THE MAFIA BOSS’S SECRETARY CALLED HIM BLEEDING AT 2 A.M.—BY DAWN, HE HAD CLAIMED HER BEFORE THE ENTIRE CITY

THE MAFIA BOSS’S SECRETARY CALLED HIM BLEEDING AT 2 A.M.—BY DAWN, HE HAD CLAIMED HER BEFORE THE ENTIRE CITY

Part 1

The first impact spun Evelyn Hart’s sedan halfway across the rain-slick bridge.

Her shoulder slammed into the door. Glass rattled. Her hands locked around the steering wheel while headlights burned white in her rearview mirror.

A black SUV.

No license plate.

No hesitation.

It struck her again.

Harder.

The rear of her car whipped sideways, tires screaming against wet pavement. Evelyn fought the wheel, heart pounding so violently it hurt. Beyond the guardrail, the river was a sheet of black beneath the storm.

This was not an accident.

The thought arrived with terrifying calm.

She had spent six years working for Roman DeLuca, long enough to recognize the difference between bad luck and a message.

The SUV pulled back.

For one suspended second she saw nothing but rain and twin headlights.

Then it accelerated.

“No.”

The third hit broke the guardrail.

Metal screamed.

The sedan tipped.

Evelyn remembered the impossible sensation of weightlessness before the world turned over.

Once.

Twice.

Her temple struck something hard.

Then there was darkness, cold mud, and the smell of gasoline.

She woke hanging against her seat belt with rain pouring through a shattered window.

Pain wrapped around her ribs.

Her left hand was bleeding.

Her phone was gone.

Above her, through the broken windshield, the SUV sat on the bridge.

Watching.

Evelyn froze.

The vehicle remained there for several seconds.

Then its headlights disappeared into the storm.

They had stayed long enough to make sure she went over.

They simply had not stayed long enough to discover she had survived.

Forty-three minutes later, after a passing delivery driver found her crawling up the embankment, Evelyn sat beneath the fluorescent lights of Greyhaven Memorial with six stitches near her hairline, two cracked ribs, and blood dried beneath her nails.

A nurse had asked whom they should call.

Evelyn had stared at the hospital phone.

She knew dozens of numbers from memory.

Lawyers. Accountants. Shipping managers. Private security coordinators. Men who would answer an encrypted line at any hour because Roman DeLuca paid them to.

But there was only one number she wanted.

She hated herself for knowing it by heart.

At 2:11 a.m., Roman answered on the second ring.

“Yes.”

One word.

Low. Awake. Dangerous.

Evelyn shut her eyes.

For six years she had called him Mr. DeLuca.

She had stood outside his office through negotiations that made powerful men sweat through thousand-dollar suits. She had rearranged flights because rival families controlled airports. She had corrected his attorneys, terrified his accountants, and once informed Roman—without blinking—that if he ignored another board meeting she would personally have his driver take him there in handcuffs.

She never lost control.

Tonight, she could barely hold the receiver.

“Roman.”

Silence.

Not surprise.

Something worse.

Attention.

“Where are you?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Where?”

Her throat tightened.

“Greyhaven Memorial.”

A chair moved sharply on his end.

“What happened?”

Evelyn looked down at the mud staining her ruined blouse.

“I think someone tried to kill me.”

Roman did not ask another question.

The line went dead.

Twenty-two minutes later, the emergency department changed when he entered it.

Roman DeLuca never needed an entourage to announce him.

At thirty-eight, he had the unnerving stillness of a man accustomed to deciding whether rooms remained peaceful. His black overcoat was wet at the shoulders. Rain darkened his hair. His charcoal shirt was open at the throat, as though he had dressed while walking.

People noticed him without knowing why.

A police officer near the vending machines stopped talking.

Two nurses looked up.

An orderly pushing a cart moved aside.

Roman crossed the waiting room with controlled, relentless purpose.

At reception, a clerk raised a hand.

