, what is it?” I asked. Then, at his silence, “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

There was another, shorter pause. And then, finally, he started to speak. “I think I got myself in over my head,” he said, shaking his head.

“With whom? The man who called?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“He’s… the head of the Russian mob.”

This was it! Finally. I just needed him to admit the bribe to do their bidding and it was all in the bag.

“Okay,” I said, tone suggesting this was no big deal, that I dealt with this sort of thing all of the time. “Why is he trying to contact you?”

“Because I haven’t done what he needs me to do.”

“What could he need you to do?”

“It involves someone in his organization that is going to trial.”

“I see. Why would that have anything to do with you?”

“Because I might have… accepted a campaign contribution from them.”

“From the Russian mob,” I clarified.

“Yes,” he said, voice a harsh whisper.

“I know sometimes contributions mean favors. Did you know when you accepted the money that they wanted you to help with this trial?”

“Not this in particular, no.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Just a general understanding that they might need something from me some day.”

“But you knew at the time that they were the Russian mob?”

“Yes.”

“Have you pulled strings for them?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“A few.”

“On this case?” I asked, discreetly sliding my phone a little closer, so it didn’t miss anything.

“No. Well, yes.”

“What is the case?”

“A human trafficking case. I’m trying. It’s not as easy as they would think.”

“I see.”

“But I’ve done other things, smaller things,” he said, clearly on a roll now that I got him talking.

“Illegal things?”

“Yes. Fuck, my head,” he said, rubbing his temples.

I turned off the recording app, making sure it saved the file, then slipping my phone into my pocket as I stood.

“Let me get you some painkillers,” I said, going to my drawer to grab some of my acetaminophen and the glass off the desk. “Here,” I said, dropping them into his hand. “Let me just get you some water,” I added, heading toward the bathroom to fill the glass.

I glanced at myself in the mirror as I waited for the water to get cold.

I saw excitement and relief in my eyes. But under that, disappointment and fear.

Because there were no more excuses now. It was all over. I had to hand this over to the police. Then I had to figure out where I was moving next, how I was going to afford it all, what life was going to look like from now on.

“Shit,” I said, the water overflowing the cup and pouring down my hand.

Those were problems to think about another time.

Now, I had to keep playing my role as an unconcerned campaign manager.

I flicked off the light and was starting out of the door when I saw something in the hall that had my stomach lurching.

A man in a black hoodie.

“Michael,” I hissed, heart hammering. “Get down,” I added as I watched, vision going into slow motion as my gaze landed on the flash of metal.

“What’s—“ he started, catching the look of horror on my face, and moving to stand, to turn and look where my gaze was frozen.

“No,” I cried as the man’s arm raised, aimed, at me.

Just as Michael took a step to the right, not realizing he was standing right in front of me. Right in the path of the bullet.

Instinct had me dropping down to a squat.

Just as the popping sound of the silenced gun broke out. As the bullet flew. As it struck the senator.

The gunman let out a string of Russian as he moved inward, trying to get a clear path to me.

Feeling like a monster for leaving Michael alone, shot with a bullet meant for me, I rushed into the bathroom, slamming, and locking the door, then scurrying to hide behind the sink cabinet, praying that if he shot through the door, there was enough between us to slow down the bullet, to make it less deadly if it did lodge in me.

Bile rose up my throat, knowing Michael was out there, shot, alone, likely terrified. But there was no way I could go out there when my own body was vibrating in fear, my heartbeat punching against my ribcage, a cold sweat trickling down my back.

There was a thunk, closer than felt comfortable. And before I could remind myself to stay hidden where I was relatively safe, I peeked out from behind the sink cabinet and saw a hole in the wall across from it.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

I had to do something.

I had to call for help.

With shaky hands, I drew out my phone, closing the recording app, and hitting 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“There’s been a shooting,” I whispered, rattling off the address.

“Did you say there was a shooting? Was anyone shot?”

“My boss. Senator Westmoore was shot.”

“Senator Westmoore?” she asked, voice tight.

“Yes.”

“Is he breathing?” she asked. “Where was he shot?”

“I don’t know. I’m hiding in the bathroom,” I said as another bullet whizzed into the room, making my shoulders draw up near my ears, my whole body tensing. “I think he was shot in the chest.”

“Help is on—“

There was a yell and a loud slam outside the door, making me gasp.

“Ma’am? Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, pulling the phone from my ear to hear better.

“Grab the gun!” Niel, one of the staffers yelled as there was another loud slam and a groan.

Were they… fighting the guy off?

“Get his legs,” Niel yelled, sounding breathless, like he was struggling to hold onto the guy.

I couldn’t just sit in here, cowering, while the other staffers put their life on the line against an attacker who was here for me.

“I think the staffers are holding onto the shooter,” I whispered into the phone before ending the call, tucking the phone back into my pocket as I inched toward the door, ignoring the way my belly was wobbling as I reached for the door handle.

As soon as I opened the door, there was a loud slam, and I saw Niel landing on top of the shooter on my desk as another male staffer rushed forward to grab the man’s legs.

While, just a few feet away, a female staffer was kicking the gun under the couch.

“Michael,” I hissed, rushing forward toward where he was slumped against the wall on the floor, his hand clutching his chest, blood seeping through his shirt and covering his fingers.

He was pale and sweating, his eyes round, and his breathing coming in short, frantic bursts.

“Hey,” I said, rushing toward him, and pressing my hand against his. I didn’t know much about gunshot wounds but I did know that you needed to put pressure on the wounds, to try to keep as much blood as possible inside. “It’s going to be okay,” I said as my computer monitor crashed to the ground. Then my pen holder, pens and pencils shot across the room as the men struggled to hold onto the shooter.

“I’m shot,” the senator said, his shocked gaze settling on me.

“I know,” I said, trying to ignore the way his blood was coating my fingers, how the copper smell of it seemed to be filling the room. He was losing too much. He needed an ambulance. “The police are on their way,” I assured him. “Just stay with me, okay?” I said, my voice taking on a hysterical edge as more of his blood streamed down my hand. “You’re going to be okay,” I added, sniffling hard as I watched his eyes start to unfocus, knowing he was slipping away.

“You’re not getting away, fucker,” Niel snarled as he struggled with the shooter who was grumbling at them in Russian. I didn’t speak a word of it, but it all seemed to be threats.

My belly plummeted at the idea that he might make good on those threats, that these innocent bystanders who were just trying to be Good Samaritans were going to end up targeted because, again, of me. Well, to be fair, because of the senator.

The senator whose eyes were slowly closing.

“No no no. Stay awake,” I cried, pressing my other hand into his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was there, but it seemed weak to me. “Michael, come on,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. “Wake up,” I said as his hand went slack under mine, making me press harder as a few tears started to stream down my cheeks. “Don’t die,” I pleaded as I heard several feet running down the hall.

“Police,” they called.

Niel sprang into action then, explaining what happened as the police took control over the shooter, wrestling him to the floor, and cuffing him as the officer’s radios crinkled with static and faraway voices.

It felt like hours before the paramedics arrived, pushing me out of the way when I didn’t move aside by myself.

I fell on my ass against the wall, elbows on knees, wanting to bury my face in my hands, but they were covered in blood. Michael’s blood.

A sob grew in my chest as my office became a flurry of activity, the EMTs shooting off stats to each other, the clink of the stretcher as it was lowered to the ground, their grunts as they lifted Michael’s body onto the thin mattress and strapped him in before rushing out with him.

“Ma’am?” a voice called, sounding like it was coming from far away. “Ma’am?” he called again, but this time, he dropped down to a squat in front of me. “I need to ask you some questions,” he said as I spied the notepad in his hand.

“Okay,” I said numbly.

My own voice sounded like it was coming from a distance as I answered the officer’s questions, without giving too much detail, without admitting that the bullet was meant for me.

They seemed to assume that this was some sort of political assassination, especially since the last shooting out front of the building, and I just didn’t contradict them.

What did it matter who the intended target was?

He’d shot Michael.

If it came out in questioning that the shooter admitted the target was me, well, then I could deal with that if or when it came to pass.

I imagined that the Bratva had top-tier lawyers at their disposal. The man would likely not say a word until he had counsel. And I imagined the Bratva would rather find a way to kill this guy than to let him implicate them in his actions.

Eventually, the officers handed the case over to a detective who asked me many of the same questions that I answered in a robotic voice that didn’t seem to faze the detectives as they made me go over the scene a few times, giving them as many details as I could remember before they walked off to talk to the others.

I stayed there on the floor, oddly detached until I glanced over and saw the large pool of blood on the ground where the paramedics had lowered Michael to the floor to work on him before they got him onto the stretcher.

The sight of that seemed to knock the numbness loose, making tears well up in my eyes again, then stream down my cheeks.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” one of the female staffers said, coming up near me. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Can I call someone for you?”

“There’s no—“ I started, before cutting off, realizing there was someone I could call.

I reached with my cleaner hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone, and toggling through my contacts to find his name. “I’m okay,” I told her, even if the sniffling pretty quickly contradicted my assertion.

I found myself crying harder at the sound of his voice, “Is every—“

“Elian?” I cut him off on a small sob.

“Where are you?” he asked, tone soft but no-nonsense, wanting the facts, ready to jump into action.

“W…work. You didn’t see?” I asked, figuring this must be all over Brooklyn, the city, the country by now.

“See what?” he asked, and I could hear the sounds of traffic.

He was already on his way. I just had to try to hold it together a little longer.

“News,” I said, sniffling hard.

“No, baby, I didn’t see the news,” he said, making my heart squeeze. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m… alright,” I said unconvincingly. “He’s shot,” I went on, knowing he needed to know what he was getting himself involved in.

“Who’s shot?” he asked.

“The senator,” I said, voice breaking. “It was supposed to be me,” I admitted, thinking if I’d just been a second earlier, or if Michael hadn’t moved exactly the way he had, that it would have been me with the hole in my chest, with my blood streaming out. Too much, too quickly. That I could be in the hospital fighting for my life right now.

“Someone shot the senator?” Elian asked.

“He was aiming for me,” I said in a whisper. There were too many people around. In the hall, talking, crying, hugging, and consoling one another. “Michael accidentally got in the way.”

“You’re not hurt?” he asked, voice tight.

“No. I… I ran into the bathroom,” I admitted, feeling every bit the coward. “And called the police. It didn’t look good,” I said, closing my eyes tight, feeling more tears stream down my cheeks.

“My concern is you right now,” he said, a chorus of horns in the background.

“The paramedics took him away. But he wasn’t conscious,” I went on. “The police got him.”

“Got who, baby?”

“The shooter.”

“The police have the shooter?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes. My coworkers attacked and held onto him,” I admitted. “While I tried to stop the bleeding.”

“Michael is in the best hands right now,” Elian insisted. “Fuck, this place is a zoo,” he said.

“You’re here?” I asked, hope rising.

“I am. I don’t think I can get in, though. There’s cops and news everywhere.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, hearing the defeat in my voice.

“I need you to come down to me, okay?” he asked. “Are you done talking to the police?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then you can leave. Just grab your things and come down. No one is going to hurt you, not in this mess. Just go outside and turn to the left. I’ll meet you just a couple dozen feet away from all the news crews.”

“I can’t just leave,” I said, looking at the staff.

“Yes, you can. You need to. Dismiss the staff, then come down here to me. Let’s go home.”

Home.

That was maybe the only thing he could have said to force me to stand on my wobbly legs and walk over to my desk to find my purse stashed under it.

“Okay,” I agreed, ending the call as I stared at the mess of my office, feeling like I should clean it up, set things to rights.

But I just turned away from it and into the hall.

“Everyone,” I called, forcing some strength into my voice. “We should all go home,” I said, getting nods from a few of the women who were red-eyed and scared-looking. “Spend some time with our loved ones,” I added. “Say a little prayer for Michael,” I went on. “Don’t talk to the press on the way out,” I added, getting nods from everyone who, by working here, knew how important it was not to leak to the news.

Several of us made our way out at once, and as the cops tried to keep the press back, I slipped away from the crowd, keeping my head down and walking in the direction Elian instructed me to.

Until I felt an arm wrap around me, lips pressing into my temple, then helping me into the backseat of the car before moving in with me.

“I’ve got you,” he said as the driver pulled into traffic. “You’re alright,” he assured me. “We’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

I curled into him, feeling his arms wrap me up tight, holding me together as I fell apart for what felt like the millionth time since I’d met him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said as the car parked, and the driver climbed out, giving us a second of privacy. “We’re home. Everything’s going to be alright now.”

I never wanted to believe anything so badly.

But there was a knot in my stomach that I couldn’t deny as I followed him into his building, then up into his condo.

Something inside of me was sure that this wasn’t over.

That it never would be until I was dead.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Elian

I walked Elizabeth into my bathroom to wash the blood off of her hands. Then, when she seemed too disassociated to do it herself, helped her out of her stained clothing and into something clean before I took her into my room, and pulled her into the bed with me.

She was all cried out, but she clung to me, let me run my hands down her back and through her hair.

Until, overwhelmed by the events of the day, she drifted off to sleep.

I held her for another half an hour before I slid out from under her, pulling up the covers, then making my way out to the living room to find that Serano had invited himself into the condo.

“Check this,” he said, turning the volume on the TV, and a newswoman was talking about the assassination attempt on Senator Michael Westmoore. “He remains in critical condition,” she concluded before Serano muted the TV again.

“No one knows she was the real target,” I concluded, making my way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of scotch off the cart. “Want one?” I asked as I reached for a glass.

Serano nodded and I poured him a glass before throwing mine back.

“Has Renzo called yet?” I asked as Serano passed me my phone, having left it in the car in my rush to get Elizabeth upstairs and safe.

“‘Bout eleven times.”

“Did you answer?” I asked, tensing.

“The last one,” he said, nodding.

“And?” I asked, impatient.

“Said to call him.”

I reached out and he slapped my phone into my palm as I poured another drink.

“Renz,” I said when he answered.

“The fuck, El?” he asked, voice rough.

“It’s been crazy. I know I should have called, but Elizabeth was freaked the fuck out.”

“Do the cops know?” he asked.

“That she was the real target? No.”

“Think the shooter will talk?”

“A Bratva enforcer? Unlikely,” I said. “Are things still on for tonight?” I asked, thinking of the plan to have one of ours take out a member of a local, disloyal crew and frame it on another crew that was wrapped up with the Russians.

“Yeah,” Renzo said. “If anything, I think this might make shit easier. They will be too distracted by the arrest to investigate this too much. Any chance there were any Russians around the senator’s building?”

“I doubt it. The press and cops were out in force. They wouldn’t want to accidentally be caught on camera.”

“Were you?” he asked. “Caught on camera,” he clarified.

“I parked far enough down that even if someone did catch me in the background, it would be blurry as fuck.”

“Okay. She alright?”

“Freaked out. But I got her to sleep.”

“This has to stop,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. I’m going to tell her that when she wakes up.”

“Alright. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do,” I agreed, hanging up.

“Tell her what?” Serano asked, watching me.

“That this has to stop,” I told him.

“Yeah?” he asked, one side of his lips curving up.

“What?” I asked.

“Can’t tell her she’s yours,” he said. “But can tell her what to do?”

“It’s a safety thing,” I insisted.

“Sure,” he agreed, finishing his drink and setting the glass in the sink.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m on guard,” he said, making his way to the door and letting himself out.

Alone, I sucked in a deep breath. I’d been so focused on calming Elizabeth down that I hadn’t gotten a chance to wrap my head around the panic I’d felt at hearing her say someone had shot at her.

As much as what I said to Serano was right—that you couldn’t just claim a woman—I also had to admit that she was starting to feel that way. Mine.

And I had to figure out what I was going to do about that.

“Elian?” Elizabeth’s voice called, making me turn to find her standing in the hallway.

“Hey, sorry, just had to take a phone call,” I said. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Any word on the senator?”

“Last report I saw was that he is alive but in critical condition,” I told her. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked, waving at the bar. “Or coffee?”

“Ugh,” she said, nose wrinkling.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you wrinkle your nose at coffee.”

“It was a long day even before the shooting,” she admitted. “There was a lot of coffee.”

“Food then?” I asked, figuring she wouldn’t have had time to eat if she was that busy.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Pizza?” I asked.

“You make pizza?” she asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I was going to order in to make life easier.”

