“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” Her Boyfriend Whispered—Then the Mafia Boss Beside Them Stood Up

Part 1

The wineglass shattered before Penny Brooks understood that the evening had crossed a line she could never uncross.

Red wine spread across the white linen at Lamour Blancc, threading between silverware and broken crystal. Around them, conversations faltered. A waiter took one uncertain step toward the table.

Across from Penny, Derek Mitchell barely noticed.

He was staring at her.

Not with embarrassment. Not with regret.

With fury.

“Look what you made me do.”

Penny’s fingers tightened around the napkin in her lap.

Three hours earlier, standing before the mirror in their apartment, she had believed this night might be different.

Their third anniversary.

She had saved for weeks for the emerald wrap dress she wore now. The fabric followed the generous curves of her body instead of disguising them, and when she had finished curling her dark hair, she’d stood in front of the mirror longer than usual.

She had felt beautiful.

Not thinner.

Not smaller.

Beautiful exactly as she was.

Then Derek had looked at her when she came out of the bedroom and said only, “We’re going to be late.”

Now his third bourbon sat beside the broken glass, and the man Penny had once loved was looking at her as though everything wrong with his life had somehow become her responsibility.

The waiter approached carefully. “Sir, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Derek flicked a hand at him.

“Back off.”

The waiter hesitated before retreating.

Penny stared at the red wine soaking into the tablecloth.

She had become good at studying objects when Derek was angry.

A menu.

A crack in the wall.

A pattern in a carpet.

Anything except his face.

It had started two years ago with comments so small she had almost convinced herself they were jokes.

Maybe don’t wear that.

Are you really hungry again?

You’d be gorgeous if you lost twenty pounds.

Then thirty.

Then apparently no amount would have been enough.

When Penny protested, Derek said she was too sensitive.

When she cried, he said she was manipulative.

When she stayed quiet, he demanded to know why she was sulking.

There was no correct answer anymore.

Tonight, even ordering dessert had become an offense.

Derek had finally put his phone down long enough to look at the menu, then at her.

“You seriously want dessert?”

Penny had blinked. “I was just looking.”

“You just ate an entire plate of truffle pasta.”

His voice had been loud enough for the nearest tables to hear.

“Derek.”

“What?”

“Please.”

His gaze had traveled over her emerald dress.

“The thing is already fighting for its life.”

Heat had rushed into Penny’s face.

She’d lowered her voice. “It’s our anniversary.”

“So?”

“Could we have one nice night?”

That had been when something ugly surfaced in his expression.

“I brought you to a restaurant you could never afford on your own, and you’re sitting there looking miserable. Do you know how exhausting you are?”

Penny had gripped her napkin.

“Stop talking to me like that.”

Derek had laughed.

“Or what?”

Then his palm had struck the table.

The wineglass fell.

And now Penny was looking at its shattered remains.

Something inside her shifted.

Not courage exactly.

Exhaustion.

Maybe there came a point when fear became so constant that even fear grew tired.

Penny pushed back her chair.

The legs scraped sharply over the polished floor.

“I’m leaving.”

Derek’s expression changed.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

It was a tiny word.

Penny had almost forgotten she knew how to say it.

Derek stared at her.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m leaving.”

She stood.

Her knees trembled beneath the emerald fabric, but she forced herself upright.

“I can’t do this tonight.”

She reached for her purse.

Derek caught her wrist.

Pain exploded up her arm.

Penny gasped.

His fingers tightened.

“Derek.”

“Sit. Down.”

“Let go.”

His grip only became harder.

Penny pulled backward, but Derek yanked her toward him until she had to brace her free hand against the table to keep from falling.

Then he leaned close.

His bourbon-heavy breath touched her ear.

“You make a scene,” he whispered, “and you’re dead when we get home.”

Penny stopped moving.

Derek squeezed once more.

“You understand?”

Her heartbeat seemed to vanish.

Over the last six months, his temper had changed.