“Sir, you need—”

“Evelyn Hart.”

“Are you family?”

Roman’s expression did not change.

“Yes.”

It was the most effortless lie Evelyn had ever heard.

The clerk hesitated.

Roman leaned slightly toward the counter.

“Where is she?”

Three minutes later, the curtain surrounding Evelyn’s treatment bay snapped aside.

She looked up.

Roman stopped.

For years she had watched him receive terrible news without visible reaction. Government investigations. Betrayals. Deaths. Millions lost in a night. He absorbed disaster with a faint narrowing of his eyes and moved on to the solution.

But the sight of her bruised and bloodied made something change in his face.

Not much.

Roman DeLuca did not break visibly.

Still, Evelyn saw it.

His jaw tightened.

His eyes dropped to the bandage at her temple, the sling supporting her left arm, the bruising spreading beneath the collar of her hospital gown.

Then he looked at her hands.

They were shaking.

Evelyn immediately tucked them beneath the thin blanket.

“I’m all right.”

Roman pulled the curtain closed behind him.

“No, you aren’t.”

“The doctor says the ribs are only cracked.”

“Only.”

“I’ve had worse Mondays.”

He did not smile.

Evelyn tried again because humor was easier than admitting how frightened she was.

“My laptop survived.”

“Evelyn.”

“The quarterly files are encrypted, but I should change the access keys because whoever—”

“Stop.”

His voice was quiet.

That made it more effective.

She stopped.

Roman moved closer.

Usually there was a desk between them. Or a conference table. Or a respectful two-foot boundary Evelyn had never noticed until he crossed it.

He stood directly in front of her.

“Tell me what happened.”

She did.

She described the bridge. The SUV. The deliberate impacts. The way it had waited.

Roman listened without interruption.

When she finished, the room seemed colder.

“How many people know your route home?”

“More than I’d like.”

“How many know you worked late tonight?”

Evelyn hesitated.

“Seven, possibly eight.”

“Names.”

“Roman—”

“Names.”

There was the boss.

Not the man who had driven through a storm in half-buttoned clothes because she called.

Evelyn listed them.

His operations chief. Two senior accountants. His legal counsel. Three division heads.

And Marcus Vane.

At that name, Roman’s gaze sharpened.

Marcus had served the DeLuca organization for twenty-seven years. He had advised Roman’s father before Roman inherited control at thirty. He ran legitimate holdings with old-world precision and disliked Evelyn with equally old-fashioned commitment.

Marcus believed secretaries should take notes.

Evelyn had spent six years proving she could rewrite the agenda.

“Marcus had access to your audit schedule?” Roman asked.

“He chairs the finance committee.”

“You were reviewing his subsidiaries.”

“I review everyone.”

Roman stared at her.

Evelyn exhaled.

“Yes. His numbers bothered me.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Enough to kill you?”

“I would have told you if I had proof.”

A muscle shifted in Roman’s cheek.

“You should have told me when you had suspicion.”

“And accused a man who taught your father how to hide assets because I disliked three decimal points?”

“Yes.”

“That would have gone well.”

“It would have kept you off that bridge.”

The sharpness in his voice silenced her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Evelyn looked away.

“I didn’t call because of the audit.”

“I know.”

“I called because…”

Her voice failed.

Roman waited.

She hated the vulnerability more than the pain.

“When I woke up in the car, I couldn’t move at first.”

His expression became utterly still.

“I thought the river was going to come through the windows. I thought I was going to die there.”

His hand flexed once at his side.

Evelyn swallowed.

“And for some stupid reason, all I could think was that tomorrow morning you’d ask where the Aldridge contracts were, and no one would know because I hadn’t updated the shared index.”

Roman stared at her as if she had struck him.

“That was what you thought about?”

“I was concussed.”

“You thought about my contracts while you were trapped in a wreck.”

“I said I was concussed.”

He stepped closer.