“In that case, can we get garlic knots too?” she asked.

“Anything you want,” I said, taking a minute to order the pizza as Elizabeth fed Kevin.

“I got it,” she said when I hung up.

“Got what?” I asked.

To that, she pulled out her phone, clicked around, then set it on the island.

Within a second, her voice came through the phone’s speakers. And then the senator’s voice as well.

Admitting to colluding with the Bratva.

Thanks to her gentle nudging, he did so in explicit detail, making it impossible to misunderstand his meaning.

“Wow,” I said, giving her a smile. “You did it.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, sucking in a deep breath. “But… maybe all for nothing,” she said. “What if he doesn’t make it?” she asked. “It’s all my fault.”

“Your fault? Baby, he is the whole reason these fuckers have been trying to kill you. That had nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But that bullet was meant for me,” she said. “What if the shooter says that? Will I be in trouble?”

“In trouble for what? Why would you assume a shooter was aiming at you?” I asked.

“But…”

“He’s not going to talk. Trust me,” I said. “The Bratva takes their code of silence just as seriously as the mafia does. He talks, he’s dead. He keeps quiet, he’ll get a good lawyer who will get him a good deal. He’ll do a few years. Then get out and be rewarded.”

“Have people in your family gone to jail?”

“Of course,” I admitted. “Rico’s cousin is actually getting out soon.”

“Can I ask for what?”

“Manslaughter,” I told her.

Something flashed in her eyes then. Like this was the first time she was really processing what I did for a living, what we were capable of. Which was similar, but not the same, as the shit the Bratva did at times.

“That’s part of the job sometimes,” I told her. “But, unlike the Bratva, women and children are off limits with us. If someone is killed, it’s because they are in the life and they crossed us.” I paused, watching her process that information. “What are you thinking?” I asked, unable to read her thoughts.

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I guess I’m just imagining that if you came a couple of minutes earlier when I was being chased, and if you shot him, that I wouldn’t think that was wrong. I think sometimes it can be justified.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I felt like maybe it wasn’t the best time to say it wasn’t always as reactive as that. Like the hit that was going down later that night. It wasn’t always noble or justified in most people’s eyes what we do, how we run our organization.

That was shit I would have to tell her eventually. If things continued to progress with us. If I wanted to, as Serano put it, claim her.

The pizza arrived then, and Serano joined us to loom silently over the table as we ate with the news playing in the background at Elizabeth’s request, wanting to keep an eye for updates on the senator’s condition. Then he headed out after a few slices.

“You’re quiet,” I said as she cradled her coffee in her hands after dinner, but didn’t so much as sip it as she stared off into the distance.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” I asked, sitting down beside her.

“What happens now. If he wakes up, do I still go to the police with the recording? If he passes, am I safe again? If not, what do I do after? Where do I go? A lot of things.”

“What do you want?” I asked. “If you got to pick anything, what would you want? To stay? To go?”

“I want to stay,” she said, looking over with so much sadness that I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for her, pulling her legs up over my lap. “I want to stay. And I want to go back to working for myself. And I want,” she said, her voice dipping lower.

“What do you want?” I asked, picking up on the heat in her gaze.

She reached out, settling her coffee cup on the table, then slowly moving to straddle me.

Her hands rose to frame my face as mine slid to her lower back.

“This,” she said before sealing her lips to mine.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Elizabeth

I was almost overwhelmed with the potentials for my future as we ate in near silence, just listening to the news broadcasts that came with no updates on the senator’s condition.

My mind swirled with all the things that could be coming. Police interviews and fighting off the press if the senator lived and I had to let the world know what he’d been involved in. If he didn’t survive, the funeral, the press I would be in charge of until his wife officially fired me.

Then, of course, everything after that.

Different cities, different lives I could try on like outfits, all of which I was sure would feel scratchy and too tight, not quite right.

The only thing that I concluded that I knew I wanted, at least in my immediate future, for as long as I could have him, was Elian.

So just this once, I wasn’t going to weigh the pros and cons. I wasn’t going to second-guess myself. I wouldn’t let my mind get in the way of what my heart and body were begging for.

I set down my coffee then moved over him, my hands sliding up the sides of his neck to cradle his face as I lowered fully down on his lap, then sealed my lips to his.

His fingers dug into my hips as his lips came alive under mine, deepening the kiss as my arms slid around his neck, pressing my body close to his.

This, this was the only thing I was sure of in my life right then.

Elian sat up, bending me backward a bit as his lips bruised into mine, as his hands slid from my hips down to my ass, squeezing, then pulling me more fully against him.

I rocked my hips forward, feeling his hardness against me, dragging a ragged moan from deep in my chest, the sound vibrating on our lips.

Elian’s lips broke from mine, his heavy lids watching me as his hands dug further into my ass, dragging me against his cock again, this time watching me as a moan escaped me, as my head fell back and my fingers dug into his shoulders.

His hands slid from my ass, reaching up under my shirt to touch my overheated skin, then slowly draw up my shirt and toss it to the floor.

The cold air washed over me, but it was the raw hunger in Elian’s eyes that had a shiver coursing through me.

My hips rocked against him again, hinting at what my body needed, but not giving me what my body was screaming for.

“Elian, please,” I whimpered, shameless in my need, my hips writhing against him as his hands moved up my thighs, then my sides, before finally closing over my breasts.

His hands squeezed for a moment before his fingers and thumbs found my nipples, rolling, and teasing until I was whimpering and rocking more wildly against him, desperate for relief from the clawing need in my core.

He pulled me up, making me lose contact with his lap, dragging a grumble out of me until I felt his lips close around my nipple, sucking, circling, making the desire reach a fever pitch.

“Elian,” I cried as he moved across my chest, continuing the sweet torment.

His face moved between my breasts, his soft hair tickling my over-sensitive skin for a moment before his hands sank into my hips, grabbing me as he suddenly moved, tossing me flat on the couch, and coming over me, his lips claiming mine again as the weight of him pressed down on me.

My hands were free to roam, and I yanked at his shirt until he had no choice but to rise up to pull it off and toss it to the side.

His hard lines met my softer ones, his chest crushing my breasts as I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him more tightly against me.

Elian ground down, his cock pressing against my cleft over and over, driving me up as his lips ripped from mine to kiss down my neck.

Then he was pulling against my hold, his lips moving down my chest, between my breasts, over my belly, pausing only when he met the waistband of my shorts.

On a grumble, he sat up on his knees, pulling my legs straight up in the air, then reaching down to pull my shorts and panties down my legs, then off my feet, tossing them carelessly to the side as he looked down at me.

I watched his chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath, then slid his hands down my calves to my knees, where he grabbed, then pulled my legs wide.

Then his gaze was moving from my face, gliding over my body, creating little fires of need, until he was staring at the core of me, a rumbling sound moving through him for a second before he was moving downward.

Then his tongue was sliding up my cleft, the touch like a current through my body, making me jolt and writhe as my hand slapped down on the back of his neck, holding him against me as his tongue started to slide around my clit.

My hips rocked against him restlessly as he worked me, driving me up.

Elian’s hand slid from my thigh to slip between us, two of his fingers thrusting inside me as his lips closed around my clit, sucking.

I saw white for a second as the orgasm slammed through me, leaving me crying out as the waves crashed through me over and over.

Elian’s fingers worked me through it as his tongue traced around my too-sensitive clit, giving me time to come back down before he started to drive me up again.

My fingers were in his hair, holding him against me as the pleasure bloomed into need once again.

“Elian, please,” I whimpered, but he kept working me, not knowing what I was begging for.

My fingers yanked at his hair, pulling until he had no choice but to lift up to ease the pain in his scalp, his hungry eyes sliding to my face.

“Please,” I said, shameless in my need, my hands reaching toward his waistband, watching as he understood what I was asking for.

He reached for me, wrapping my legs around his waist, then closing his arms around my back, holding me against him as he got to his feet, carrying me with him as he turned out of the living room, and headed down the hall.

He didn’t get far, though.

He slammed me back against the wall in the hallway, his lips claiming mine again as he ground himself against me.

My head fell back on a moan, and he saw the opening to bury his face in my neck, to tease with lips and tongue and teeth.

The yearning was reaching a fever pitch, making me lock my legs more tightly around him, grinding myself against his hardness in a desperate plea to get some relief from the aching desire.

My fingers traced over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the coil of his muscles, the way they tensed and shifted under his skin as he rocked against me.

His lips took mine again, harder, feral, brushing into mine, stealing my breath as our hips moved together, the need inside becoming a piercing ache.

Elian moved away from the wall, his hands sliding down my back to grip my ass, holding me tightly against him as he moved us into his bedroom.

I clung to him as he bent me backward, the mattress meeting my back before Elian’s weight was pressing into me.

My legs stayed wrapped around him, but my hands were desperate to explore, roaming over his back, down his sides, sinking into his ass.

With a frustrated grumble, I released my legs, reaching between us to fumble with his button and zipper.

Elian pressed upward, allowing me to start to draw his pants and boxer briefs down as far as I could reach.

Desperate for the feel of him, I grabbed his hips, pulling him down as my legs went around him, my heels digging into his ass, pushing his hard length against my cleft.

A shiver racked my system as he glided against my clit, making my fingers curl into his arms, nails digging crescents in his skin as he looked down at me, eyes molten, as he rocked against me again.

The sound that escaped me was a desperate plea, for more, for everything, for him.

“Elian,” I whimpered, writhing against him.

Answering the need in my eyes, in my voice, in my body, Elian’s weight shifted as he moved onto his knees and reached into the nightstand, grabbing protection, then sliding it on, his hungry gaze on me as my fingers glided up his thighs.

Finished, Elian sucked in a greedy breath, his chest expanding wide, as he reached for my thighs, grabbing, and yanking me closer.

Then, still holding my legs wide for him, he shifted forward, the head of his cock pressing against me until I whimpered, hips rolling, trying to take him in.

Then he surged deep, taking every inch of me, his groan drowned out by my cry of pleasure as my walls closed around him, as he finally made me his.

“Fuck,” Elian sighed, his muscles taut as he tried to hold himself back.

But I didn’t want him to.

I wanted him just as pulled apart as I felt with my need.

I pulled against his hold, wrapping my legs around his hips, using his body for stability as I folded up, climbing onto his lap, and starting to ride him.

Slowly at first, enjoying the sweet stretch of him sliding inside of me, but growing more desperate with each passing second.

With a deep rumbling sound in his chest, Elian shifted, dropping me down on my back, his body crushing mine as he started to thrust.

The control was gone.

And I held on tight as he fucked me hard and deep.

My legs hooked around him, angling myself just right, so his cock was sliding against that sensitive space inside, and his pelvis pressed against my clit with each thrust.

I was too far gone to hold on for long.

My legs were shaking, my chest tight from my frantic, shallow breaths, my back arched up off of the bed.

“That’s it,” Elian murmured, dark gaze watching me as I rushed closer and closer to that crest. “Come for me,” he said.

Then the waves were crashing through me, the pleasure spreading until it overtook me completely, my cries loud even to my own ears as Elian continued to fuck me through it.

“You feel so good when you come for me,” he teased, lips against my ear, as I came back down, clinging to him. “I need more,” he added, teeth nipping the lobe of my ear as I realized he hadn’t come with me, that he was still rock-hard inside of me, something that made my walls tighten against him again.

As Elian pushed up, there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, letting me know he felt it, that he knew how insatiable I seemed to be for him.

“Feels like you want more,” he said, hips doing tiny little thrusts into me, just enough friction to have my desire growing, but not nearly enough to ease the ache as it started to grow again.

My answer was a soft mewling sound as my hips rolled.

Elian sat back on his knees again, reaching for my legs, pressing them together, then pushing them both to one side, resting on the mattress at an angle, changing the sensation, increasing the friction, as he started to thrust faster again.

It shouldn’t have been possible again, let alone so quickly, but it wasn’t long before my moans were filling the room, before my walls were tightening, then pulsating hard as another orgasm screamed through my system.

This time, Elian didn’t pause to let me come back down.

Instead, he grabbed me, turning me onto my belly, then grabbing my hips, and pulling them back toward him as he fucked me faster still, his fingers digging into my flesh on one hip as the other slid between my thighs, engaging my clit as he took me harder and harder, driving me right to that cliff, then sending me hurtling over, crying out as I came. But, this time, I took Elian with me, feeling him rock harder, then slam deep, cursing out.

There was nothing after, save for the sounds of our ragged breathing, and the feel of Elian’s thumb lightly caressing the skin of my hip as he slowly came back down from his release.

He leaned over me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before moving away from me, heading into the en suite bathroom for a moment.

Alone, I rolled onto my back, and scooted under the covers, feeling a looseness in my muscles I hadn’t felt in ages. An ease in my soul that I’d almost forgotten existed.

It lasted all of, oh, twenty seconds, before it all came rushing back.

Getting the confession.

The gunman.

The senator getting shot.

Hiding in the bathroom.

Coming out. The blood. The scuffle. The paramedics and police. The press.

My chest felt crushed in a vice, and there was a steady throbbing in my temples when Elian came back out of the bathroom.

One look at me, and his gaze went sad.

“Oh, honey,” he said, coming into the bed, sitting back against the headboard, and pulling me against his chest.

His hands went up, fingers pressing into my temples, and rubbing with a firm pressure that eased some of the pain simmering.

“Are you alright?” he asked as I let myself enjoy the feel of him, the sense of calm and security he provided.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “There’s… a lot to think about.”

“Want to think out loud?” he offered.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Now that the senator is shot, you mean?” he asked.

“Yeah, I mean… wouldn’t turning over the recording be like kicking a man when he’s down?”

“Elizabeth, consider this, that gunman was there to shoot you… because of him.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, sucking in a deep breath to try to tamp down the guilt that I had no business holding onto.

I hadn’t caused any of this.

In fact, I’d been actively trying to stop it by getting the senator to confess to his criminal activity, so he would no longer be able to use his office to aide and abet terrible crimes.

“I think you should go through with giving it to the police,” Elian said. “But if you don’t feel comfortable doing that, I will support that decision too.”

“You’re not worried?” I asked.

“Worried about what?”

“What happens if a different senator is elected?” I asked. “You know… given your… profession.”

“No, I’m not worried.” He sounded so certain.

“Why not?”

“Because no one person has the power to change shit that much. If there’s anyone I need to keep an eye on, it’s the local cops and DA. But I don’t remember the last time anyone was pulled in on charges that actually stuck. Are you worried about that?” he asked, fingers moving down to rub the tension out of the sides of my neck.

“What do you mean?”

“With me. With this, us, are you worried about my career?”

Us.

My heart squeezed at that.

If there had ever been a question on whether this was just about sex or something more, that little squeeze definitely cleared it up for me.

“Honestly, I really haven’t given it too much thought,” I admitted. “I’ve been a little busy trying to fight the attraction.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed you, as much as that hurts my pride a bit to admit, and I didn’t want to make things awkward by giving in.”

“I don’t feel awkward. Do you?” he asked, hands moving to my shoulders, pressing into knots I’d been living with so long that I didn’t even know they existed until he started to work them out.

“No,” I admitted. “But…”

“But what?”

“I have to leave,” I said, surprised when tears flooded my eyes at the idea, making me need to blink them rapidly away before they started to overflow.

I wasn’t going to pretend that they were there at the idea of leaving the home I really did love. Or the city as a whole.

No.

They had everything to do with my growing feelings for this man who’d been nothing but good to me. And the idea of losing something that I believed could be really amazing.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Elian said, finished with the knots, and wrapping both arms around my chest instead.

“I can’t ask you to try to fix this for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I can’t make promises, but I am going to look into it,” he told me, leaning down to press a kiss to my head. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Elian

“Seeing this?” Serano asked, standing in front of the TV in the living room the next morning, drinking some of Elizabeth’s coffee that I imagined he wouldn’t admit—even under torture—that he enjoyed.

She’d still been out cold when I’d come out to start making breakfast, but I figured her internal clock would have her getting up at any moment, so I started to make another cookie batter latte for her.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing over, but only able to make out the face of a female news anchor with her too-perfectly coiffed hair, making it bounce in one big unit as she nodded seriously.

“Senator woke up,” he said.

Almost as if on cue, Elizabeth’s phone started to ring. Going to voicemail. Then starting up again.

I walked over, toggling down the volume switch.