A shove during an argument.

Fingers digging into her arm.

Once, hands around her throat for several terrifying seconds before he’d released her and insisted afterward that he had only been trying to calm her down.

Penny had accepted apologies she knew were lies because the alternative required admitting something even more frightening.

She was not waiting for Derek to become dangerous.

He already was.

And tonight, looking into his eyes, Penny believed him.

“You’re dead,” he repeated.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Okay.”

Derek smiled.

There it was.

Satisfaction.

He had frightened her back into obedience.

His fingers began to loosen.

A shadow crossed the table.

“Excuse me.”

Derek looked up.

So did Penny.

The man standing beside them had been seated at the next table.

Penny had noticed him earlier without meaning to.

He was difficult not to notice.

Tall. Broad through the shoulders. Dark hair swept neatly away from a face composed of sharp angles and controlled expression. His charcoal suit looked understated until one realized that nothing about its cut could have come from an ordinary store.

A larger man with a scarred face remained several steps behind him.

The stranger’s attention was not on Penny.

It was fixed on Derek’s hand.

“Let her go.”

Derek released her.

Perhaps because of the man’s size.

Perhaps because of his voice.

Penny stumbled backward, clutching her wrist.

Red fingerprints were already appearing on her skin.

Derek stood.

“This doesn’t concern you.”

The stranger looked at him.

“It concerned only the two of you until you put your hands on her.”

Derek laughed unsteadily. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“And?”

The single word seemed to confuse him.

“This is a private conversation.”

“You threatened to kill her loudly enough for me to hear it.”

The restaurant had become strangely quiet.

Derek glanced toward the staff.

“Security!”

Nobody came.

Penny noticed the maître d’ near the entrance.

He was staring at the floor.

The stranger reached down and lifted the heavy silver steak knife from beside Derek’s plate.

He turned it once between his fingers, studying the blade with almost absent interest.

Derek’s bravado faltered.

“Put that down.”

The stranger did.

A soft metallic click against porcelain.

The scarred man stepped forward.

“Want me to handle him, boss?”

Boss.

Derek went still.

The stranger didn’t look away from him.

“No, Anton.”

Then he said something that drained the color from Derek’s face.

“Mr. Mitchell and I already have business.”

Penny looked from one man to the other.

Derek swallowed.

“How do you know my name?”

The stranger’s expression barely changed.

“I make it my business to know the men who owe me money.”

Derek stepped backward.

“No.”

The stranger moved closer.

“My name is Lorenzo Moretti.”

Penny’s breath caught.

She knew the name.

Everyone did.

Moretti.

A family spoken about in careful voices. Ports. Casinos. Businesses that existed openly and other operations that existed only as rumors.

And Lorenzo Moretti stood at the center of them.

Derek’s knees struck his chair.

“Mr. Moretti, listen, I can explain—”

“You owe my associates two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Penny stared at Derek.

“What?”

He refused to look at her.

Lorenzo continued.

“Your markers are overdue. You’ve avoided my collectors for three weeks.”

Penny felt suddenly dizzy.

Derek had emptied their savings.

Nearly everything she had put away from years of freelance graphic-design work had disappeared.

He’d blamed a failed investment.

Penny had believed him.

Not completely.

But enough.

“You gambled it?”

Derek finally looked at her.

“Penny, don’t start.”

Something in her face must have warned him, because he stopped.

Lorenzo’s attention moved to her bruised wrist.

When he spoke again, his tone changed.

“Miss Brooks?”

She looked at him.

“How do you know my name?”

For the first time, something unreadable passed through Lorenzo’s eyes.

“We’ll discuss that.”

He took a folded white handkerchief from his jacket and held it toward her.

“First, are you hurt?”

Penny accepted it.

“My wrist.”

“I can see that.”

Lorenzo glanced at Derek.

Then back at her.

“Does he do this often?”

Derek’s eyes widened.

Penny saw the warning immediately.

Don’t.

She knew that expression.