Evelyn’s smile disappeared.

Roman crouched before her.

It put his face nearly level with hers.

For perhaps the first time in six years, he looked less like the most feared man in Greyhaven and more like a man trying very hard not to touch something injured.

“You listen to me,” he said. “If every contract I own burns tonight, I will replace them. If every building falls down, I will build another one. If every account is emptied, I will make more money.”

His gaze held hers.

“There is no replacement for you.”

Evelyn forgot to breathe.

Roman reached for her hand.

Slowly.

Giving her enough time to pull away.

She didn’t.

His fingers closed over hers.

Warm. Strong. Steady.

Her trembling eased almost immediately.

Roman noticed.

His thumb moved once across her knuckles.

It was not romantic.

It was worse.

It was tender.

The curtain opened behind him.

A doctor entered carrying a clipboard and stopped.

“I was looking for Ms. Hart’s family.”

Roman rose without releasing Evelyn’s hand.

“You found it.”

Evelyn’s pulse jumped.

The physician glanced between them.

“She has a concussion. I’d prefer to keep her overnight.”

“No.”

Evelyn looked at Roman.

The doctor frowned. “Mr.—”

“DeLuca.”

Recognition registered.

Roman continued. “What does she medically need?”

“Observation. Pain management. Someone to wake her periodically and monitor neurological symptoms.”

“I can provide all three.”

“Roman.”

He looked down at Evelyn.

“You are not staying in a public hospital after someone deliberately ran you off a bridge.”

“This is a hospital, not a bus station.”

“A man with a press badge photographed me entering twelve minutes ago. By breakfast, everyone who matters will know you survived.”

Evelyn’s stomach tightened.

Roman saw it.

“That means whoever failed tonight will know too.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “If Ms. Hart chooses to discharge herself, I can’t physically prevent it.”

Evelyn gave Roman a flat look.

“You planned that answer.”

“I encouraged accuracy.”

“You threatened him with your eyebrows.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That is how you threaten people.”

For the first time, his mouth almost curved.

It vanished immediately.

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Your house?”

“My penthouse.”

“That is worse.”

“Why?”

“Because your penthouse is not neutral territory.”

Roman’s gaze became unreadable.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

The doctor wisely left.

Evelyn lowered her voice.

“I work for you.”

“Yes.”

“I am not living with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You cannot order me into your home.”

“I can assign an employee temporary protected accommodations.”

“I am not putting ‘kidnapped by executive management’ on the HR form.”

“You run HR.”

“Exactly. I know the paperwork.”

Roman leaned down, one hand braced beside her on the gurney.

The movement brought him close enough that Evelyn could smell rain and cedar on his coat.

“Then invent a category.”

Her heart stumbled.

“Roman.”

“The men who attacked you knew your route, your schedule, and your car. That means the danger came through my walls.” His voice lowered. “So until I know which wall failed, you stay where I can protect you.”

“You have safe houses.”

“I said where I can protect you.”

The possessiveness in the sentence landed between them.

Not where his guards could protect her.

Where he could.

Evelyn looked at him for too long.

Roman straightened first.

Twenty minutes later, she discovered walking hurt far more than sitting.

She made it three steps before pain seized her ribs.

Her knees folded.

Roman caught her.

One arm locked around her waist, careful of the bruising. Her palm landed against his chest.

Everything stopped.

His body was hard beneath the charcoal shirt. His heartbeat was slower than hers.

“Easy.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your definition of fine has become offensive.”

“I can walk.”

“You are currently hanging from my neck.”

Evelyn realized her fingers had curled into his collar.

She released him.

Roman didn’t release her.

His arm remained around her.

Protective.

Possessive.

Public.

A nurse stared.

Then two police officers did.

Evelyn whispered, “People are watching.”

“Let them.”

“Roman.”

His gaze moved across the emergency department.

Every person who recognized him quickly looked elsewhere.