She didn’t need to deal with work stress because the asshole who’d almost gotten her killed multiple times now wanted to hold a goddamn press conference from his hospital bed.

“Good. Then she won’t feel guilty turning his ass in,” I said, shrugging, as I flipped the pancakes to reveal their golden sides. “Turn that off when you’re done. I don’t want that to be the first thing she sees.”

“Yeah, might kill the mood,” Serano said, clicking the TV off to shoot me a smirk, “if you’re planning on a round two this morning.”

“Don’t,” I said, tone a warning.

“Not my fault she’s not quiet. Shoulda told me that earplugs might be something I’d want to protect her privacy,” he said, bringing his empty plate back to the kitchen to set in the sink with his coffee. “You seem happy, though,” he said, looking at me.

“I am,” I said, nodding. “I’m glad she doesn’t have to go back there anymore.”

“Not what I meant.”

“No,” I agreed. “It wasn’t really what I meant either.”

With that, Serano turned and walked back out of the apartment.

I was just plating the last of the pancakes when I heard Elizabeth’s sweet voice cooing at Kevin who’d been in my room waiting for her to wake up.

“Come on, buddy, I think I smell coffee,” she said.

She appeared wearing nothing but one of my shirts. I swear to fuck, I’d never seen a better sight in my whole sorry life.

“Morning,” she said, coming up to me as I held out her latte.

“Morning,” I said, sweeping a quick kiss across her cheek.

“You made pancakes,” she said, sliding onto one of the chairs at the island.

“Pancakes and some egg scramble with bacon, cheese, and pepper.”

Reaching for it, she grabbed her plate and held it out at me with big, pleading eyes.

I loaded up her plate, trying not to let my mind wander to how she had a similar look on her face as she begged for my cock the night before.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Like the dead,” she admitted, telling the truth. She hadn’t even stirred when I’d slid out from under her and climbed out of the bed. She’d clearly needed that rest after all the stress. First of the campaign itself, then of the constant fear of assassination attempts.

“Any word on the senator?” she asked, pushing her pancakes into a pool of syrup, body going tense just at the thought of that asshole.

“He’s awake,” I told her, watching her head shoot up. “And, judging by how your phone has been ringing, I assume he wants to do some sort of statement or conference.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she nodded. “Yeah, it would be just like him to want to strike while the iron is hot to push his campaign. I’m glad he’s alive,” she said.

“But?” I prompted, hearing it hanging silently in the air.

“But I decided to turn the recording over. I just want to make a few copies of it. I figure if I give it to the press as well, it will force the police to investigate. That way, hopefully, the wheels will really start turning.”

“What about work?” I asked.

“I’m done, obviously. I will draft a resignation letter and send it out to everyone still working on the campaign. I imagine they will all be out of work once the news leaks the recording, though, so no one will care anyway. I’m sure the senator will hire some crisis management team in the hopes that he can keep his position at least until whatever charges he might face.”

“You really think he believes he can still win?”

“He’s had a ton of scandals over the years. Some, people like me managed to sweep under the rug. Others, they got out there. And he still has his seat. I think the world is so crazy lately that people’s memory is really short and their ‘give a damn’ is in short supply.”

“Yeah, honestly, I couldn’t tell you shit about any scandals local politicians have been caught up in unless they involved some sort of criminal organization.”

“Yeah,” she said, polishing off her breakfast. “So, that’s what I’m going to be doing today, I guess. Letter, anonymous emails to a bunch of newspapers and political vloggers. Then, eventually, I need to get to the police station.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I do have some work today, but Serano or another of my guys will be here to keep an eye on you.”

“Will they be able to take me to the police station, or is that… not somewhere they would want to willingly go?” she asked, smirking at me.

“They can take you. Or you can wait for me. It’s up to you.”

“Okay,” she said, reaching for her coffee. “I’ll wait and see how the day goes and decide.”

“I’ll be home to make dinner,” I told her. “I planned to teach you how to make bolognese before all that mess went down yesterday. I have all the makings, if you’re interested in another cooking lesson.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

“It’s a date then,” I said as she came around the counter to bring her plate to the sink.

She shot me a sweet smile over her shoulder.

I meant to be out the door already, having plans to get work done early.

But when you had someone with all that pretty smiling at you while wearing your shirt, you didn’t rush away.

I closed the distance between us, pressing my front against her back, trapping her against the counter.

She leaned back into me, letting out a contented sigh.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and sweet as she turned her face in toward my neck.

“Hi,” I said, my hands sliding up her thighs, taking the material up with me. “Like how this looks on you,” I said, feeling a little shiver move through her as my fingers caressed over her bare hips.

With her pressed up against me, there was no missing the hitch in her breath, the way she melted into me as my fingers moved up her stomach, stopping only when my hands covered her breasts.

A soft mewling sound escaped her at the touch as my hands squeezed, then as my thumbs and forefingers found her nipples and rolled them until she was wiggling her ass restlessly against my quickly-hardening cock.

One of my hands stayed planted between her breasts. The other tracked back down her belly, then slipped between her thighs.

“You’re so wet for me already,” I murmured as she rocked herself against my palm.

My thumb slid up, finding her clit, drawing a choked moan out of her as I started to work it in slow side-to-side motions that had her breathing going fast and shallow.

At her low whimper, two of my fingers slid down, slipped inside of her, feeling her walls tighten as she moaned and rocked her hips against my hand.

I worked her until her moans were filling the kitchen, until she was rocking her ass against my cock.

My fingers slid from between her thighs as I turned her, backing her up against the counter as my lips crashed down on hers.

Her hands were greedy, sliding down my back to sink into my ass, pulling me against her.

My hand slid into my pocket, tossing my wallet on the counter and digging inside for a condom as Elizabeth’s hands slid around to fumble with my belt, then my button and zipper, until she could reach inside, close her hand around my cock, and free me.

I stood there, foil in hand, letting her stroke me for a moment, until the need to be inside was too strong to deny for another second.

I reached between us, sliding on the protection, then reaching down, grabbing her under the knee and yanking her leg up, spreading her wide for me, then stepping in and sliding inside of her.

Elizabeth threw her head back on a moan as her walls tightened around me.

Her need was as impatient as mine, her hips rolling in small circles before I started to thrust. Long and deep at first, then faster as the need grew, as her fingers clawed at the material of my shirt, and my lips swallowed her deep moans.

Her body tightened right before the orgasm slammed through her, her pussy pulsing around my cock as the waves crashed over and over, her cries muffled by my neck as she leaned into me, holding on tight.

But I wasn’t done with her.

Not yet.

As her body started to go lax, I reached for her, turning her, pressing her flat across the surface of the island, her breath sucking in as the cold of it met her skin as I yanked the shirt up.

I moved inward, hand reaching out to massage her ass cheek with one hand as the other slid between her thighs again, teasing up her slick cleft, working her clit until she was whimpering and writhing again.

Then, holding her hips to keep her in place, I slammed inside of her and started to fuck her.

Hard.

Fast.

Using her hips to slam her back into me as I thrust forward, the sound of our bodies slapping together drowned out by Elizabeth’s cries as she got closer and closer, her pussy tightening around my cock, then spasming hard as she came, this time taking me with her, thrusting deep, and coming so hard I swear I fucking saw white for a second.

We both came back down slowly, our breathing evening out as I finally slid away from her, patting her ass one last time as I moved away.

By the time I tossed the condom and washed my hands, Elizabeth had pulled herself up from the island, and was watching me with heavy-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed from her orgasms.

I’d be a happy fucking man to see her standing in my kitchen every single morning for the rest of my life.

It wasn’t exactly a startling realization. I wasn’t like some of the other guys in the family. I always knew I wanted to fall in love, wanted a wife and kids.

I’d just never come across the person I wanted to have that kind of future with.

Though, looking at Elizabeth, I had a sneaking suspicion I finally found that woman.

“No,” she said when I turned toward the sink. “I’ll do the dishes,” she added. “I’ll be here most of the day. It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t need to do chores to feel like you earned your time at home,” I said, watching how her lips curved up at the idea of this being her home too.

Maybe it was about time to revisit the idea of expanding the two condos into one giant one. Construction took forever. Especially in the city.

Interrupting my thoughts, though, was the beep of my phone, likely Rico reminding me that I was supposed to be meeting him at the meat shop.

“You have to get going,” Elizabeth said.

“Yeah,” I said, walking over to press a lingering kiss to her lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just ask Serano or whoever he has relieve him.”

“Okay,” she said, walking with me to the door, then giving me one last kiss before I left.

“Don’t,” I demanded when I walked into the hall to find Serano leaning against the wall to the other condo, a brow raised.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” he lied as I made my way to the elevator.

Running late, I rushed over toward the meat shop, finding a surprisingly long line waiting outside of the door with Rico himself holding the door open.

“You giving away something for free?” I asked, looking back at the line.

“Went over the books,” he said. “The old owners were up-charging an unconscionable amount. Decided to slash some prices to something more reasonable. We don’t really need the money,” he said, shrugging. “And the neighborhood has been struggling,” he added, passing the door to someone in the line, then moving inside with me.

Where a woman’s voice called out above the chatter, “Touch me again, and I’ll put your hand in the fucking meat grinder,” she called out. “I’ll make a goddamn sandwich out of you, then feed it to you.”

My brows shot up as I looked over toward where a woman was pushing through the crowd to get back behind the counter after, presumably, restocking something in the snack display.

She was on the shorter side with sleepy eyes, pouty lips, and her deep burgundy colored hair pulled back in a claw clip.

“You gonna let her talk to a paying customer like that?” the man who’d been copping a feel asked when his gaze landed on Rico.

Rico’s brow raised at that.

He might have let it slide, let the woman’s warning be enough.

But if this idiot was going to challenge him, Rico was going to rise to the occasion.

“Not only am I gonna let her talk to you like that,” he said, making the woman glance over, the tension in her shoulders loosening, “I’m gonna tell you to take your grab-assing hands and get the fuck outta my shop.”

“You can’t—“ the man started to object.

“Wanna bet?” Rico asked, taking a single threatening step forward.

Ballsy or not, these people knew who Rico was.

The man broke out of the line and rushed out of the shop, head ducked.

“Asshole,” Rico murmured, then knocked me in the chest with the back of his hand, and nodded toward the back of the building.

“What’s up?” I asked when we were in the back, the noise of the crowd out front muffled.

“The job went off last night,” he told me.

It actually took me a second to remember what the hell he was talking about. I’d been so wrapped up with Elizabeth that I’d lost track of the family business.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

“Successfully, more or less. The job was done. The Lincolns are staking out the Brook Boys. Seems like it’s just a matter of time before shit really starts to blow up.”

“Any idea what the Russians are doing?”

“Thought that was your job,” he said, watching me.

“I was… busy last night.”

“Yeah, heard about that,” he agreed, but there was disapproval in his tone.

“Figure, one day, you might get it, man,” I said, shrugging.

“It’s like that, huh?” he asked.

“Looking like it,” I agreed.

“You guys are dropping like flies,” he said.

“We’re getting older,” I reminded him. “Starting to think about shit like settling down, having families.”

“Not me, man,” he said, shaking his head as he shuffled some papers around his desk.

“Famous last words,” I said, something he promptly ignored. But I had to admit, it would be interesting as hell seeing someone so married to his work like Rico getting knocked on his ass by a woman. “Anyway, does Renzo need anything from me today?”

“Eager to get back to your woman?” he asked.

“I got some shit to handle today, but I wanted to know if there’s something else I should make time for.”

“Nothing that I know of yet. But keep an ear for your phone today. Just in case shit hits the fan with one of the gangs or the Bratva, if they know what we did.”

“Got it,” I agreed.

“Need anything for dinner?” he asked, waving out toward the shop.

“Doesn’t look like you’re gonna have anything left,” I said, making my way out the back door.

My main job at the moment might technically be the Russians. But I had some other things I needed to handle with my small crew. The whole while, all I kept thinking about was how to expand, get more money kicking up to me. I was comfortable. But raising a family was expensive. And my mind was suddenly focused on shit like weddings and babies, college tuitions, all the things that came with adding new branches to your family tree.

I was so distracted that I almost walked right past Serano when I saw him on the street.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

To that, he shrugged.

“Cinna brought your sister by to hang out, told me I could get lost for a bit. Got some food,” he said, waving toward the pizza place he was standing out front of. “‘Bout to head back,” he added.

I was debating whether I should cut my day short and head back with him when my phone started ringing in my pocket.

I reached for it, anticipating Rico.

But it was Cinna’s name on my screen.

I knew before I even swiped to answer and heard her panicked voice on the other end that something had just gone terribly wrong…

CHAPTER TWENTY

Elizabeth

It was unexpectedly stressful and bittersweet to write up my resignation letter.

Not because I had any loyalty toward the senator. I mean, I’d lost all respect for him well before I learned he was trying to help a human trafficker get away with his crimes.

But I’d gotten close with the people on the campaign with me. Endless hours were spent in one another’s company. Sharing stress, relief, highs and lows. Thousands of cups of coffee with small talk to go along with it. Mini mental breakdowns over late-night pizza or Chinese.

I knew whose partners were pissed off with how much time they were devoting to work, or in some of their cases, volunteering. I knew who’d missed important milestones with their loved ones because Michael had changed his mind, and demanded we work late. I knew who’d gotten engaged over the last few months. And who was about to tell the world they were going to have a baby.

These people were the closest things I had to friends. And I was, in a very brief and feelingless letter, abandoning all of them.

I knew it would feel like an extra betrayal when, eventually, the news ran with the recording of me getting the senator to admit to his crimes.

For not giving them a heads up, for many.

But for some who genuinely loved the senator, for reasons I never quite understood, for doing something to ‘make’ him look bad. Even if it was his own actions that were truly to blame.

I tried to squash my guilt by reminding myself that Michael wasn’t exactly going to be brought to justice anytime soon. And that in the meantime, he was going to do everything in his power to change the narrative, to get the court of public opinion—the only court that mattered in his opinion—back in his favor.

There would still be jobs for those who were on salary. My main concern being the one woman who was pregnant and the other young man who had borrowed the money for his engagement ring from his father and was trying to pay it back.

They would be okay.

A crisis management team would be hired. Then they would likely be busier than ever.

I was really the only one out of work.

I had savings, I reminded myself after I sent out my email, then walked away from my laptop, not wanting to fall into the trap of endlessly refreshing my inbox, waiting for all the hate responses to flood in. I would be okay for a while.

And there was nothing stopping me from looking for freelance work as soon as I finished sharing the recording I had of the senator. At least that way, I would know I was safe.

As much as a part of me was hopeful that Elian could find a way to fix this situation with the Bratva, there was obviously a chance that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

Then what?

I had to move?

The thought of it made my stomach ache, so I forced those thoughts away as I took a shower, then worked on my hair and makeup, telling myself I was doing it so I looked put together, and not like a crazy person, when I went to the police. But the other part of me knew it had nothing to do with how the outside world might look at me. And everything to do with how Elian would.

Even just thinking of him had my skin warming and the telltale ache of desire blooming in my core. Despite him fully satisfying my hunger just a few hours before.

I finished sending an email out to that vlogger from the press conference at the gym, Nathan, because I figured he was someone who could get the recording out quickly and have it gain traction. From there, the news networks would pick it up.

If I planned things right, it would be everywhere by the end of the day.

I just wanted to make sure that I had it in the possession of the police slightly in advance of the news picking it up.

I was just finishing moving the recording from my app to an external drive to give to the police when there was a knock at the door.

“Do you need a refill?” I called as I walked toward the door, having just given Serano a latte an hour before, feeling bad that he was spending his whole day just standing in the hallway, doing nothing.

But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Serano standing there.

No, it was two women.

Elian’s sister Islah and the female mafia capo, Cinna.

“Oh, hey,” I said, brows pinched as I looked beyond them, not seeing a guard anywhere.

“I told Serano he could go grab lunch while I’m here,” Cinna said as the two of them moved inside.

“Oh, okay. I feel so bad that he’s just stuck out there all day. I keep inviting him in, but…”

“But it’s Serano,” Cinna said. “And he’s about as social as a feral cat.”

“And you’re all warm and snuggly,” Islah teased, getting a smile out of Cinna as Islah scooped Kevin off of his stand and pressed a kiss to his soft head.

“How’re you holding up?” Cinna asked. “Saw the news.”