She had obeyed it in restaurants, apartments, taxis, grocery stores, parking lots.

She had spent years learning Derek’s silent language.

Don’t embarrass me.

Don’t contradict me.

Don’t tell anyone.

For once, Penny looked at him and felt something other than fear.

She felt disgust.

“Yes.”

Derek’s face collapsed.

“Penny—”

“He does.”

She looked directly at Lorenzo.

“And it’s getting worse.”

Silence followed.

Lorenzo’s expression became almost unnaturally calm.

“Anton.”

The larger man stepped forward.

“Boss.”

“Take Mr. Mitchell through the kitchen.”

Derek backed away.

“Wait.”

“The staff are already taking their break.”

“Mr. Moretti—”

“Second car.”

Derek dropped to his knees.

The transformation was so complete that Penny could hardly reconcile this pleading man with the one who had threatened her less than five minutes earlier.

“Please.”

Anton seized him.

“Penny!”

Derek twisted desperately.

“Tell him! Tell him I’m sorry!”

Penny said nothing.

Anton dragged him toward the kitchen.

His voice disappeared behind the swinging doors.

Then he was gone.

Penny remained beside the table, shaking.

Her anniversary dinner had lasted less than two hours.

Her boyfriend had threatened to murder her.

A mafia boss had abducted him.

And somehow the most frightening realization was that Lorenzo Moretti knew her full name.

Lorenzo placed several hundred-dollar bills on the ruined table.

Then he offered Penny his arm.

“Your transportation appears to have become unavailable.”

Despite everything, Penny almost laughed.

She didn’t.

“Where is Derek going?”

“Somewhere he cannot hurt you tonight.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No.”

At least he didn’t pretend otherwise.

“My driver can take you somewhere safe,” Lorenzo said.

Penny looked at his offered arm.

“You expect me to get into your car after what I just watched?”

A faint flicker of approval crossed his face.

“No. I expect you to make your own decision.”

That answer surprised her.

Penny looked toward the kitchen doors.

Going home meant returning to the apartment she shared with Derek.

Calling someone meant confronting another humiliating fact: Derek had spent years isolating her from nearly everyone she once trusted.

Then there was Lorenzo.

Dangerous.

Unquestionably.

But so far, he was also the only man in the room who had listened when she said Derek hurt her.

Penny lifted her bruised wrist and placed her hand lightly on Lorenzo’s arm.

“One ride.”

His gaze met hers.

“One ride.”

And together they left Lamour Blancc.

Part 2

The armored Maybach shut out the city almost completely.

Penny sat against cream-colored leather, watching lights slide across the tinted windows.

Lorenzo remained on the opposite side of the rear seat.

He hadn’t touched her since helping her into the car.

That mattered more than Penny wanted to admit.

Her wrist throbbed.

Lorenzo opened a compartment containing several crystal bottles.

“Scotch?”

Penny gave him a tired look.

“Is alcohol really your recommendation after what happened?”

The corner of his mouth moved.

“Fair criticism.”

He poured one for himself instead.

Then he retrieved a leather first-aid kit.

“Your wrist.”

Penny hesitated.

“May I?”

That word decided it.

May.

Derek rarely asked permission for anything.

Penny extended her arm.

Lorenzo supported it carefully while applying cooling ointment to the bruised skin.

His hands were large, but the pressure was almost absurdly gentle.

Penny watched him.

“You’re being very nice for someone who just put my boyfriend in a trunk.”

“Former boyfriend, I hope.”

Despite herself, she laughed.

It emerged strangely, as though the sound hadn’t been used in a long time.

Lorenzo looked up.

Penny’s smile disappeared.

“Sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

She did know.

Derek disliked her laughing loudly.

Too much attention, he said.

Everything about Penny had eventually become too much.

Too loud.

Too emotional.

Too hungry.

Too sensitive.

Too large.

Lorenzo resumed tending the bruise.

“He taught you to apologize for occupying space.”