“You are frightened because someone made you believe you were alone tonight.”

Evelyn looked up.

His expression was cold enough for everyone else.

His eyes were not.

“I’m correcting the misunderstanding.”

He put his coat around her shoulders.

Then he walked her through the emergency department with his body positioned between her and every stranger they passed.

Outside, cameras flashed.

Reporters had already gathered beneath the awning.

“Mr. DeLuca!”

“Was Ms. Hart attacked?”

“Is this related to your organization?”

“Evelyn, were you targeted because you work for him?”

Roman kept moving.

Then someone shouted, “Why is your secretary leaving with you at two in the morning?”

Evelyn felt Roman stop.

Her stomach dropped.

“Don’t.”

He looked down at her.

A decision passed through his eyes.

A terrible one.

“Roman, whatever you’re thinking—”

He turned toward the cameras.

His hand settled at the back of Evelyn’s neck, not forcing, simply holding her beneath the shelter of his body.

“She is not merely my secretary.”

The reporters surged forward.

Evelyn stared at him.

Roman’s thumb pressed lightly beneath her hairline.

A silent apology.

Or warning.

Perhaps both.

“She is under my personal protection,” he said.

A journalist called, “In what capacity?”

Roman looked at Evelyn.

Then, before she could stop him, the most controlled man in Greyhaven detonated both their lives with eight words.

“The woman I intend to make my wife.”

Silence lasted half a heartbeat.

Then the cameras erupted.

Evelyn could only stare.

Roman opened the passenger door of his waiting black sedan.

She remained rooted to the pavement.

“You have lost your mind.”

“Probably.”

“You just told the city we’re getting married.”

“I told the city I intend to marry you.”

“That distinction will comfort me enormously.”

Another explosion of camera flashes.

Roman lowered his voice.

“No one touches the future Mrs. DeLuca without starting a war.”

Evelyn’s pulse hammered.

“So I’m camouflage.”

His expression changed.

“No.”

“What, then?”

Roman looked at her for a long, dangerous second.

“The first true thing I’ve told the press in years.”

Part 2

By nine the next morning, Evelyn’s face was on every television in Greyhaven.

SECRETARY OR SECRET FIANCÉE?

DELUCA HEIR MAKES SHOCK HOSPITAL DECLARATION.

MYSTERY WOMAN BEHIND GREYHAVEN’S MOST PRIVATE BILLIONAIRE.

Evelyn stood barefoot in Roman’s penthouse kitchen wearing one of his white shirts over borrowed lounge pants and contemplated murder.

Not the organized kind.

The personal kind.

Roman entered carrying tea.

She pointed at the television.

“You have made me a headline.”

“I noticed.”

“You do not appear devastated.”

“I’m containing it internally.”

“Try harder.”

He placed the cup in front of her.

“Doctor’s orders. No coffee.”

Evelyn stared at the tea as if it were treason.

“You announced an engagement without consulting me.”

“A future intention.”

“Stop calling it that.”

“You prefer engagement?”

“I prefer sanity.”

Roman leaned against the marble island.

He had changed into a black sweater and dark trousers, but he had not shaved. The faint roughness along his jaw made him look less polished than usual.

More dangerous.

More human.

Evelyn hated noticing.

“I needed everyone in this city to understand that you are not an isolated employee,” he said. “A secretary can be dismissed, replaced, intimidated.”

“And a fiancée?”

His eyes met hers.

“Is mine.”

Heat climbed her throat.

Evelyn set down the tea.

“I am not property.”

Roman’s expression sharpened.

“No.”

“Then never say that to me as if I am.”

A long silence followed.

He pushed away from the counter.

When he answered, his voice had changed.

“You’re right.”

Evelyn blinked.

Roman DeLuca apologized approximately once every presidential administration.

He stepped closer.

“I won’t say it again.”

She studied him.

“Thank you.”

“But I will say this.”

“Of course you will.”