“I’m… okay,” I told her, mostly meaning it. Sure, I had some concerns about my career and finances, but the other part of me was overwhelmingly happy to be with Elian, to hear him discuss the near and even distant future in a way that suggested he expected me to still be around. With him.

“Yeah?” Cinna asked. “Is that why you’re tapping?” she asked, glancing at the countertop where my fingers were tapping frantically.

“I’m a little nervous about what I have to do next,” I admitted.

“Make the senator pay for his crimes?” she asked.

“Put myself out there as a whistleblower, I guess. Things are bad enough, but after this, people who really like Michael, or other criminals that he might be involved with, might have reason to hate me too.”

To that, Cinna nodded. “To be fair, the Bratva don’t hate you,” she said. “It’s not personal. It’s business.”

“Pretty sure that’s not helping,” Islah said as she joined us in the kitchen, brushing Kevin’s hair off of her shirt as she did.

“I think it’s always better when shit isn’t personal. It’s not like the Russians have some reason, based on who you are as a person, to want you dead. You’re just kind of in their way.”

“She should work for a greeting card company, right?” Islah teased. “Sorry your father died, but he was kind of a jerk anyway, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that would be a bestseller,” Cinna shot back.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” I said, smiling at both of them.

“So, how have things with you and my brother been going?”

“Islah,” Cinna scolded, giving her a wide-eyed look.

“What? Like they’re living together and not giving in to the tension between them? Come on. Not everyone is like you, fighting your feelings for Dav for like a decade.”

“We were friends.”

“You were stubborn,” Islah insisted. “Anyway, things are good?” she asked, turning toward me.

“They’re good,” I said, surprised by how wide my smile spread. “Really good,” I added, gaze sliding to the island, memories flashing.

Cinna’s gaze followed, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Islah, however, entirely missed it. “He’s been needing a woman in his life. He’s the nicest guy.”

“He really is,” I agreed.

“So, when are you going to get a man in your life?” Cinna asked, poking at her since she’d teased first.

“I think men might be better… fictionally,” Islah said, shrugging.

“I mean…” I started to agree. “Sometimes. But I think the real life good ones beat the fictional good ones by leaps and bounds.”

“I don’t know if I’ve met one of those. A real life good guy,” Islah clarified. “I mean, the guys in the family aside. And they’re all off-limits even if I wanted one,” she said. “So, are you two together-together?”

“I, um, maybe. We haven’t exactly had a talk like that. Things are still really up in the air. You know, with the whole people wanting to kill me thing.”

“Can’t Renzo handle that?” Islah asked, looking to Cinna who was the expert on family things in this group.

“Things are… complicated with a crew as organized as the Bratva.”

“But you can’t get more organized than the mafia, right?” Islah asked.

“I mean, no. But these aren’t the Wild West days like back when Renzo first took over.” At Islah’s blank look, Cinna shrugged. “Look, we were all a lot younger back then. Reckless. Didn’t have a lot of respect for our own mortality. Back then, Renzo would have had us picking off the Russians one by one. Now, we have shit to lose. He’s a little more calculated now.

“I’m not saying he’s not going to take down the Bratva. He’s just going to do it carefully. I mean, that’s why he has Elian sitting on them. Which, remember, is how he first saved Elizabeth’s life,” Cinna said. “So Renzo’s caution has its definite upsides.”

“How were they able to move into Renzo’s territory in the first place?” Islah asked.

“I mean… it’s complicated. It’s not like the Russians came in with moving trucks and a sign declaring what they were up to. Brooklyn has a lot of people, a lot of neighborhoods, of businesses. Renzo can’t be expected to know about what every person is up to.

“So they moved in slowly, under the radar, setting up their business that looked legit at first, so Renzo didn’t need to be involved. But they were really making quiet moves behind our backs, moving more of their crew into the area, until, one day, they were a potentially big threat. And here we are,” she said, waving a hand out.

“And, well, the Bratva is known for being particularly cold-blooded and ruthless, so shit is… more complicated than any of us like. But trust me, we’re… working on it.”

“I’m assuming that we aren’t meant to know the details about that,” I said.

“These guys, they kind of prefer it if the women don’t know what’s going on. For legal reasons. Obviously, no one wants you guys to be able to be called on a stand and say that, yes, you know that so-and-so did such-and-such.”

“Yeah, I never get any details unless I happen to overhear them.”

“You mean eavesdrop,” Cinna said with a head shake.

“Hey, it’s not my fault these men talk so loudly,” she said. “You guys okay with ordering pizza? I’m starving.”

With that, the conversation moved away from mafia business and onto stories Cinna was telling about two teen boys she and Dav had, for all intents and purposes, adopted. The stories were made funnier by the fact that Cinna, well, wasn’t exactly the most maternal woman to ever exist.

“Do you want kids?” Islah asked.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to ask that,” Cinna said.

“You’re not supposed to ask strangers that,” Islah insisted. “But Elizabeth isn’t a stranger. And she’s dating Elian. Who definitely wants kids.”

“I didn’t plan on them in my immediate future,” I admitted. “I was still working on the whole career thing before my life kind of blew up. But I think I always saw myself with them eventually.”

“I will make a great auntie,” Islah decided.

“Since you won’t be having real children because only fictional men are any good,” Cinna concluded.

“Exactly.”

“You do realize that I always swore I’d never settle down or have children, right?” Cinna asked. “I think I’m gonna be laughing about this conversation in a few years,” she said as there was a knock at the door.

“I got it,” Islah said, grabbing her purse and rushing toward the door.

“Islah, wait,” Cinna called, rushing up behind her.

It all happened in slow motion.

Islah’s hand reached for the knob, half turning back to look at Cinna as she rushed across the floor.

But it was too late.

The door was already in motion, pushing inward, making Islah’s head whip over, brows pinched as she felt it push inward.

Then the whole thing seemed to speed up, fast forward.

Cinna yelled, but I couldn’t seem to make out what she was saying over the thumping of my pulse in my ears as I watched a man storm into the condo.

The force of the door sent Islah flying, crashing back into the wall, her pretty face twisting up in pain as her head snapped back.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not here.

Where it was supposed to be safe.

The man ignored Islah, charging instead at Cinna, his hand pulling out of his jacket, coming back with a gun that had my stomach twisting, mind flashing back to the night before, to another man, another gun, the muted sounds, the blood, the fear, the uncertainty.

Cinna’s arm started to raise, her own gun at the ready.

But I watched in horror as the other shooter was faster, taking aim and shooting.

I wouldn’t have thought anything happened if I didn’t see Cinna’s whole body jerk to one side as, it seemed, a bullet sliced into her flesh.

The man wasn’t satisfied with that, though.

He kept moving toward her, grabbing her arm with the gun, yanking it up to aim toward the ceiling, his grip hard enough to make Cinna’s face twist in pain.

He shook her hand, once, twice.

Until, on the third savage twist, the gun slipped from her hand and went flying.

I watched, frozen on the spot, my legs stuck, my very heartbeat seemingly seized in my chest, as he lifted his other hand, and started to press the gun toward Cinna’s head.

Suddenly, Islah was up off the floor, taking a running start and leaping onto the man’s back, the shock of her body suddenly clinging to him, making his hand fall just enough, and allow Cinna to move away, out of the line of fire.

Cinna moved into the cage of his body, fingers digging into his eyes.

A deep, guttural yell escaped the man as he whipped himself around to get away from the pressure.

Islah clung to him, her legs wrapped hard around his waist, her arms going up to close around his throat. She squeezed hard enough to make her arms shake, and make red rise in the man’s face and cheeks.

Cinna rushed around, trying to get to her gun.

But then there was a slam, followed by a cry, as we both turned to see the man ramming Islah back against the wall.

Once, twice.

The third, time made her eyes go out of focus, and suddenly, she was going lax, falling down hard on her ass, gaze dazed as he turned on her, raising his gun.

Thoughts of her gun abandoned, Cinna rushed the shooter, grabbing his wrist with both of hers, the gun waving around wildly as they both fought for control.

Islah was still slumped against the wall, a faraway look in her eyes. And, I noticed with rising horror, there was a spot of blood on the wall where she’d slammed into it over and over, then drag marks down toward where she was sitting.

Oh, God.

Elian was going to lose his mind if something happened to his baby sister. While I just stood there. Not fighting the attacker. Not assisting Islah. Just doing… nothing.

There was a crashing noise, making my gaze reluctantly slide away from Islah, finding Cinna splayed out on the coffee table, the center of it concaved under the impact, making her struggle to get back out.

As the man drew closer.

As he raised his gun.

He was going to shoot Cinna.

Then Islah.

All because of me.

Suddenly, whatever had been keeping my feet glued to the ground let up, and I flew across the floor, reaching for Cinna’s gun.

“No!” I screamed, making the man stiffen.

Then turn.

As my finger slid to the trigger.

Aimed.

Pulled.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

His body jerked twice.

Five.

Six.

And I watched as blood bloomed out from a hole suddenly lodged in the man’s cheek.

It seemed to take him a moment to realize he was shot, his body wobbling, his brows knitting.

Cinna took the opportunity as he fell in slow motion to his knees to climb out of the wrecked coffee table, then rush toward me.

She yanked the gun from my hands, walking over to him, pressing the muzzle to the top of his head.

And pulling the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Not a second later, he fell forward, cracking his face hard against the floor.

Then, well, then there was nothing but silence.

“Islah,” Cinna said, kicking the door closed on her way over to Islah, where she dropped to her knees, and reached for the younger woman’s face with both of hers, the gun pressing against Islah’s cheek as Cinna lifted her head. “Are you with me?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” Islah said, nodding slowly. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, looks like you hit it pretty fucking hard,” Cinna said, putting the gun down to reach to turn Islah’s head to inspect the wound. “Kiddo, looks like we need to take you to see a doctor,” she said, reaching with one hand for her pocket.

Her voice was calm, but I saw the way her hand shook as she tried to unlock her phone, scroll to her contacts, then lift it to her ear.

“Just stay awake, okay?” she said, patting Islah’s cheek.

“Elian?” she called into the phone, making my belly twist. “Someone got in,” she said, casting another concerned look at Islah. “Islah needs to go to urgent care. She knocked the back of her head pretty bad and she’s a little out of it. No, no. She’s okay. Alright. Yeah. Hurry,” she demanded, dropping her phone onto the ground with a loud crack without even ending the call.

“I’m okay,” Islah insisted, eyes looking small. I knew that look well. She was getting a wicked migraine.

“Yep. But we are gonna have a doctor tell us that too, okay? Elian and Serano are on their way back. They should be like five minutes, then we will get you checked out.”

“My head,” Islah whimpered.

“I know. We will see what the doctor says you can have. And if you can, I’ll get you the good shit, okay?” Cinna asked, forcing some pep into her words that I could tell she didn’t feel.

“You’re bleeding,” Islah said, glancing at Cinna’s shoulder.

“Just a flesh wound. I’m gonna use it as an excuse to make Dav wait on me hand and foot for the next week, though. See? That’s one reason the real men are better than the fictional ones,” she said.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes later that I heard footsteps slamming out in the hall, then the turn of the knob, before the door was flying open.

Elian’s gaze was immediately on the blood on the wall, then his sister slumped on the floor.

Rushing toward her, he dropped to his knees, reaching to turn her head the same way Cinna had, checking the wound.

“Are you shot?” Serano asked, zeroing in on Cinna’s arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Elian said, reaching for his sister and pulling her up onto her feet.

She swayed slightly but righted herself.

“I’m okay,” she insisted again.

“You were a fucking rockstar,” Cinna said. “You can tell Elian all about it in the car,” she added, leading the younger woman toward the door.

“Serano, stay with Elizabeth,” Cinna demanded.

At the mention of my name, Elian’s gaze scanned around, finding me, his gaze conflicted.

“Go,” I said, the sound barely audible even to my own ears.

Still, he heard me, but he still looked just as torn in two as he led his sister and Cinna toward and out the door.

Alone, my gaze slid away from the bloodstain Islah had left and toward the body on the floor, unnaturally still.

Dead.

“Don’t look at ‘im,” Serano said, breaking the silence. Then, when it seemed impossible for me to look away, he reached to remove his jacket, then drape it over the head and shoulders of the man. “There,” he declared. “Better.”

It wasn’t.

Not really.

Because I was pretty sure I would be seeing the image of the man with a hole in his cheek. A hole I put there. A hole I was pretty sure would have killed him given a few more minutes. If Cinna hadn’t… expedited the process.

“You’re shaking,” Serano said, very matter-of-fact, but the wideness to his eyes may have been his version of concern.

Or maybe it was pure, undiluted masculine terror at the prospect of having to comfort a hysterical woman.

“I shot him,” I said, staring at the body.

“Good.”

Was it? Good?

I mean, it was good that Cinna was alive and Islah would be okay after some medical care.

But was it good that I’d shot someone? That I probably almost killed him?

There was a knocking at the door, making me jolt hard, and Serano reached under his arm where he had a holster.

“It’s Rico,” a voice called, making Serano drop his hand, then open the door.

Rico was a tall, lithely fit man with short, dark hair, dark eyes, rugged bone structure, and tanned skin.

“Cinna called and… oh,” he said, looking down at the body. “What’s with the jacket?” he asked, making Serano nod toward me. “Oh, right,” Rico said, looking almost as lost as Serano did.

“I shot him,” I said again.

Then, I kid you not, he said, “Good.”

There was another knock, making Rico turn to open it, letting in a small, slight woman with bright blue hair and a pretty face.

Her gaze slid to the body, then right up to me.

“Okay,” she said, walking over to me. “How about you stop staring at the corpse?” she asked, reaching for me and forcibly turning me away.

“I covered him with a jacket,” Serano insisted.

“Yeah. He’s totally invisible now,” Saff drawled.

“I shot him,” I repeated for the third time. A parrot with one phrase she could repeat.

“Yeah? Seems like you didn’t really have a choice,” she said, pulling me toward the dining chair and pushing me down into it.

“He was going to shoot Cinna. Again.”

“Cinna is shot?” she asked, walking toward the kitchen.

“In her arm.”

“Oh, so she’s barely shot,” the woman said, finding a bottle of liquor and a shot glass, bringing them over to me and pouring. “Drink,” she demanded.

Numbly, I found myself doing what she demanded, seeing as she seemed a lot more in control of herself in the moment.

“I’m Saff, by the way.”

“Elizabeth,” I said, a little concerned that the vodka didn’t burn on the way down. So when Saff poured me another shot, I took it.

“Well, Elizabeth, I think it might be a good idea for you to go hang out in the bedroom while the guys and I… clean up.”

“Clean up,” I repeated.

“Well, I don’t think the corpse really adds to the decor, y’know?”

“Saff,” Rico scolded, sounding exasperated.

“What? She’s going to notice the body is gone when it’s not still sitting here a week from now, gathering flies.”

“Christ,” Rico said, sighing hard.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” Saff said, reaching to grab my arm, pulling me with her when I didn’t immediately move to follow her.

She led me into Elian’s room, gesturing to the bed, where I sat.

“Okay, so, maybe just stay in here, okay? I don’t want Elian to blame me if you are more emotionally damaged than necessary,” she said.

And, with that, she walked out, closing the door behind her.

Alone, I slid down onto my side, pretending not to hear the sounds of the three people in the other room.

Cleaning up a crime scene.

That I’d created.

I couldn’t tell you how long I lay there, staring at the wall, in this weird dissociative state.

Until, what felt like a lifetime later, the bedroom door slid open.

And there was Elian.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Elian

I never felt more conflicted than I did when I walked into my condo to find my sister bleeding and Elizabeth standing there with traumatized eyes, her whole body shaking.

In the end, though, someone with a bleeding head wound had to take priority.

Cinna and I shuffled Islah into my car, then barreled toward the urgent care, demanding the woman at the front desk call in Dr. Conti.

He came flying in the door not more than five minutes later, his hair still wet from the shower, wearing rumpled clothes, the same ones he’d likely taken off before his shower, his eyes wide and panicked.

“What do we have here?” he asked as he led us into an exam room.

“Head wound here,” I said, rubbing my sister’s arm. “And a gunshot wound there,” I went on, waving at Cinna.

“I’m fine,” Cinna insisted for the fourth time, but she was sweating in her hairline and looking pale.

She was holding it together because she was worried about Islah.