Penny looked sharply at him.

“You don’t know me.”

“No.”

His gaze lifted.

“But I know men like Derek Mitchell.”

Penny stared through the window.

“He used to be different.”

“Perhaps.”

“He was.”

She needed that to be true.

Otherwise she had to accept that she’d spent three years loving a version of Derek that had never existed.

“He used to tell me I was beautiful.”

Lorenzo’s hands stopped.

“He was right about one thing.”

Penny’s eyes met his.

There was no mockery there.

No exaggerated reassurance.

He simply looked at her as though the statement required no debate.

Penny looked away first.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Tell me I’m beautiful because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

She frowned.

“What do you feel?”

Lorenzo closed the first-aid kit.

“Angry.”

“At Derek?”

“Among other things.”

The gates appeared twenty minutes later.

Beyond them stood Lorenzo’s estate, a modern structure of stone and glass overlooking the city.

Inside, the house was quieter than Penny expected.

Fine art.

Warm wood.

Clean architectural lines.

No smoky rooms filled with armed men.

No theatrical displays of criminal wealth.

Lorenzo led her into a living room overlooking the skyline.

“Sit.”

Penny raised an eyebrow.

His expression shifted.

“Please.”

“Better.”

Another almost-smile.

She sat.

Lorenzo removed his jacket.

“There is something I need to tell you.”

Penny’s stomach tightened.

“Our meeting tonight was not accidental.”

She stood again.

Immediately.

Lorenzo didn’t move toward her.

“What does that mean?”

“I was at Lamour Blancc because of Derek.”

Penny’s pulse quickened.

“You followed us?”

“Him.”

“Why?”

Lorenzo studied her for a moment.

Then he gave her the answer.

“Because Derek Mitchell has been committing fraud using your professional accounts.”

Penny stopped breathing.

“What?”

“One of my legitimate companies manages commercial property. Two weeks ago, my financial auditor, Robert Lewis, discovered forged digital documents being used in an attempt to leverage properties for fraudulent loans.”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“The documents originated through software and credentials connected to your freelance design account.”

Penny stared at him.

“No.”

“We investigated before taking action.”

“No.”

“Penny.”

“I didn’t forge anything.”

“I know.”

Her words stopped.

Lorenzo stepped closer but kept several feet between them.

“I know you didn’t.”

Penny sank slowly onto the sofa.

Her thoughts raced backward.

Derek borrowing her laptop.

Passwords suddenly failing.

Files moved into folders she didn’t recognize.

Questions he’d asked about digital signatures.

At the time, none of it had seemed connected.

Now every detail rearranged itself.

“He used me.”

“Yes.”

“He was setting me up.”

“Yes.”

Penny pressed both hands against her face.

Derek hadn’t merely taken her money.

He had used her identity as protection.

If the fraud succeeded, it would point toward her.

And the victim wasn’t some anonymous corporation.

It was Lorenzo Moretti.

She lowered her hands.

“If you thought I’d done it…”

“I didn’t.”

“But if you had?”

Lorenzo didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Cold traveled through her.

“So tonight you were watching him.”

“I intended to confirm his identity and have Anton collect him after he left the restaurant.”

“You already knew about the gambling?”

“Yes.”

“And the money?”

“Yes.”

“And me?”

Lorenzo paused.

“My people discovered enough to make me suspicious that your involvement wasn’t voluntary.”

Penny thought of all the private pieces of her life that might have been exposed during that investigation.

She folded her arms.

“You investigated me.”

“I did.”

“That’s not romantic, Lorenzo.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“I wasn’t attempting romance.”

“Good.”

A beat passed.

“Good,” he repeated.

Penny almost smiled again.

Then the study doors opened.

Anton entered.

“The package is secure.”

Penny stiffened.

Lorenzo looked at him.

“Where?”

“Warehouse by the docks.”

“And?”

“Talking.”

Lorenzo’s face became unreadable.

“Set up the feed.”