“If someone wants to reach me by hurting you, I want him to believe the consequences will exceed anything he can afford.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“It should.”

She lifted her tea.

Roman’s gaze remained on the bruising near her collar.

She noticed.

“So how long am I pretending to marry you?”

He did not answer immediately.

“Until I find who attacked you.”

“Then we announce a breakup?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Something about the careful neutrality irritated her.

Evelyn looked away.

“You’re surprisingly calm about being publicly rejected.”

“I’m not calm.”

She glanced back.

Roman reached for the mug beside her, though it was empty.

“I am disciplined.”

The distinction sat between them.

Their first day under the same roof taught Evelyn things six years in his office had not.

Roman cooked when angry.

Badly.

He owned exactly one framed photograph, hidden in the library: Roman at nineteen with his mother, Elena, months before she was killed in an attack meant for his father.

He checked the locks himself every night despite having professional security.

He hated silence during dinner but never knew what to say inside it.

And he had noticed far too much about Evelyn.

At three that afternoon, she discovered he knew she rubbed her left wrist when anxious.

At five, she discovered he knew she hated roses.

At seven, she caught him instructing the housekeeper to remove almonds from a dessert because Evelyn had once mentioned, four years earlier, that she disliked them.

That frightened her more than the attraction.

Because attraction could be denied.

Attention accumulated evidence.

On the second night, rain returned.

Evelyn woke from a nightmare unable to breathe.

The bridge was still in her mind. Metal breaking. Water beneath her. Headlights waiting above.

She sat upright too quickly.

Pain tore through her ribs.

A small sound escaped.

The bedroom door opened immediately.

Roman appeared.

Not in a suit.

Not armed.

Just dark lounge pants and a T-shirt, hair disordered from sleep.

“Evelyn?”

She pressed a hand to her chest.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

He stopped.

Then crossed the room in darkness.

“Nightmare?”

“No.”

He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Liar.”

“I thought criminals were supposed to respect privacy.”

“Not when privacy is hyperventilating.”

“I am not—”

Her breath broke.

Roman’s teasing disappeared.

He placed his hand palm-up between them.

Not touching her.

Offering.

Evelyn stared at it.

Then she slid her hand into his.

His fingers closed carefully.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Stay here.”

“I am here.”

“No. You’re on the bridge.”

Her eyes burned.

Roman knew.

Of course he knew.

“I could hear the metal,” she whispered.

He moved closer.

Their shoulders nearly touched.

“I kept thinking no one would find me.”

“I found you.”

“You weren’t there.”

“I came.”

Her throat tightened.

Roman turned toward her.

Moonlight silvered the hard planes of his face.

“I will always come.”

The certainty broke something open inside her.

Evelyn leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

Roman went completely still.

Then, slowly, his arm circled her.

He held her as if strength could be made gentle simply by choosing to use it that way.

No demands.

No seduction.

No clever remarks.

Just warmth and his hand moving once over her hair.

Evelyn closed her eyes.

“You cannot keep doing things like this.”

“What things?”

“Making it difficult to remember you’re insufferable.”

“I can be more unpleasant tomorrow.”

“Please.”

His chest moved beneath her cheek with a quiet laugh.

She pulled back.

Their faces ended up inches apart.

Neither moved.

Evelyn’s pulse stumbled.

Roman looked at her mouth.

Then back to her eyes.

The attraction between them had existed for years in disciplined fragments.

A hand lingering when passing a file.

His jacket across her shoulders after an unexpectedly cold dinner.

Her straightening his tie before a meeting and realizing both of them had stopped breathing.

They had buried every moment beneath professionalism.

Now there was no desk.

No office.

No safe distance.

Roman lifted one hand toward her face.

Stopped.

“Tell me no.”

Evelyn’s breath caught.

“You’re very sure I want to say yes.”

“I’m sure I want you to.”

His thumb brushed the air near her cheek without touching.

“But I won’t take what you haven’t given.”