Dr. Conti slipped on gloves and looked at the back of Islah’s head. “Okay. Not too bad,” he said, carefully probing around the wound with his fingers. “The bleeding always makes it look worse than it is.”

“She seems a little out of it,” Cinna insisted.

“Did she lose consciousness?” Dr. Conti asked.

“No,” Cinna said.

“Has there been any vomiting? Bleeding or fluid draining from the nose or ears?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Dr. Conti said, producing a pen light, and flashing it in Islah’s eyes. “Follow the light for me, honey,” he said, voice soothing. “Good. Good. Okay. And do you know where you are?”

“Urgent care.”

“And who are these people here?” he asked, waving back toward us.

“My brother and Cinna,” she said, just as the door burst open, and a panicked Dav came rushing in, making a beeline for Cinna. “And Dav,” Islah added.

“Good,” Dr. Conti said. “And do you have any ringing in your ears? Any strange spots in your vision?”

“No.”

“Good. Any weakness in your arms or legs?” he asked, watching as Islah lifted each.

“No.”

“You’re not slurring either, so that’s a good sign. Can you hop down for me and just do a quick little walk around the room?” he asked, making sure he was right there at her side in case she stumbled as she moved around Cinna and Dav, the latter trying to pull Cinna’s jacket off, so he could look at the wound.

“Alright, well, you seem to be doing okay. It’s not abnormal for her to have been a little spaced out or confused right after her brain knocked around in her skull,” he said, speaking to us as he gathered supplies to treat her head wound. “Of course, someone needs to keep an eye on her. Even waking her up on occasion and asking her simple questions to make sure there is no mental confusion. And if you notice any of the symptoms I asked about just a moment ago, she should follow up with the emergency room, where she can get some scans done to see what is going on. We don’t have them here,” he added, looking at me, making sure I understood he was doing everything in his power.

“Okay,” I agreed, nodding.

“My head hurts,” Islah said, as if we didn’t all see how small her eyes were, how much she was struggling against the stark fluorescent lights in the office.

“Yeah, I’m sure it does, honey. We can get you some acetaminophen for it, but NSAIDs are off the table, and I don’t really feel comfortable prescribing any pain meds until we see how you do through the night. I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he said.

To that, Islah made a little whimpering sound that made my heart ache for her, knowing that this shit never should have been able to happen.

I should have had more guards around.

Sent the girls out of state where no one could get to them.

“Okay,” Dr. Conti said. “We’re just going to get you numbed up, and then I will just put a few staples in.”

“Are you going to have to shave my head?” Islah asked, sounding both horrified and resigned at the same time.

“Just a small spot. No one will know if you pull your hair back after the staples are out,” Dr. Conti told her, giving her a soft smile.

As the doctor concentrated on Islah, her hand squeezing mine, Dav finally wrestled Cinna out of her jacket to check out her arm.

She was right. It had been a flesh wound at the area just under her shoulder in the fatty part of her arm. Still, I was sure it hurt like a bitch.

Dav pulled her in closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“The boys are freaking out,” Dav said, meaning the teens they’d all but adopted.

“You shouldn’t have told them,” Cinna insisted.

“They’re not little kids. They knew something was up. I’ll text them.”

“Elian?” Islah called, bringing my attention back to her.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked.

“She’s at the condo,” I told her, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Is she okay?” she asked. “She… saved us,” Islah said, making my heart squeeze in my chest.

I hadn’t pestered Cinna with questions on the short drive to urgent care. I didn’t want to upset Islah if she had a bad head wound.

And I couldn’t exactly ask questions with Dr. Conti in the room with us.

“She’s okay,” I told Islah. “She’s with Serano.”

“And Rico,” Cinna said. “I let him know.”

Which meant that, at the very least, Saff and Renzo were also descending on my condo as we stood here.

There was a Bratva enforcer dead on my floor after all.

“Okay,” Dr. Conti said. “Let me go just grab you that acetaminophen.”

“Okay,” Cinna said as soon as the door was closed. “The short of it is, we were expecting pizza.”

“And I opened the door before even thinking,” Islah said.

“It’s not your fault,” Cinna insisted. “He came in hot, knocked Islah back into the wall, then came at me as I reached for the gun. From there, it got bad fast. I got shot. Islah jumped on him. I went for the eyes. Islah tried to strangle him. That’s when he slammed her into the wall over and over. I was knocked into the coffee table. He was coming at me with the gun. It was almost over…”

“That’s when Elizabeth got Cinna’s gun,” Islah piped in.

“She shot him, I dunno, three or four times,” Cinna told me. “I took the gun and… finished it. Honestly, her last shot would have done it. But… I didn’t want that on her,” she said, shrugging.

Christ.

I felt like even more of a dick for leaving her alone after that. She’d saved my sister and a fellow capo that I thought of like a sister. She’d shot a man.

And she was alone with strangers, Serano aside. And, well, the fucker wasn’t exactly a comforting guy.

I needed to get back to her.

Seeming to read my mind, Cinna caught my eye. “Why don’t you take Islah home?” she suggested. “Dav is here now. I’m good.”

There was a knock at the door before Dr. Conti came back in. “Cinna, right?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yeah.”

“There are two young men creating a bit of a scene in the waiting room,” he said.

“I’ll bring them back,” Dav said, pressing another kiss to Cinna’s temple before heading out.

The doctor gave Islah the meds and a small bottle of water to take them.

“Anything else?” I asked him.

“Just keep a close eye on her. If anything feels off, take her right to the hospital. Otherwise, you can bring her back in for a check-up in a few days. Then in ten days to remove the staples. Keep them dry for forty-eight hours, then they can tolerate soap and water, just no scrubbing. If the wound looks puffy, pink, or has a discharge, bring her back in.”

“Okay, thanks, Doc,” I said as Dav came in with his and Cinna’s boys, allowing Islah and me to slip away.

“You don’t need to hold onto me like I’m a fragile old lady with a fall risk,” she insisted as I held her forearm as I led her back out of the building, looking both ways before rushing her into the car.

“Do me a favor, lay across the backseat,” I said, paranoid about other possible assassins.

At my condo, there was nothing to worry about. Three of my guys were flanking my building, gazes murderous, ready to take out anyone who looked the slightest bit shifty.

“I don’t have to stay here,” Islah insisted.

“Yes, you do. I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Someone else can,” she said. “You should be taking care of Elizabeth.”

“I can do both,” I assured her.

Though I was secretly glad to open my condo door to find Saff in the living room, the body long gone, but the blood not entirely cleaned up yet.

“Hey, killer,” Saff said, giving Islah a big smile. “How’s the noggin?” she asked, leading Islah over to the couch. “In your bed,” she said to me, giving me a nod.

I didn’t need more encouragement than that.

I rushed down the hall, pausing to knock softly, so I didn’t scare her, before moving inside.

She was where Saff said I would find her, resting on her side on my bed, her eyes open, but her gaze far away. Likely reliving the events of the night. Probably grappling with guilt over a situation that wasn’t her fault.

“Baby,” I called, moving closer, but getting no reaction.

I kicked out of my shoes, laying my gun down on the nightstand, then shrugging out of my jacket before climbing into the bed, reaching for her, turning her, then tucking her against me, her head under my chin.

“Is she okay?” she asked, sounding dangerously close to crying.

“Islah is okay,” I told her, fingers sifting through her hair. “She’s out in the living room with Saff. She’s just got a concussion and some staples.”

“She was acting weird.”

“She was dazed. The doctor said that’s normal,” I told her. “We’re going to keep an eye on her, but he didn’t seem worried.”

“Cinna?”

“Is totally fine too. She’s getting fussed over by four guys right now. It was a graze.”

“He was going to kill her,” Elizabeth said, voice catching.

“I know,” I said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “And you stopped him.”

“I had to do something.”

“You did what you had to do. You were really brave.”

To that, she let out a snort.

“I just stood there and watched. Islah jumped on him. She tried to strangle him. I just… stood there.”

“Hey, you can’t compare yourself to Islah or Cinna in this sort of situation. They’ve both been around this for over a decade. They’re more mentally prepared for something like this.”

“I feel like after the last three attempts on my life, I should have been more prepared.”

“You were supposed to be safe here,” I said, giving her body a squeeze. “This was my fault.”

“It was my fault,” she countered.

“It was the fucking senator’s fault,” I concluded.

“That’s true,” she agreed. “And I still haven’t gotten the recording to anyone,” she said. “At this rate, I won’t live long enough to get it done.”

“Nothing like this is going to happen again,” I told her.

“Cinna said it’s more complicated than that. Because the Bratva got so big so fast. And they’re notoriously ruthless.”

“She’s not wrong. But I mean that you are going to be safe. No more just having one guard around. From now on, there will be two guys outside of the apartment, another two in the hallway, and either Cinna or Saff in the apartment with you and Islah.”

“For what?” Elizabeth asked. “Ever?

“If that’s what needs to happen, yeah. But I’m hopeful that once it’s clear you’re no longer working for the senator, and when the senator himself starts to fall from grace, they’re going to just let you be.”

“You really think that’s going to happen?”

Not necessarily.

“Knowing that you’re not under our protection, but that you belong to me, might help,” I told her.

“I belong to you?” she asked, angling her head up to look at me.

“That’s how I’m feeling about things,” I said, nodding. “But it’s obviously up to you.”

“I think I’ve wanted that for a while, but I’ve been worried I’m going to need to leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Unless you decide you want to. I’m going to find a way to keep you safe right here for as long as you want to be here.”

“But—“

“I think you have been worrying enough about everything lately,” I cut her off. “How about we think about other things for a while?”

“Like the fact that I’m starving?” she asked, shooting me a guilty look. “I feel like I shouldn’t be hungry after everything that happened today, but…”

“But you’re a human being who hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast,” I filled in for her. “Besides, I’m sure Serano, Rico, Saff, and Islah are hungry too. Sure I got enough to still make that bolognese, if you want a little distraction.”

“God, yes,” she said, starting to roll away.

Reaching out, I grabbed her, pulling her back onto her back, so I could lean over her, sealing my lips to hers.

It wasn’t a kiss with expectation for more.

Just long, deep, lingering.

Until we both, in unison, broke apart, knowing we needed to put an end to it unless we wanted an audience.

“Islah,” Elizabeth said, rushing toward my sister who was cuddled up on the couch, still awake, but eyes still small with pain. “How are you?” she asked, squatting down in front of the couch, reaching out to put her hand on top of my sister’s.

“I’m okay,” Islah said, weakly. “My head hurts,” she admitted.

“Well, I have a whole arsenal for that,” Elizabeth said, forcing some pep into her words as she rushed back into the guest room, finding one of her bags, and bringing it out with her. “How about we try a cooling sheet?” she asked, pulling out a box, and removing something that was packaged a bit like a bandaid, then flattening it across Islah’s forehead. “These sometimes help my migraines,” she told her.

“That feels good,” Islah said, nodding.

“And I have these nifty green sunglasses that help with light sensitivity,” Elizabeth went on, placing them on the end table since the coffee table was missing. “Earplugs. Don’t underestimate these. They can be a lifesaver,” she said, letting them join the sunglasses.

“Also, ginger and peppermints, for nausea,” she went on. “Scalp massager… probably isn’t a good idea,” she decided, sticking that back in the bag. “But, oh, this,” she said, producing something that was shaped like a sleep mask, but was big and plastic. “This is pure luxe. It massages your forehead and eyes. Just hit this button to turn off the music because that makes it worse.”

Islah took that, careful to put the strap lower so it rested under her staples, then hit the button, and let out a groan of pleasure.

With that, Elizabeth quietly walked away, walking over to the kitchen where Rico and Renzo were still standing, talking to Serano. Saff stayed close to Islah.

“Elizabeth, this is Rico and Renzo. Rico, Renz, this is Elizabeth,” I introduced them, hand going to her lower back when she shifted her feet.

“You saved two of my people tonight,” Renzo said, making the knot loosen in my stomach, some part of me worried he might blame her for the incident.

“Cinna and Islah did most of it,” Elizabeth insisted.

“Way I heard it, you’re the one to take the fucker down,” he said, not knowing her well enough to notice how she stiffened at that. “So I owe you. Which is why I’m gonna fix this fucking Russian shit for you. For good,” he added.

“I can’t ask you—“

“You’re not asking,” Renzo cut her off. “But this shit ain’t gonna happen again. We’re gonna see to it.”

At that, Renzo gave me a hard look that I interpreted to mean he wanted to speak to me.

“Do you mind getting this,” I told Elizabeth, producing my biggest pot, “filled and on the stove for the pasta? I’m just gonna talk to Renzo in the hall for a minute.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, nodding as she took it from me.

With that, I followed Renzo and Rico out into the hall, leaving Serano with Elizabeth.

“How can you fix this?” I asked as soon as the door was closed behind us.

“I think it’s time for a sit-down with the Bratva,” Renzo said.

“Renz,” I said, shaking my head.

“I know the risks,” he said, shrugging. “But we can’t go on worrying about what the fuck they’re going to do. Better to come to a mutual agreement than to keep trying to outmaneuver each other.”

It was probably the smart move, as a boss, to make. When you had dozens, if not hundreds—with extended families—counting on you to keep the peace. Still, I didn’t fucking like the idea of having any sort of truce with a bunch of traffickers.

“I get being conflicted. And I’m not saying we have to like it, or even hold up the truce forever. But until we know more, until our numbers grow, it’s best to come to an agreement to mind our own business.”

“They tried to kill Elizabeth several times. They almost killed Islah and Cinna.”

“And one of theirs is locked up. The other is sinking to the bottom of the East River right about now. It’s… even.”

“What are you going to offer them?” I asked, knowing there was no such thing as a truce without one side giving up something to the other.

“I’m gonna give ‘em East New York,” Renzo said, shrugging, naming off one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Brooklyn.

It was an area where Renzo really made a name for himself early on in his criminal career. Because if you could hold the reins of a rough area like that, there was no way the other neighborhoods were gonna give you a hard time.

It would be a significant loss to him. If not financially, at least sentimentally.

“That’s big,” I said.

“Not if it ensures the safety of my men and women,” he said, having become a lot more diplomatic of a leader as he’s gotten older. Back in the day, we’d have gone in there, guns blazing, and taken all of them out.

But those were different times.

We were different men.

“Let me know when. I’ll be there,” I said.

“Will do,” Renzo said. “Go take care of your girl and sister.”

With that, he and Rico headed out, and two more men appeared in my hallway, both from Rico’s crew.

“Is everything okay?” Elizabeth asked as soon as I walked back into the kitchen.

“Yeah. He just wanted to tell me his plan.”

“You can’t tell me that, right?” she asked.

“Not really, no. But it should work. This will be over.”

“Even when I go to the news and police?”

“Did the senator mention any names in the recording?”

“No.”

“Then, yeah, it should be fine.” The Russians would likely pin the corruption on the man already locked up. Or the one who had oh so conveniently ‘gone missing.’ They’d walk away with barely a scratch.

“Okay,” she said, giving me a small smile.

“So, are you ready for another cooking lesson?” I asked, rolling up my sleeves.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Elizabeth

Islah was on her way with one of her cousins to get a second opinion from a neurologist. It was out of an abundance of caution, since Islah seemed mostly back to normal even after a night of being woken up periodically by Saff asking her name, the date, who the president was, just trying to make sure she wasn’t having any confusion.

Cinna had been with the very large entourage of people who’d gone with them, looking as badass as ever, even after having been knocked around and shot.

“You okay?” Elian asked, watching me as I watched them leave.

“How does one become as badass as Cinna and Saff?” I asked.

“Best guess?” he asked, looking a little sad, “A lot of trauma.”

That made sense, I guess.

We all had our share of trauma. But I was pretty sure my trauma was not the kind that would lead to wanting to be a mafia capo.

“When do you want to get going?” Elian asked as I put my morning coffee mug in the sink.

“I told Nathan I would meet him at one. So we need to be done with the police by then,” I said, sucking in a steadying breath, still worried that I might somehow get in trouble for something that, clearly, was not my fault.

Elian, Renzo, and a guy named Coal had coached me on to say and not to say to reveal to the police when I went in. And since they were clearly more experts on this topic than I was, I decided to stick with exactly what they said.

Which meant I wasn’t going to mention the attacks on my life. Not the guy breaking into my apartment, not the incident at the school, my belief that the bullet the senator took was for me, and definitely not the shooting at Elian’s condo.