Anton activated the large screen on the far wall.

The image appeared.

A concrete room.

A metal chair.

Derek.

He was restrained, disheveled and terrified.

Penny rose.

“What have you done to him?”

“Less than he feared,” Lorenzo said.

“For now?”

Lorenzo didn’t answer.

He sat near her without touching her.

“Derek owes my organization a quarter of a million dollars. He attempted to repay that debt by defrauding businesses connected to me while arranging for evidence to point toward you.”

Penny stared at the screen.

Derek was begging someone outside the camera’s view.

Lorenzo held out a wireless microphone.

Penny didn’t take it.

“What is that?”

“A choice.”

“I don’t want to kill him.”

Something changed in Lorenzo’s expression.

“Then he won’t die.”

Penny looked at him.

“You’d actually let me decide that?”

“He threatened your life. He stole your money. He used your identity.”

“That doesn’t make me an executioner.”

“No.”

Lorenzo lowered the microphone.

“And I will not make you one.”

Penny’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Lorenzo continued.

“There is another option.”

“What?”

“He works.”

She almost laughed.

“Derek?”

“For approximately fifteen years.”

That stopped her.

Lorenzo explained the commercial freighter.

Frozen cod.

The Bering Sea.

Brutal shifts.

Lower-deck quarters.

Every dollar of Derek’s labor credited against what he owed.

Penny stared at the screen.

For one dark instant, she wanted him to suffer.

She remembered every insult.

Every meal she’d skipped because Derek had made her ashamed to eat.

Every friend she’d stopped calling because explaining the bruises was harder than disappearing.

Every dollar he had stolen.

Then she remembered his fingers closing around her wrist.

You’re dead when we get home.

Derek’s voice came faintly through the feed.

Begging.

Penny looked at him and realized something.

She wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

The absence of fear left an enormous empty space inside her.

Perhaps eventually she would fill it with something better.

She took the microphone.

“Derek.”

His head snapped up.

“Penny!”

He began talking so quickly his words collided.

“Penny, thank God. Tell them this is a mistake. Tell them you love me. Tell them to let me go.”

Penny looked down at her emerald dress.

A few hours ago, Derek had used it to make her ashamed of her body.

Now she smoothed the fabric over her stomach.

“No.”

Derek stopped.

“You said I was dead when we got home.”

“Baby, I was angry—”

“No.”

The word came more easily this time.

“You don’t get to explain it away.”

“Penny—”

“You stole from me. You used my name. And you were going to let me take the blame.”

“I can fix it.”

“You can’t.”

She looked at Lorenzo.

Then back at Derek.

“The boat.”

Derek’s expression changed.

“Penny?”

She pressed the microphone button one last time.

“You wanted me to spend the rest of my life afraid of you.”

Her voice was steady.

“Now you can spend yours remembering that I stopped being afraid.”

She handed the microphone back.

“The freighter.”

Lorenzo watched her.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He looked toward Anton.

Anton switched off the feed.

The screen went black.

Penny stared at her reflection in it.

Derek Mitchell was gone from her life.

She expected triumph.

Instead she felt grief.

Not for Derek.

For herself.

For three years.

For the woman who had learned to shrink.

Lorenzo seemed to understand.

He said nothing.

Penny looked at him.

“What happens to me now?”

“Whatever you choose.”

“No conditions?”

“None.”

“What about the forged documents?”

“Robert has the evidence clearing you.”

“And my money?”

“We’ll trace what remains.”

Penny nodded slowly.

Then she looked around the enormous house.

“Do you have a guest room?”

Lorenzo’s gaze softened.

“Several.”

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

Penny stood.

“And Lorenzo?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, I want my laptop.”

He nodded.

“My files. My client records. Everything.”

“Anton can retrieve them.”

“No.”

Lorenzo waited.

Penny lifted her chin.

“I want to go.”

Understanding settled across his face.

“Then I’ll take you.”