Evelyn looked into the eyes of a man accused of taking everything he wanted.

Then she leaned forward.

She kissed him.

It began carefully.

Almost cautiously.

Roman’s restraint lasted two seconds.

His hand slid into her hair, avoiding the healing cut, and his mouth moved against hers with years of denied hunger compressed into one devastating kiss.

Evelyn gripped his shirt.

He drew her closer, then stopped the instant she winced.

His forehead pressed against hers.

“Your ribs.”

“I hate my ribs.”

A rough laugh escaped him.

He kissed her again, softer.

Once.

Twice.

Then he forced himself back.

“Sleep.”

“You are very annoying after kissing.”

“I am worse before breakfast.”

“You’re leaving?”

Roman stood.

“If I stay, neither of us sleeps.”

She watched him walk toward the door.

“Roman.”

He stopped.

“That wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

Roman looked over his shoulder.

“No.”

“Good.”

His eyes darkened.

“Very.”

Three days later, Evelyn returned to public life on Roman’s arm.

The DeLuca Foundation gala occupied the top floor of Greyhaven’s oldest hotel, a cathedral of chandeliers, marble columns, and expensive hypocrisy.

Every major family attended.

Politicians.

Judges.

Industrialists.

Women wearing jewels worth more than Evelyn’s childhood home.

Men who smiled at Roman while privately wishing him dead.

Evelyn had attended the gala for five years.

Always carrying a tablet.

Always seated two places behind him.

Tonight, Roman’s hand rested at her waist.

The room noticed.

Her silver gown concealed the worst of the bruising, though a faint mark remained near her temple.

Roman wore black.

He had refused a tie because Evelyn once told him ties made him look like he was attending his own sentencing.

She had not realized he remembered.

A whisper followed them.

Secretary.

Opportunist.

Convenient.

One elderly donor looked directly at Evelyn’s bare left hand and smirked.

“Mr. DeLuca’s announcement appears to have outrun the jeweler.”

Evelyn smiled.

“So did the SUV that tried to kill me. It has been a competitive week.”

The woman choked on champagne.

Roman’s mouth twitched.

At the central table, Marcus Vane rose to greet them.

Silver-haired, elegant, paternal.

A serpent in a dinner jacket.

He kissed Evelyn’s cheek.

“My dear. What an ordeal.”

Every instinct in her body recoiled.

Roman saw.

His arm tightened subtly around her.

Marcus looked down at the gesture.

Something calculating flickered in his eyes.

“I admit,” he said, “your announcement surprised us all.”

Roman’s voice cooled.

“You’ll survive.”

“I’m sure. Though governance may require certain conversations. Employees entering personal relationships with controlling shareholders can create concerns.”

Evelyn smiled.

“Then perhaps we should discuss governance.”

Marcus looked at her.

“Tonight?”

“Why not?”

Roman glanced at her.

She had not told him what she intended to do.

That had been deliberate.

Evelyn turned to the finance committee members seated nearby.

“For example, the Vane Hospitality Group reported nineteen million dollars in renovation expenses across three properties last quarter.”

Marcus went still.

Evelyn continued pleasantly.

“Interesting, since one of those properties has been closed for eighteen months and another doesn’t exist.”

Conversation around the table died.

Roman’s eyes sharpened.

Marcus smiled without warmth.

“This is hardly the place.”

“You made it the place when you suggested my professional judgment had become compromised.”

A board member frowned.

“Evelyn, are you alleging fraud?”

“I’m stating that the numbers warrant independent review.”

Marcus laughed.

“She has suffered a concussion.”

Roman moved.

Not aggressively.

He simply stood.

The entire table fell silent.

“Choose your next sentence carefully.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened.

Evelyn touched Roman’s wrist.

“I can answer for myself.”

His gaze met hers.

Then Roman did something no one in that room had seen him do in years.

He yielded.

Evelyn turned back to Marcus.