Nor, for obvious reasons, anything about Elian or his family at all.

This was simply about a suspicious conversation I overheard one night, then my determination to figure out what the senator was up to, so I could tell the police.

Everything else, well, that was up to the police to figure out.

I was a whistleblower and nothing else.

My only concern with the plan was a possible eventual trial. But, I reminded myself, the senator didn’t know about any of the assassination attempts. In his mind, he was the target. So there was no reason to assume his defense team would question me about anything else either.

“I’m just gonna jump in the shower,” Elian said, still in his black sleep pants and a rumpled tee he’d pulled on before making breakfast. “We can head out right after.”

I quickly loaded the plates and cups into the dishwasher before heading into the guest room to grab myself an outfit.

But I found myself drifting into Elian’s room, listening to the splash of the shower for just a moment before I stripped out of my clothes, then headed into the bathroom.

We’d had company all night and morning. There’d been no privacy for us, so when we’d fallen into bed the night before, we’d done nothing but sleep.

That didn’t mean that the desire wasn’t there, though.

And while I knew our schedule was a little tight this morning, I didn’t want to waste the opportunity for us to be alone together.

“Hey,” Elian called as his head turned, finding me standing there, his gaze roaming over me, eyes going immediately hungry. “Get in here,” he said, reaching out a wet hand to grab my wrist, and pull me under the warm spray.

His arms went around me, pulling me flush against his body as his lips crashed down on mine.

The heat bloomed through me, sparking, catching, blazing a fire through me that started to consume us both.

My hands drifted up his arms, shoulders, then wrapped around his neck, pulling him more tightly against me, the brush of his chest hair over my sensitive breasts making me moan against his lips.

Elian’s hands slid down the slope of my back, sinking into my ass, and dragging me against his hard cock.

His lips swallowed my moan as he turned me, pressing my back against the wall, the cold of it making a shiver rack through my system.

His lips moved to my ear, his teeth and tongue teasing the shell of it, then moving downward. Over my neck, my chest, between my breasts.

My hand slapped down on the back of his neck, fingers sifting into his wet hair as he moved to the side, sucking my nipple into his mouth until I was arching into the sensation, letting out a throaty whimper.

His tongue worked little circles around the tightened bud before his teeth were grazing.

Elian’s hand moved down between us, fingers teasing up my slick cleft toward my clit, circling it with expert precision as he moved across my chest to continue the sweet torment.

My moans started to echo back to me in the shower niche as two of his fingers slid down, then slipped inside of me, thrusting lazily as he continued to work my clit.

“Elian,” I whimpered, rocking against his hand, needing relief from the clawing need building inside of me.

Reaching between us, I grabbed his cock, stroking him to the rhythm his fingers were fucking me, needing him as far gone as I was right then.

“Elizabeth,” he groaned against my neck.

“Elian, please,” I whimpered, stroking him harder still.

“I don’t have…” he said, trying to pull away from me to get the protection.

“It’s okay,” I said, rocking harder against his touch as I buried my face in his neck, kissing up the stubble I found there. “My tests are negative,” I told him as his fingers started to finger me faster.

“Mine too,” he said, voice rough with his need. “But…”

“That’s covered,” I said, stroking him harder. We could get into the specifics of that later. Right now, I needed him.

On that rumbling sound deep in his chest, his fingers slid out of me. Reaching down, he pulled my leg up, pressing it wide against the wall, opening me up for him as he moved between.

His cock stroked against my cleft until my moans got more and more desperate.

Then, finally, he slipped down and thrust, taking me to the base in one long, hard thrust.

His groan mingled with my moan.

And then we were moving together, my hips rocking as he thrust, both of us too far gone for exploration, for teasing and slow loving.

“Fuck,” Elian hissed, his lips near my ear. “You feel so good.”

The water cascaded down Elian’s back, making his back too slippery to wrap my legs around, so I was helpless but to stand there, letting him work me at his pace, unable to do anything but feel.

But it felt like it had been forever already.

I was close to the edge before I even knew I was climbing.

Then, just a second later, I was crashing down into the orgasm, my cries filling the bathroom as I clung to Elian, as he continued to fuck me through it, then came with me, the heat of him filling me, his whole body tensing, his voice hissing out my name.

We clung together for a while after before the shivers started to rack my body from being wet and out of the spray of water.

Elian shifted us under it, then we both rushed through washing, then drying and dressing.

We didn’t have time to linger after wasting a bit too much time in the shower. But there was no better way to waste some time, I decided, as we moved out of the condo with a guard before and behind us.

They were joined by two more guards as soon as we made it out of the building.

I was shuffled into the backseat with Elian on one side of me, and a guard on the other. As well as two more up front.

If I wasn’t completely mistaken, another car followed us as we drove across town toward the closest precinct.

This was the part I had to do alone, though.

The car dropped me off out front, and Elian gave me a quick squeeze before climbing back into the car, watching me walk into the building.

“Can I help you?” the woman at the front desk, situated by a thick wall of acrylic, asked.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

“I need to speak to a detective.”

In the end, though, I’d needed to speak to several as they first listened to my recording, then decided to bring a partner in. Then, finally, the commander himself needed to listen and hear my story.

As Renzo and Elian predicted, though, they had no reason to ask me questions about my own personal knowledge of the Bratva.

There’d been a few questions about the senator’s shooting, but, again, they were working under the assumption that he had been the target.

Still feeling a little shaky, I made my way back outside with barely ten minutes to spare before I had to meet with Nathan to share the information.

“You okay?” Elian asked, his arm going around me as I slid into the middle back seat.

“That was nerve-racking,” I admitted, leaning into him, borrowing some of his strength. “But I’m going to be really glad to have this all done.”

Luckily for me, things were much faster with Nathan, who agreed to keep his source anonymous, and was eager as hell to get back to his place to be the first to break the news to the public.

All said and done, by two in the afternoon, all of the stress, all of the fear, and uncertainty, was finally done.

Sure, there was still the issue of the Bratva wanting me dead.

But both Elian and his boss had assured me that the situation with them was going to be handled.

Having no reason to believe otherwise, I chose to put my faith to rest in that as we went back to the apartment to hang out with Islah and Cinna and, once word got out that food was being prepared, Serano.

He came in with a small box clutched to his chest, looking almost, I don’t know, sheepish, as he approached me.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the box toward me. “I found this. You want it?”

I reached for the box to see what he was offering me.

But the second I took it from his hands, he turned and disappeared.

“What is it?” Elian asked, coming closer.

Peering in, I saw a small tabby kitten.

“A kitten,” I said, reaching inside to lift it up, hearing its sweet attempts to hiss at me as I pulled it against my chest, half in love with it already.

Elian walked over, rubbing its head as it swatted at him with little needle nails. “It’s got a lot more sass than Kevin,” he declared. “Do you want to keep it?”

I mean… did anyone ever get handed a little kitten and not want it?

“I mean, that’s not really my dec—“

“Gonna cut you off right there,” he said, making my gaze shoot up. “I’m never gonna be one of those men who demands you ask for permission to do shit.”

“Never?” I asked. “Not even if I wanted a dozen of these?”

To that, he looked conflicted. “Okay. Maybe after five pets, we need to discuss it,” he decided.

“That seems fair,” I said. “I mean, we have to see if Kevin likes it. I don’t know if he’s ever been around other cats.”

“Did I hear there was going to be lasagne?” Saff asked as she walked in the condo door a few minutes later as I had the kitten eating some of Kevin’s wet food sitting inside his little box.

“You did,” Elian said, already back to work at layering the sauce, meat, cheese, and pasta for a third tray of it, since it seemed like we would be feeding half of the family.

“Look,” I said, waving toward the box. “Serano found a kitten,” I declared as she went to grab a soda out of the fridge.

“If by ‘found’ you mean he chased it around an alley for the better part of an hour, then sure,” Saff said as she popped the cap of the soda.

“Really?” I asked, looking over at her. “Why would he do that?”

“I think he saw it, thought of how you love Kevin, and thought you’d like this one too. That’s kind of how his mind works, I guess. He’s shit at actually talking about anything, but he’s a man of gestures. Are you keeping it?”

“We are going to see how Kev—“ I started as the cat in question followed his nose up onto the island, looking over the edge of the box, leaning in, grabbing the confused kitten by the scruff, pulling it out, and taking it down with him until he had it snuggled into one of his little beds. Where he proceeded to lick the kitten who sat there a little dazed at having been abandoned, stolen, and adopted by a foster cat dad in the course of a day.

“Well, that solves that,” Saff said nodding. “Do you have a name for him?”

“It’s a boy?” I asked.

“Yep. Are you going to go for another human name? Because I vote for Richard,” she said before grabbing another soda and bringing it over to Islah who was still nursing a bit of a headache, though her neurologist had agreed with the urgent care doctor about her prognosis.

Serano came back in just as the lasagne was being pulled out of the oven, trying hard to avoid mentioning the topic of the kitten he’d gone out of his way to bring to me.

The look of pure shock and horror on his face when I threw my arms around him and thanked him for the gift was enough to have Elian, Islah, Saff, and Cinna bursting out into a chorus of laughter.

“You’re gonna make a woman very happy one day,” I added for good measure.

“No,” Serano said, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“Famous last words,” Cinna said, patting him hard on the shoulder as she passed.

I had a feeling that Cinna was right on this one.

I mean, no, the stoic, silent sort weren’t the kind of men I personally liked, I decided as I looked over at Elian, who’d been nothing but clear and open with me.

But there was some girl out there someday who was going to love Serano’s personal brand of affection.

“You okay?” Elian asked, running a hand across my shoulders as I sat silently at the table, watching the men and women gathered around, eating the food that Elian had made, chatting, laughing, enjoying one another’s company, realizing how I’d never really had this before. And how much my soul had been craving it.

“I really like this,” I admitted, surprised by the rush of emotion I felt sitting there.

Elian’s hand slid up to the side of my neck, pulling me in to press a kiss to my temple.

“Me too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Elian

“You have to admit it was an interesting request,” Rico said as he, Renzo, and I stared at the restaurant we were going to have the meeting with the Bratva in.

When the word had gotten out that Renzo was seeking an audience with Dimitri, the word got back to us that he would have the meeting, but on one condition.

That we have it on neutral turf.

Meaning on the turf of a crew that hated both us and them equally.

The fucking Irish mafia territory.

I suppose their logic was that no one was at any more risk than the other if we were on turf where we were all equally hated.

The Mean Fiddler was the Irish mob’s homebase, a restaurant known for exactly two things: a good beef stew and their complete aversion to serving any sort of ‘finicky’ drink. You drank beer, or you brought your business elsewhere.

“We all set?” Renzo asked as Cage emerged from the restaurant.

Since cleaning his life up, Cage had been, more or less, in charge of our family’s communication with the Irish mob. A task that usually involved a lot of back-and-forth and arguing because they didn’t want to kick-up the money to us that they owed us.

“Yeah,” Cage said in a voice that suggested anything but.

“Is this a ‘We gotta be worried that they’re gonna poison us’ thing?” Rico asked.

“I think I’d suggest bottled beer,” Cage said, smirking at us. “But, to be fair, they might hate the Russians slightly more. I got ‘em to agree to seat everyone in the party room for privacy’s sake. Trust me, you don’t want their asses eavesdropping. They’re always looking for something to use against us.”

With that, we moved inside.

It was a newly renovated building made to look old with all of its dark wood, exposed brick, and vintage framed art on the walls. There was even a genuine fireplace with a fire crackling happily as we passed, moving toward the party room that was, roughly, half the size of the rest of the restaurant, and dominated by one massive table that must have been built inside the room, because there was no way it would have fit through the doorway otherwise.

“Food kinda smells good,” Rico said as we each chose to sit at the far end of the table facing the door.

Coal moved back out into the dining room, wanting to keep an eye on things.

We had two carfuls of men and women on the main and cross street, close enough to spring into action if shit went down.

We didn’t have to wait for long before Dimitri was making his way into the room, flanked by three… women.

My gaze cut to Rico, seeing a flash of confusion cross his face before he tamped it down.

Renzo, though, was unreadable as he stood and nodded at Dimitri.

Dimitri was tall and a sturdy kind of fit with a broad, masculine face, brooding brows, and deep blue eyes.

“Lombardi,” Dimitri said, voice deep, accent thick.

“Volkov,” Renzo said.

“This meeting is overdue, da?” Dimitri asked as he sat.

“You’ve been a pain in the ass lately,” Renzo said, getting a small lip twitch out of the Russian.

“Says the man who started a gang war to get back at me.”

“They brought it upon themselves,” Renzo said, shrugging. “All that shit, I can overlook. But I can’t overlook your man breaking into one of my capo’s homes, severely injuring his little sister, and shooting one of my capos.”

If I wasn’t watching so closely, I might have missed the way something flashed in Dimitri’s gaze. Something that maybe suggested he hadn’t been fully in the know about whose home Elizabeth had been taking refuge in.

“Is that so?” Dimitri asked.

“There are… consequences to attempting to murder my people,” Renzo said, waving out a hand at the loss of human life.

“Of course,” Dimitri agreed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly as unfeeling as he was coming off. “One must wonder what your organization is doing harboring a… what did the news call her?” Dimitri asked, glancing toward one of the gorgeous women at his sides.

“Whistler,” she supplied.

“Blower,” another of the women corrected in an accent just as thick as Dimitri’s. “Whistleblower.”

“That whistleblower belongs to my capo here,” Renzo said, gesturing toward me.

To that, Dimitri let out a snort. “That is why my best men have not been able to shoot a single, unarmed woman.”

To his side, one of the women started to speak in rapid Russian.

“English,” Renzo snapped.

“My friend here was just saying that I should have sent her to do the job,” Dimitri said, shrugging. “Ruthless creatures, women,” he added.

“Look, what’s done is done,” Renzo said. “You’ve made attempts. We’ve… thwarted them. We’re not here about the past. We’re here to talk about the future.”

“Da,” Dimitri agreed, nodding. “What do you have in mind?”

“A truce,” Renzo said. “You don’t come for my people, their loved ones, or spouses. In turn, I won’t systematically work to dismantle your fucked up human trafficking ring.”

To that, Dimitri’s brow rose as the woman broke off in rapid Russian once again.

“English,” Renzo snapped.

“Fucking Americans,” the woman said, glaring at Renzo. “Always assuming we are the bad guys.”

“Pretty sure everyone agrees trafficking women is fucked, babe,” Renzo shot back.

“Women are moved here, yes. But not against their wills,” the woman declared as Dimitri sat back, allowing her to speak.

“You want me to believe you’ve got a massage parlor full of willing sex slaves?” Renzo asked, rolling his eyes.

“Sex slaves,” the woman snorted. “Yes, it is so hard to accept that a woman would be willing to jerk a man off for an extra fifty dollars in her pocket. All sex is transactional. We simply take the emotion out of it,” she said.

We.

It was then that I understood why she looked familiar.

Her picture had been on the massage parlor website, along with her name. Anna.

“You work there willingly?” Renzo asked. “Why?”

“Money. What other reason?” Anna asked.

“You wouldn’t need Dimitri to make money doing that,” Renzo reasoned.

“No,” Anna agreed. “But there is safety this way. And a way to get from Russia to New York.”

“So you are trafficking,” Renzo concluded. “But your… passengers are willing?”

“I am not a good man,” Dimitri admitted. “But I have never needed to force a woman to do anything. They come willingly, knowing this is what is on the other end,” he said, waving toward the women.

“So, you murder women, but draw the line at forcing them to do happy endings?” I asked, ignoring the hard look Renzo shot me.

“Business is business,” Dimitri said.

“And business would be easier without me and mine breathing down your neck,” Renzo said.

“What do you propose?” Dimitri asked.

“You get East New York.”

“East New York?” Dimitri asked, eyes narrowing.

“It’s a generous offer. One the crew who owns this restaurant would kill for. No strings. No kick-up. No questions about how you handle your business. But the offer ends the second I get up from this table.”

“It’s an insult,” Anna said to Dimitri.

“Hush,” he demanded, looking over at Renzo. “What about the crews who work for me now in other neighborhoods?”

“You take them with you, or you cut ties,” Renzo said.

“The parlor is in Bed-Stuy,” Anna reminded her boss. Or partner, whatever the fuck she was to Dimitri.