For the first time that night, Penny realized rescue did not have to mean surrendering control to another man.

Lorenzo had power.

Terrifying amounts of it.

But when Penny drew a boundary, he listened.

For now, that was enough.

Part 3

Six months later, morning sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows and warmed Penny’s bare shoulder.

She woke slowly.

An arm rested across her waist.

Lorenzo.

Penny smiled before opening her eyes.

Their relationship had not begun the night he rescued her.

Penny was very particular about that distinction.

That night, he had given her a guest room.

The next morning, he had driven her back to the apartment.

He had remained in the hallway while Penny packed.

When she told him not to enter, he didn’t.

When she discovered Derek had deleted several client folders, Lorenzo offered his cybersecurity people.

Penny accepted.

When he offered to buy her a new apartment, she refused.

Lorenzo accepted that too.

The money Derek had stolen was eventually traced through gambling accounts, transfers, and debts. Some could be recovered.

Some could not.

But Penny discovered she didn’t want her old life reconstructed exactly as it had been.

She wanted a new one.

She built it herself.

With Lorenzo’s financial backing—but under terms Penny insisted on—she opened an independent graphic-design agency serving high-end corporate clients.

She chose the name.

She chose the office.

She interviewed every employee.

When Lorenzo attempted to send over three potential clients before she’d even finished furnishing the conference room, Penny called him.

“You are not building my business for me.”

“I was making introductions.”

“You were sending me half your corporate network.”

“Only the competent half.”

“Lorenzo.”

A long pause.

“Understood.”

The clients stayed away until Penny asked for introductions herself.

That was when she began falling in love with him.

Not because Lorenzo Moretti was powerful.

Because he knew how to stop using that power when she asked him to.

Their first kiss came weeks later.

Penny initiated it.

Their first night together came later still.

She chose that too.

And every choice restored another small piece of the woman Derek had spent years trying to erase.

Now Penny wore bright dresses because she liked them.

She ate what she wanted.

She laughed loudly.

She took up space.

Lorenzo’s arm tightened gently around her.

“Good morning, mia regina.”

His voice was rough with sleep.

Penny turned toward him.

“Morning.”

She traced one of the dark tattoos along his forearm.

“Busy today?”

“Robert has the accounts.”

“And the docks?”

“Anton.”

“The casinos?”

Lorenzo opened one eye.

“You have developed an unhealthy interest in my schedule.”

“I like knowing whether my boyfriend is available for lunch.”

Both eyes opened.

“Boyfriend?”

Penny smiled.

“What would you prefer?”

Lorenzo pulled her closer.

“I have several suggestions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

He kissed her shoulder.

Six months had not transformed Lorenzo into a harmless man.

Penny wasn’t naive enough to pretend it had.

There were rooms she didn’t enter.

Conversations that stopped when she approached.

Businesses she knew better than to ask about.

Lorenzo carried obligations and enemies that wealth couldn’t erase.

His power came with limits too.

Family expectations.

Constant vigilance.

A reputation that could never simply be put away at the end of the day.

Penny did not romanticize those things.

She loved the man in spite of them, not because danger made him glamorous.

And Lorenzo understood something equally important.

Penny wasn’t his possession.

He could protect her.

He could support her.

But he could not own her.

Perhaps that was why they worked.

Lorenzo had spent his life surrounded by people who obeyed him.

Penny had spent three years obeying someone out of fear.

Neither wanted that between them.

She rolled onto her back.

“I want Italian tonight.”

“You always want Italian.”

“True.”

“Here?”

Penny considered it.

Then smiled.

“No.”

Lorenzo recognized that expression.

“Where?”

“Lamour Blancc.”

His brows rose.

“That restaurant may never recover from you.”

“Me?”

Penny pushed herself upright, pulling the sheet around her.

“You put a man in a trunk.”

“He was unpleasant.”

“You abducted him through the kitchen.”

“The dining room would have disturbed the other guests.”

Penny laughed.

Loudly.