“My concussion did not invent fictitious properties, duplicate vendor invoices, or eleven transfers authorized under a retired credential.”

Marcus’s face lost color.

“You exceeded your authority.”

“No.”

Evelyn picked up her champagne.

“You misunderstood it.”

The board chair looked toward Roman.

“What exactly is Ms. Hart’s authority now?”

Marcus smiled.

He expected hesitation.

Evelyn felt it.

This was the moment the room was waiting for.

The secretary against the old guard.

The rumored lover against the family institution.

Roman reached into his jacket.

He placed a folded document on the table.

“Effective this morning, Evelyn Hart is chief operating officer of DeLuca Holdings.”

Marcus’s face emptied.

Roman continued.

“She also holds my proxy on all finance committee votes.”

The room erupted into whispers.

Evelyn stared at him.

“You did what?”

“Surprise.”

“You hate surprises.”

“I’m evolving.”

Marcus slammed his hand on the table.

“This is absurd. You give a secretary control because she shares your bed?”

Roman took one step toward him.

Evelyn caught Roman’s arm.

“No.”

His body went rigid beneath her fingers.

She held his gaze.

“Mine.”

Slowly, Roman stepped back.

Evelyn faced Marcus.

Every whisper faded.

“For six years, you called me a secretary when you wanted to remind me where you believed I belonged. So allow me to remind you what that secretary did.”

She set down the glass.

“I negotiated the labor settlement you failed to close. I caught the tax exposure your department missed. I reorganized three divisions after your restructuring lost twelve million dollars. I know which contracts expire, which partners are lying, which executives drink too much before negotiations, and which members of this board have been hiding losses behind creative accounting.”

Several people suddenly found their plates fascinating.

Evelyn smiled.

“And I did most of that from the desk you thought made me insignificant.”

No one laughed at her now.

Roman watched her with unmistakable pride.

Marcus did not.

His hatred was naked.

That was when Evelyn knew.

Not suspected.

Knew.

After dinner, she found Roman alone on the terrace.

“You should have told me about the promotion.”

“You would have refused.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why.”

She folded her arms.

“You cannot promote people against their will.”

“Technically—”

“Don’t.”

He sighed.

“I wanted the board to see what I see.”

Evelyn’s anger faltered.

Roman stepped closer.

“For six years, men have walked into my office, spoken over you, then discovered an hour later that you were the most dangerous person at the table.”

“Flattery will not save you.”

“I’m not flattering you.”

His fingers brushed hers.

“I’m correcting the title.”

The city glittered below them.

Evelyn looked toward the ballroom.

“Marcus did it.”

Roman’s expression changed.

“What makes you certain?”

“His face when I mentioned the retired credential. He wasn’t shocked that it existed. He was shocked I found it.”

“I’ll handle him.”

“No.”

“Evelyn.”

“If I’m your COO, act like it.”

A pause.

Then Roman nodded once.

“Together.”

They returned to the penthouse after midnight.

The attack came at 12:47.

Not through the doors.

Through someone Roman trusted.

Evelyn had just stepped from the elevator when Daniel Cross, Roman’s head of residential security, approached.

“Ma’am, Mr. DeLuca asked me to move you to the secondary suite.”

Roman was ten floors below speaking to his driver.

Evelyn frowned.

“He called you?”

“Yes.”

Something felt wrong.

Daniel never called her ma’am.

He called her Ms. Hart.

Always.

Evelyn backed toward the elevator.

Daniel reached for her.

She drove the heel of her shoe down on his foot and screamed.

His hand clamped over her mouth.

A second man emerged from the stairwell.

Evelyn fought.

Hard.

Not elegantly.

She bit.

Kicked.

Caught somebody’s cheek with her ring.

But cracked ribs and healing injuries had limits courage could not erase.

A cloth hood went over her head.

Hands dragged her through the service corridor.