“And it will have to move,” Renzo said. “Bunch of old fucks who can’t get a handy on their own will take the twenty-minute drive. Or you can find new clientele. I don’t give a fuck. That’s your problem to figure out.”

“You let him speak to you like that?” Anna asked, looking at Dimitri.

“Enough with you,” he said, giving Anna a hard look. “How long would I have to move my organization?”

“Six months. Not a day longer. Shouldn’t be too hard. Real estate is cheaper there than where you are now.”

“And until then?”

“We show each other that we can be trusted at our words. If either side fucks up, the truce is off.”

To that, Dimitri nodded as he rose to his feet.

“We have a deal,” he said.

Then, without another word, he was gone, leaving the women to rush after him, heels clicking as they went.

It didn’t exactly escape me that the bottoms of those heels were red. Designer. Expensive.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal they had going for themselves. If their stories were true.

“I feel like that was too easy,” Rico said, always on the lookout for shit that might go sideways.

“Six months, a year ago, he’d never had made that deal,” Renzo agreed, standing.

He didn’t need to elaborate.

The only thing that had changed in that timeframe was the fact that Renzo had secured another, more significant truce.

Between us and the other four members of the Five Families.

Before his marriage to Lore that made that truce possible, we would have needed to sacrifice a fuckuva lot more than just East New York to secure the safety of our people.

But no one wanted to fuck with all five of the New York families. That was too much smoke even for the most established organizations.

I knew the truce hadn’t been the most popular move that Renzo had ever made as a boss, but this was evidence for why it had been a good move. Why Renzo was a good boss.

“Go home and tell your girl she’s safe,” Renzo said, clamping a hand on my shoulder before taking off down toward his car with Rico.

“You wanna give me a ride?” I asked Cage.

“Sure,” he agreed, leading me to his car, then dropping me off out front of my building.

Out of an abundance of caution, I didn’t call off the guards out front of my place. I figured that once we started to see movement, proving that Dimitri and his crew were picking up shop and moving to East New York like they’d agreed, then I would feel comfortable going back to normal.

Though, I was pretty sure I was going to want a guard with Elizabeth ‘round the clock when I wasn’t around. Renzo had that for Lore. Dav was that for Cinna. It just made sense. When you had something precious that you wanted to keep safe, you made sure someone was around in your stead when you couldn’t be.

I also planned to take Elizabeth to the range, to help her learn to be more comfortable with guns in the hopes that she might agree to carry one with her too.

But those were concerns for another day.

Right now, I got to go up there and tell her that most of the worries she’d been struggling with since she first overheard the call with the senator and Dimitri were handled

“Good news?” Serano asked as I exited the elevator.

“They agreed to the arrangement.”

“But you wanna see proof,” he said.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “But I’m hopeful. Did you order dinner?” I asked, smelling something wafting out from under the door of the condo.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s been smellin’ good for a while.”

“Hm,” I said, reaching for the door.

“She prolly wants a dinner for two,” Serano said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a plate,” I said, smiling at his preoccupation with food.

With that, I moved into the apartment, being met with the acidic scent of tomatoes, the tangy hint of garlic, and a mix of spices.

I moved past the cat stand, giving Kevin and Richard—who Saff insisted on calling ‘Dick’ whenever she popped by—a quick hello before making my way into the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s phone was on the island, some pop station playing as she wiggled her hips as she pressed a fork to the edges of little ravioli squares.

“You’re cooking for me?” I asked, making her jump and look up.

Flour dusted the front of her shirt and pants. Some of her blonde hair had slipped out of the claw clip at the back of her head. And there was a bandaid on her finger that hadn’t been there when I’d left.

“Hey!” she said, beaming at me. “I’m trying,” she added, waving toward the hilariously messy kitchen. I was pretty sure she’d managed to use all of my cutting boards, spoons, and several of my knives. The sink was overflowing.

“Looks like you’re doing a good job,” I said, glancing around at the remnants of the ingredients scattered around.

Empty fresh herb packages, ricotta, crushed tomato cans, flour, butter, shells of eggs.

“I followed your dough recipe, but I decided to play around with the filling,” she told me. “An art, not a science, right?” she asked, giving me a shy smile.

“Absolutely,” I agreed, walking behind her to press a kiss to the side of her head. “What did you use?”

“Ricotta, of course,” she said, waving toward the empty container. “But also sweet Italian sausage,” she said.

“Sounds amazing,” I told her. “Smells even better.”

“It’s pretty much ready to go into the water. So it will be done in no time.”

“Serano has been practically sniffing at the door like a hungry stray,” I told her.

“Oh, I made more than enough for him too,” she said as I went to the wine rack, holding up a bottle at her with a raised brow.

“I could go for a glass,” she agreed as she piled the ravioli onto a plate, then brought the giant pile over to the pot of boiling water.

“Can I make salad or bread?” I asked.

“Nope. The salad is in the fridge. And the bread is in the oven. Though, it doesn’t smell as good as yours did. I think I need some pointers there.”

In the end, though, she really didn’t need any pointers. Everything from the ravioli to the garlic bread, and even the dressing she made from a recipe she found online was fucking amazing.

“Never had a woman cook for me outside of my family,” I admitted as we took our wine to the couch after dinner, leaving our dirty plates and bowls right on the table to be dealt with later.

“I liked doing it,” she admitted, finishing her wine, setting it on the new coffee table, then snuggling into me.

“Yeah?” I asked, setting my wine down. “Think you can see yourself wanting to keep doing it in the future? Maybe for a couple more very small people?”

“I’m dubious about how many a ‘couple’ means to you,” she said, tilting her head up to smile at me. “It seems like you mafia guys want entire litters of children.”

“I’ll take however many you’re willing to give me,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers. “If that kind of thing is on your mind. ‘Cause it is on mine.”

“I think I can tentatively commit to two or three,” she said, beaming at me. “But I think we should probably wait until, you know, we’ve actually been dating for a couple of weeks at least.”

“Just practicing then,” I agreed.

“Lots and lots of practicing,” she agreed, sliding her leg over mine to move to straddle me. “Starting now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Elizabeth - 1 week

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Elian assured me, reaching to grab my hand, so I stopped tapping my fingers against my leg.

We were riding the elevator up to Renzo Lombardi’s penthouse apartment. Because, apparently, the entire family had get-togethers every few weeks. And now that I was with Elian, I needed to be with him to meet everyone.

Sure, I’d already met Renzo, Rico, Serano, Cinna, Dav, Saff, and a few of the other lower-level men, but this felt a little like a test of sorts. Even if I knew that Elian wasn’t looking at it like that.

As soon as we stepped off of the elevator, I could hear the thrum of music mingled with the chorus of voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

Really, it sounded like any other party.

It wasn’t like we were going to walk in, the music was going to cut off, someone was going to produce a very bright light to shine on me, and everyone was going to take turns asking me questions.

Elian nodded to the man standing guard outside of Renzo’s front door. We still had one of those too. Elian said he was just being overly cautious, and I’d honestly been glad he hadn’t been quick to leave me all alone after the last incident. Even if the family had made a deal with the Russians.

“Cage,” Elian said as the man opened the door for us. “This is Elizabeth,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Elizabeth, this is Cage.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, getting a smile and nod from him as we moved into Renzo’s apartment.

“Oh, wow,” I said, looking around at the sprawling penthouse. “I wasn’t expecting this from the outside of the building,” I admitted as my gaze moved around the warm, cozy space with its giant kitchen, dining space, living room, and then area that was set up like a game room with a pool table and a full bar.

Dav was standing behind said bar, face animated as he told one of the stories he was, apparently, famous for. Cinna was a few feet away, looking like she was having some sort of serious conversation with Saff, who had a bruise on her cheek that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen her.

“How about some food first?” Elian asked, leading me over to the kitchen where nearly a dozen pizza boxes were scattered around, along with foil-wrapped hot subs, and a few tins of appetizers—fried mozzarella, bruschetta, and pinwheels.

Elian and I loaded up plates, then walked over to join a small group sitting in the living room. Introductions were made, and then the conversation continued. I was glad for the food, because it gave me an excuse just to listen in instead of participating.

By the time we finished eating, I was feeling a little more at ease as we went to get drinks, then started to talk to more people.

At some point, though, Elian got called away, then I lost Dav, Cinna, and Saff to Rico, who needed to talk about something in private.

Feeling a little adrift, I slipped past the bar, then slid into the partially open door beside it, figuring I would just take a few moments to calm my frazzled nerves, then go back out to find Elian.

“Overwhelmed?” a voice called, making me gasp and spin to see a woman sitting on the couch, a gray and white striped blanket draped over her, and a big hardcover book open on her lap.

“A little,” I admitted. “I kind of… lost Elian. And now I don’t know who to talk to.”

“Been there,” she said, patting the spot on the couch next to her.

I made my way over, looking at the petite, pretty woman who had to be Renzo’s wife, Lore.

“Thanks,” I said, giving her a grateful smile as she slid a bookmark in between the pages of her book, then closed it. “Did you come in here for a break too?” I asked.

“This time? No,” she admitted. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out why the supposed hero in this story poisoned the heroine in the last book,” she said, running her fingers lovingly over the cover of her book. “I made sure I said my hellos before sneaking away. But no one will notice if I’m not around to say goodbyes. You’re Elizabeth, right?”

“Yes. And you’re Lore. I’ve met Renzo a few times,” I told her, watching the way she lit up at the mention of her husband. I couldn’t help but wonder if I looked like that when someone mentioned Elian.

“I don’t know if I should say That’s nice or I’m sorry, because it really depends on the situation with him,” she admitted.

“He’s definitely a little brusque, but he’s been nice. And understanding of my situation.”

“He can be really sweet, believe it or not. He just doesn’t like to wear that on his sleeve. Not like Elian. I have a soft spot for him, you know,” she said. “When I first came here, he was my only friend. And he stood up to Renzo for me when he was being an idiot.”

“Who was being an idiot?” Saff asked, coming into the room, reaching up to let her long blue hair down, rubbing her scalp with a little groan. “That was too tight,” she declared.

“Renzo was being an idiot,” Lore told her.

“Oh, well, yeah, that makes sense. For all these guys’ good qualities, they’re morons sometimes too.”

“What happened to your cheek?” Lore asked.

“Oh this? A little misunderstanding with a shop owner.”

“He hit you?” I asked, brows shooting up.

“Is he still… with us?” Lore asked, getting a snort out of Saff.

“I don’t kill every man I come across, you know,” Saff said, rolling her eyes.

“No,” Lore agreed. “Sometimes you only castrate them.”

“Oh, my God. That was one time. Why does everyone keep bringing it up?”

“Elizabeth, how many men have you castrated?”

“Literally or metaphorically?” I asked, getting a giggle out of Lore and a smile out of Saff.

“So, what are you reading? Are they banging in it?” she asked, nodding toward Lore’s book.

“They… have banged,” Lore admitted. “But we’re at the betrayal part of the story now.”

“Well, then there is some great hate-sex and a grovel to look forward to,” Saff said. “We should start a book club. Do you read?” she asked, looking at me.

“I used to,” I admitted. “Then the campaign kind of took over my life. But I haven’t read any, ah, romance books. Is that what you guys read?”

“Lore here loves a good romantasy. I like lots of smut and violence. But I’m sure there’s a good common ground we could find.”

“I’m game if you guys are,” I said, a little desperate for some friendships. And for something to do with my time now that I was unemployed.

“We should take a trip to the bookstore this week,” Lore said, eyes bright at the prospect. “Pick something out we are all interested in.”

We were just finalizing our plans when the door opened, and Elian came in.

“There you are.”

“We stole her,” Lore said, giving him a sweet smile. “We are starting a bookclub.”

“The smutty kind,” Saff said, moving to stand. “So either make yourself available to Elizabeth after she reads the spicy scenes, or invest in lots of batteries.”

“Batteries won’t be necessary,” he said as I got up to walk over to him. “You want to head out?” he asked.

“I’m not rushing you,” I insisted.

“Nah, things are starting to wind down. Cinna and Dav headed out already. And Renzo keeps glancing up to his room like he wants to go to bed.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Lore said, getting up, folding her blanket, setting her book on the table, then thinking better of it, and holding it against her chest as she made her way to the door. “It was nice finally meeting you. Saff and I will text you about the bookstore.”

With that, she was gone, and Elian and I made our way out.

“I like that you’re making friends with Lore,” he said as we rode the elevator down.

“Not Saff?” I asked, getting a chuckle out of him.

“Depends. Are you feeling the urge to castrate anyone?”

“That was one time,” I said, defending my new friend, but making Elian break out into a laugh.

“I love you making friends with any of my people. I want you to start seeing them as yours too.”

The crazy thing was, I was starting to see them as mine too.

Elian - 3 months

“Hey, baby,” I said, pulling the headphone off of Elizabeth’s ear, making her jolt hard.

“Oh, hey,” she said, pulling them down to let them ring the back of her neck. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Not surprised,” I said as the sawing started up again across the hall. I could barely hear myself think over it. “How are you working with that racket?”

“The best noise-canceling headphones known to man,” she said, reaching up to pat the headphones.

“You could work at the coffee shop on the corner,” I told her, dropping down at her side.

Dimitri had been making the moves we’d been hoping for, setting up a new massage parlor in East New York, and slowly moving his apartment there as well.

It was safe for Elizabeth to be going back to normal life.

“But I can’t bring my coworkers with me there,” she said, reaching out to pet Kevin who was asleep on the arm of the couch as Richard lay on his back under one of her crossed legs, swatting at her sock-clad foot.

“How’s it going?” I asked, waving toward her laptop.

“I’m not even sure why Rico thought the meat shop needed marketing. It seems like he’s too busy to keep up most days already,” she said, having visited herself more than a few times to pick up meat for dinner.

“He’s really taken to running his own business. And you know Rico. He never does anything halfway.”

Elizabeth had settled on working freelance now that she didn’t have to worry about her bills at her fancy apartment building. She’d sub-letted the place until her lease was up in six months, and moved everything into my place instead. Not the guest room this time, either. My room. The hers walk-in closet. The empty drawers in the bathroom.

There were parts of her all around.

And I found myself smiling anytime I opened a drawer or cabinet and saw her things right there next to mine.

“Well, we finally got his logos made up, and the new website up and running. Along with his socials. I can’t imagine how busy he is going to be in the next few weeks with the holidays coming.”

“Yeah, we should make sure we get our orders in early,” I agreed, wincing as the staple gun started up across the hall, interrupted only by the occasional burst of air from the compressor.

“You know,” Elizabeth said, reaching to pull off her headphones and set them on the coffee table before climbing over my lap. “There is one perk to all that noise,” she said, leaning in to press her lips to my neck. “We don’t have to be quiet.”

That was definitely a perk, I decided, as I grabbed her, turning her and rolling her under me, my lips sealing over hers as her legs went around my hips, using me as leverage to rock against my cock.

By the time we were done, I was suddenly not so annoyed by all the noise anymore.

Elizabeth - 1 year

“There could have been a couple more oral scenes, that’s all I’m saying,” Saff said, throwing up her hands as Islah’s cheeks went bright red.

Even after a year of our monthly bookclub meetings, and Saff’s shamelessly outspoken takes on, in particular, the sexual aspects of the books, Islah still managed to get embarrassed by it.

“I mean, it’s fantasy, right?” Saff asked, reaching for the bottle of wine sitting in the middle of the table, and topping off all of our glasses. “And in my fantasies, the hero goes down on his woman more than twice in the book. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You have a point,” Lore agreed. “It’s not really even that much of a fantasy. That should be, you know, the standard.” It certainly was in my relationship.

“Exactly,” Saff said, nodding. “So, what are we reading next? I vote for the vampires. I’m getting sick of royals. Oh, poor you, you have all the money and power and you’re so sad because some douchebag doesn’t want to feel you up…”

“To be fair, the past few books have all been a lot heavier on the court intrigue than the romance plots,” Lore defended the books.

“Exactly. Why isn’t anyone being slammed back against the wall and railed so hard that all the servants in the castle feel the need to go to confessional?”

“Okay,” Lore said, nodding. “We can do the vampires. If Elizabeth is cool with that?”

“Fine with me,” I agreed, just happy to be along for the ride.

After being alone for so long, with only work connections to lay claim to, having friends was still new and exciting to me. I was always reading, thinking of how Lore was going to dissect a complicated plot point, or Saff was going to insist that the sex position the main characters engaged in was physically impossible.