Lorenzo watched her with a quiet expression.

She caught him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He reached up and tucked one dark curl behind her ear.

“I like that sound.”

Penny understood.

Her laughter.

Once, Derek had made her feel ashamed of it.

Too loud.

Too noticeable.

Too much.

Lorenzo never asked her to become less.

Penny leaned into his palm.

“Then you’d better keep me entertained.”

“A tremendous responsibility.”

“You’ll survive.”

Lorenzo smiled.

“I usually do.”

Penny climbed out of bed and crossed toward the windows.

The city stretched beneath her.

Six months ago, she had looked at this same skyline from Lorenzo’s living room while Derek begged for his life on a screen behind her.

Sometimes that night still visited her in dreams.

Not Anton.

Not the warehouse.

Not even Lorenzo.

She dreamed of the restaurant.

Of her own hand reaching for her purse.

I’m leaving.

That had been the real beginning.

Before Lorenzo stood up.

Before anyone rescued her.

Penny had stood first.

Derek had tried to stop her.

And someone powerful enough to make him let go had happened to be sitting at the next table.

But the decision to leave had been hers.

That mattered.

It would always matter.

Lorenzo came up behind her.

His hands settled lightly at her waist.

Penny looked down at them.

Once, a man’s hands around her body had meant she needed to calculate whether struggling would make things worse.

Now she simply leaned backward.

Lorenzo kissed her hair.

“The green dress tonight.”

Penny turned.

“The one Derek hated?”

“The one I remember.”

“Why?”

His expression became serious.

“Because the first time I saw you in it, you looked terrified.”

Penny waited.

“And?”

“The last time you wore it, you walked into a room as though you owned every inch of floor beneath you.”

Something tightened in Penny’s throat.

She smiled.

“Fine.”

Lorenzo’s mouth curved.

“But I’m ordering dessert.”

His answer came immediately.

“Obviously.”

“And truffle pasta.”

“An excellent choice.”

“And if the dress stretches at the seams?”

Lorenzo looked deliberately down the full curve of her body before meeting her eyes again.

“Then I will have someone make you another dress.”

Penny laughed.

“No.”

“No?”

“I like this one.”

Lorenzo nodded.

“Then the dress will have to rise to the occasion.”

She kissed him.

Later that evening, Lamour Blancc looked almost exactly as Penny remembered it.

Same chandeliers.

Same white tablecloths.

Same soft jazz.

But Penny was different.

She entered wearing emerald green.

Heads turned.

For once, she didn’t wonder whether they were judging her body.

She didn’t pull the fabric over her stomach.

She didn’t lower her eyes.

She walked beside Lorenzo, not behind him.

The maître d’ greeted them nervously.

Penny recognized the table.

So did Lorenzo.

“Another?”

Penny shook her head.

“That one.”

He studied her.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

They sat.

Penny looked at the place where Derek had been.

For a moment, memory returned with astonishing clarity.

The bourbon.

The phone.

The shattered glass.

His fingers around her wrist.

You’re dead when we get home.

She touched the place where the bruises had once been.

Nothing remained.

Lorenzo noticed.

He reached across the table but stopped before touching her.

An old habit now.

An unspoken question.

Penny turned her hand palm-up.

Lorenzo placed his over it.

The waiter arrived with the menus.

Penny opened hers.

She didn’t look at the calories.

She didn’t calculate what she had eaten earlier.

She didn’t imagine Derek’s voice.

She simply chose what sounded good.

“Truffle pasta,” she said.

The waiter nodded.

“And dessert?”

Penny looked across the table.

Lorenzo was watching her.

She smiled.

“Definitely.”

Outside, the city continued around them, enormous and complicated and dangerous.

Lorenzo Moretti still commanded a world built on power.

But Penny Brooks had finally reclaimed something power couldn’t purchase for her.

Her own life.

Her own voice.

Her own space.

And when dessert arrived, she took the first bite without apologizing to anyone.