“I mean, if they’ve been alive for three hundred years, hopefully they’ve learned how to lay some pipe, right, Elian?” she asked, making me turn to see him frozen in the living room, brows raised.

“I’m… early,” he decided, starting to slow walk backward.

“No, no. I have to go hit the bookstore before I make dinner,” Lore said, lifting the heavy book off of the table and cradling it to her chest. “Do you want to come, Saff?” she asked.

“Ah, no,” Saff said, suddenly seeming a little more shut down. “I, ah, have plans,” she added, making Lore and I share a confused look. But we knew better than to try to pry things out of Saff.

Besides, she was grabbing her book, and rushing past Elian already.

“Did I interrupt?” Elian asked as he watched Lore follow Saff out. “I know you look forward to this,” he added as he brought his bag over to the island and started pulling out ingredients for dinner.

We shared that task now, though he definitely had more recipes in his arsenal than I did, so he tended to cook more often than I did.

Though I’ll go ahead and toot my own horn and say I found I had a skilled hand with baked goods, where Elian was still pretty hopeless with that task.

“No, we were pretty much done,” I said, eyeing the heavy cream and block of parmesan. It looked like Alfredo was in my future. My stomach let out a hearty growl at the idea.

I placed my hand there, seeing the gorgeous marquise-cut diamond sitting on my left ring finger, a promise of a future we’d been working toward ever since I’d officially moved into this condo, and wondering how long it would be until my belly started to go round. I was hoping it at least stayed flat for another two weeks, or my seamstress was going to have a fit since I’d already had my final fitting.

I never imagined myself having a large wedding. Mostly because I didn’t have any family that I was close to any more.

But, I guess, now I did.

Elian’s blood and extended family was now mine to share. And they were more than enough to fill up the church.

“You okay? Nauseated?” Elian asked, watching me with worried eyes.

We’d suffered through about nine weeks of absolute hell. Throwing up, migraines that I couldn’t control with my usual meds, just complete misery for me, and by extension, him.

But for the past five or six days, the nausea had disappeared, leaving ravenous hunger in its wake.

“Just starving,” I admitted, watching as he reached into the bag to push those almond biscotti things at me.

“You think of everything,” I said as I opened the package.

A loud sawing sound had Elian’s gaze sliding toward the hallway. “Were they doing that all through bookclub?” he asked.

The never-ending construction was a bone of contention with Elian, who was promised this project would have been done almost two months ago. Which, in city construction timelines, was practically on track.

Though, yeah, we were still a ways away. Including the worst part of the project that would have them cutting the wall open in the living room to open up the condos into one giant one.

I was just hoping they’d be done before the baby got here.

“It was background noise,” I said, shrugging. “Just think how nice it is going to be to have one, big home to bring the baby to,” I said, running my hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. “It’ll all be worth it in the end. And we already have the nursery,” I reminded him.

“Did you get the girls’ input on the wallpaper?” he asked. We’d been hopelessly deadlocked about the decision since we started looking at all the options online.

We wanted to go neutral, not because we weren’t going to learn the gender of the baby, but because we decided this would be the first of several, and we wanted it to be able to work for all of the babies moving forward.

“Lore liked the one with the castles.”

“And Saff?”

“Thought that the leaves look like pot leaves. And now I can’t see anything else,” I admitted.

“Back to the drawing board then, it seems,” he said, leaning his forehead to mine. “Expecting someone?” he asked when there was a knock at the door.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, but Islah was dropping by a lot since she learned she was about to be an auntie. Sometimes, it was with cute stuffies she saw in a shop window. Other times, it was with ginger lozenges for my nausea. We already had a small stack of books to read to the baby.

Elian moved away from me, striding over to open the door.

And there was Serano, gaze expectant.

“Saw you with the groceries,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen.

Elian shot me a smile.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Serano?” I asked.

“Sure,” he agreed, walking in like it wasn’t his idea, stopping to pet Kevin and Richard before turning on the TV and cranking up the volume.

Serano, I learned over the past year, was someone who always stayed abreast of the news. So it wasn’t surprising when the newscaster’s voice filled the room.

What was surprising, though, was to hear a name I hadn’t heard in months.

“Former senator, Michael Westmoore…” she started, making Elian and I move in to stand beside Serano.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“They found his body,” Serano said.

“The senator’s body?” I asked, stiffening.

“Yep. Found ‘em strung up by his feet and gutted.”

“Oh, God,” I said, hand slapping over my mouth as bile threatened.

“Christ, Serano,” Elian said, reaching to rub his hand up and down my spine.

“I thought… didn’t Rico say he, you know, went into the Witness Protection Program?”

“He turned State’s evidence,” Elian agreed.

“Rolling on the Bratva has consequences,” Serano said. “Sometimes it just takes time.”

“You okay?” Elian asked, following me to the kitchen where I dropped down on one of the stools.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“You’re not responsible,” Elian insisted, knowing that was where my head was going.

If I’d never exposed the senator, he would have gone on working for the Bratva, never making enemies of them, not having to roll over on them, then uproot his life, only to live a few months in WITSEC, before being brutally murdered.

“I feel responsible.”

“His choices were his own,” Elian insisted. “He didn’t have to get involved with the Bratva. He didn’t have to roll over on them when he was caught. He could have taken his prison sentence. He chose not to do that. He knew the risks. Actions have consequences.”

“I know,” I agreed, exhaling hard as I reached for one of the lozenges Islah brought me that we kept in a bowl on the counter. “I just… I worked with him, y’know? I didn’t exactly like the man, but he shouldn’t have been murdered. Is his family okay?”

“They’re fine,” Serano said, joining us.

His wife and daughter probably weren’t even mourning, given their tense relationship. But his sons were likely grieving their loss.

I wondered how everyone I’d worked on his campaign with were handling the news. If they were as upset about it as I felt.

“Small miracles, I guess,” I said.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Elian reminded me. “The Russians know you’re mine now. They won’t touch you.”

“Still doing the wedding thing?” Serano asked.

“Seeing as we have a baby on the way, yeah, we’re still pretty committed to making him or her legitimate,” Elian said, rolling his eyes.

Serano’s gaze slid to my stomach. And if I wasn’t completely mistaken, it seemed like there was interest in his gaze.

“Meet any nice girls lately?” I asked.

The way his head whipped up, eyes wide, told me all I needed to know.

“What? No,” he said, rushing back to the living room.

“Maybe we won’t be the only ones with wedding bells in our future,” I said.

“Can’t wait to see what kind of woman snagged him,” Elian said.

“I hope she knows how to cook,” I agreed.

Elian - 7 years

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said, scooping up our three-year-old right before he burst into the primary bedroom. “Mommy is taking a nap,” I told him as I walked us back toward the family room. Which was as far away from the bedroom as I could take the kids to give Elizabeth a chance to sleep off her migraine. “She has a boo-boo head,” I added, tapping his with my knuckles after setting him down next to his older brother who was zooming a small stuffed animal in and out at his baby sister’s face as she flailed at it and let out little bubbly laughs.

Elizabeth’s migraines ebbed and flowed. She always suffered the worst in her first trimester and then the months following delivery. We assumed it was some issue with all the hormonal changes that were trying to regulate themselves.

This postpartum, in particular, was really rough.

This was the third migraine just this week.

And while our eldest son understood the need to leave his mother alone and try to be quiet, our middle was still obsessed with being with his mom every second of the day.

“Knock knock,” Islah’s voice called as she stepped into the condo.

“Eye! Eye!” our three-year-old called, running toward his aunt with his arms up high.

“Hey, you,” she said, scooping him up and settling him on her hip. “I was dropping by to see if my niblings want to come and get ice cream,” she said, making our older son’s eyes light up.

“The boys are happy to come,” I said, nodding. “But they’re a handful enough.”

“Nope. We’re taking all three, so get me a diaper bag ready.”

“We?” I asked, watching as she walked back toward the door, opening it and stepping back to let a man walk in.

“See? Extra set of hands. Now, the diaper bag,” she said, coming over to the family room to set her nephew down at her side, so she could reach for her niece. “So, what kind of ice cream are you getting?” she asked my oldest. “Because I think I want vanilla soft serve in a cone with rainbow sprinkles.”

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and knowing Islah was more than capable of taking care of the kids, since she was our go-to babysitter, I went ahead and got the diaper bag all packed while Islah strapped the baby into her carseat carrier, then handed it to the man who she had to be getting serious with if she was bringing him around to introduce to her big brother.

With that, she hoisted the three-year-old on her hip, put the bag on her shoulder, and took my eldest’s hand.

“Say bye to daddy,” she said as she shuffled my kids out the door.

I turned back from the door to find Elizabeth leaning in the doorway. Her eyelids were still swollen from the migraine, but the ease in her body language said it had finally broken.

“I guess she finally figured out that real men can be even better than fictional ones,” she said, following me over to the couch and sitting next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“How’s your head?”

“Better. Hopefully, there’s no rebound, but better. That was a banger.”

“Want me to make you some coffee?”

“Nope,” she said, sliding her legs over my lap. “I want to stay here, just like this,” she said as my arm went around her, pulling her close. “I love the noise, but it really does make you appreciate the occasional quiet. Well, relative quiet,” she said as Richard and the newest rescue Serano had dropped at our door, Donald, got into a little tiff over the dangling yarn ball on the tree stand.

We were currently at four cats.

Four cats.

Three children.

And only two sets of hands.

It was crazy around here more often than it was calm.

But neither of us would have it any other way.

Elizabeth - 25 years

“Okay,” our daughter declared from her side of the dinner table after nervously twisting her pasta, a telltale sign that she was nervous about something. “I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Elian asked, head tipped to the side as he looked at her, our only girl, though not our youngest.

I remember being dubious once about how many “a few” children meant to Elian. It turned out it meant five. An absurd number of children to raise in the city. But thanks to Elian’s forethought to buy the other condo in hopes of a family one day, we had more than enough room for all of them.

And, hey, that last one turned out to be one of the best decisions we’d ever made. Because that little dude had worked some kind of magic spell on my hormones, making my migraines all but disappear.

I still struggled with one here or there, mostly due to the weather or working out too hard, but it was nothing like I’d been experiencing most of my adult life.

“My major,” our daughter said, rolling her eyes like we all should have known what was going on in her mind every moment of every day. Despite her being our most mercurial child with a mind that flip-flopped from one thing to another in the blink of an eye.

Of all our kids, I guess she was the one who was most similar to me. Ambitious, but a little directionless. Eager to prove herself, but not sure exactly how.

At her age, I was exactly like her.

And, well, she was also a little mini-me. Except she’d inherited her father’s golden eyes.

“Oh, that’s great,” I said, happy for her, knowing how much she’d struggled to make up her mind, feeling like she was behind all of her peers who’d gone into their senior year of high school knowing exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up.

This had been an easier age for our older boys. Who, despite really strong urging on our part to get them to go to college, to travel, to have normal lives, had long-since made up their minds that they were going to follow in their father’s footsteps.

And while, sure, the Lombardi family was still very progressive and open to female capos, I had to admit that I was glad our girl had never shown any interest in joining the family business.

“What did you decide on?” Elian asked when she didn’t immediately offer up the information.

“I want to go for political science,” she said, making Elian and I share a look.

“Really?” I asked. “What kind of career are you hoping to go into with that?”

“Well, I kind of want to be a political campaign manager,” she declared a little shyly, letting me know how much she actually wanted that. Her uncertainties were always loud. Her desires were quiet. It was another thing I related to a little too much.

This time, when our gazes met, neither of us could hide our wide eyes.

“What?” she asked, looking between the two of us. “It’s a real career,” she insisted, getting offended that we thought she didn’t do enough research.

“Oh, I know,” I agreed, not sure if I wanted to laugh or to cry.

“They make good money,” she said, chin lifting.

“Yep. Yep, they sure do,” I said, thinking of that fancy apartment I’d been living in when I’d been just a few years older than she was now.

“Why do you guys look like I’m saying I want to be a race car driver?” she asked. “It’s a safe profession.”

God, I really, really hoped so.

“Well,” Elian said, recovering a bit more quickly than I could. “We’re happy for you, sweetheart,” he said.

“But I’m afraid we might have to tell you a little story,” I said.

“What story?” she asked, head tipped to the side.

“About how your mother and I met,” Elian supplied.

“What? You guys told us how you met,” she said, pretty face scrunching up. “Outside of mom’s office at the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, sucking in a deep breath. “But we may have left out some key details.”

“What kind of details?” she asked.

“The ones about all the bullets,” Elian supplied.

“And the break-ins,” I added.

“Political corruption,” Elian piled on.

“And Bratva enforcers,” I said, wanting to laugh at the wide eyes our kids were all giving us.

“And I guess it all starts with the decision I once made to run a political campaign…” I said.

It had been one hell of a ride.

But, I decided as Elian reached for my hand, it had all been worth it in the end.

XX

A big thank-you to Fern, for her attention to detail.

And also a thanks to Gabi, Ashley, Sonya, and Cherie for helping make this book shine.

IF YOU LIKED this book, check out these other series and titles in the NAVESINK BANK UNIVERSE:

The Navesink Bank Henchmen MC

Reign

Cash

Wolf

Repo

Duke

Renny

Lazarus

Pagan

Cyrus

Edison

Reeve

Sugar

The Fall of V

Adler

Roderick

Virgin

Roan

Camden

West

Colson

Henchmen MC Next Gen

Niro

Malcolm

Fallon

Rowe

Cary

Valen

Dezi

Voss

Seth

Finn

Brooks

The Savages

Monster

Killer

Savior

Mallick Brothers

For A Good Time, Call

Shane

Ryan

Mark

Eli

Charlie & Helen: Back to the Beginning

Investigators

367 Days

14 Weeks

4 Months

432 Hours

Dark

Dark Mysteries

Dark Secrets

Dark Horse

Professionals

The Fixer

The Ghost

The Messenger

The General

The Babysitter

The Middle Man

The Negotiator

The Client

The Cleaner

The Executioner

Rivers Brothers

Lift You Up

Lock You Down

Pull You In

Keep You Close

Grassi Family

The Woman at the Docks

The Women in the Scope

The Woman in the Wrong Place

The Woman from the Past

The Woman in Harm’s Way

The Woman with the Target on her Back

The Woman with the Warning

Golden Glades Henchmen MC

Huck

Che

McCoy

Remy

Seeley

Donovan

Cato

Alaric

Shady Valley Henchmen MC

Judge

Crow

Slash

Sway

Detroit

Riff

STANDALONES WITHIN NAVESINK BANK:

Vigilante

Grudge Match

The Rise of Ferryn

Counterfeit Love

Of Snakes and Men

The Survivor

Deja Brew

OTHER SERIES AND STANDALONES:

Stars Landing

What The Heart Needs

What The Heart Wants

What The Heart Finds

What The Heart Knows

The Stars Landing Deviant

What The Heart Learns

Surrogate

The Sex Surrogate

Dr. Chase Hudson

The Green Series

Into the Green

Escape from the Green

Seven Sins MC

The Sacrifice

The Healer

The Thrall

The Demonslayer

The Professor

Costa Family

The Woman in the Trunk

The Woman in the Back Room

The Woman with the Scar

The Woman on the Exam Table

The Woman with the Flowers

The Woman with the Secret

The Woman on the Jury

The Woman in the Woods

The Woman in the Warehouse

Lombardi Family

Love Him Like Water

Need Him Like Oxygen

Seek Him Like Shelter

DEBT

Dissent

Stuffed: A Thanksgiving Romance

Unwrapped

Peace, Love, & Macarons

A Navesink Bank Christmas

Don’t Come

Fix It Up

N.Y.E.

faire l’amour

Revenge

There Better Be Pie

Ugly Sweater Weather

I Like Being Watched

The Woman with the Ring

Love and Other Nightmares

Love in the Time of Zombies

Primal

Taming Scarlet

Under the pen name JGALA:

The Heir Apparent

The Winter Queen

JESSICA GADZIALA IS the USA TODAY Bestselling author of over 100 steamy romance novels featuring all sorts of twisty and turny plots, strong heroines, lovable side characters, steam, and epic HEAs.

She lives in New Jersey with her parrots, dogs, rabbits, chickens, ducks, and her bearded dragon named Ravioli.

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