The last thing she heard before being forced into a vehicle was Roman shouting her name somewhere behind them.

Then tires screamed.

The vehicle accelerated.

Evelyn lay on the floor between the seats, wrists bound, breath coming shallow and furious.

She forced herself to count turns.

Right.

Straight.

Left.

Long incline.

Train tracks.

Industrial road.

Information.

Information was control.

The hood was finally removed.

Marcus Vane sat across from her.

Evelyn stared.

He no longer looked paternal.

He looked tired.

Ancient.

And relieved.

“I hoped we could avoid this,” he said.

She laughed once.

“You rammed my car off a bridge.”

“That was supposed to be cleaner.”

“You’ve always had unrealistic expectations of contractors.”

His mouth hardened.

“You think Roman made you powerful.”

“No.”

Evelyn sat straighter despite the pain.

“I think you made the mistake of assuming power requires permission.”

Marcus leaned forward.

“You sound exactly like your father.”

The air left her lungs.

“My father?”

Marcus smiled.

That was when true fear arrived.

Not because she was kidnapped.

Because Marcus had known precisely where to cut.

“You never wondered why Thomas Hart died owing half a million dollars to people he had never met?”

Evelyn went cold.

Her father had been an accountant.

Quiet.

Meticulous.

He had died when she was twenty-four after an embezzlement accusation destroyed his career.

The debt afterward had nearly destroyed her.

Roman had paid it when he hired her.

She had never understood why.

Marcus watched recognition move across her face.

“Your father discovered something he shouldn’t have. Same habit you inherited.”

“What did you do?”

“He begged me to let you stay out of it.”

Evelyn’s hands curled.

Marcus smiled.

“Roman never told you?”

Her heart stopped.

“Roman knew?”

“Oh, Evelyn.”

Marcus settled back against the leather seat.

“He knew enough.”

Part 3

Roman found Daniel Cross alive in the service garage.

That was the only reason Daniel remained alive long enough to speak.

Roman stood beneath the fluorescent lights while the man who had protected his home for nine years bled from a split lip and refused to meet his eyes.

Leo Mercer held Daniel against the wall.

“Marcus has her,” Daniel said.

Roman’s face showed nothing.

Inside him, something was tearing itself apart.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Leo shoved Daniel harder.

“You put her in the car.”

“I don’t know where they took her. Marcus changed vehicles at the river tunnel. He said if I asked questions, my daughter’s medical payments stopped.”

Roman went still.

Daniel had a nine-year-old daughter with a rare cardiac condition.

Marcus knew because Evelyn had arranged the insurance structure herself.

Of course he knew.

He had not merely found weak points.

He had weaponized the mercy inside Roman’s organization.

Roman looked at Daniel.

“Did Evelyn know?”

“Know what?”

“Why you betrayed us.”

Daniel shook his head.

Roman closed his eyes for half a second.

Then opened them.

“Leo.”

“Boss.”

“Take him home.”

Daniel stared.

Leo did too.

Roman’s voice remained cold.

“Put guards on his daughter. Marcus threatens her again, I want to know before he does.”

Daniel’s face crumpled.

“Roman—”

“Get out.”

Leo hesitated.

Old Roman would have made an example.

Old Roman had believed fear was cleaner than mercy.

Tonight, Evelyn’s voice lived in his head.

Mine.

She had stopped him from crushing Marcus publicly because she had wanted to win on her own terms.

Roman understood suddenly that protecting Evelyn did not mean becoming more brutal.

It meant becoming worthy of the trust she kept giving him.

He pulled out his phone.

There was one person Marcus believed Roman would never contact.

Federal prosecutor Helen Ward had spent four years trying to dismantle DeLuca Holdings.

Roman called her directly.

She answered with suspicion.

“DeLuca?”

“I need your help.”

Silence.

Then, “That sentence alone may justify waking me.”

“A woman has been kidnapped.”

“Call the police.”

“You know why I can’t.”

“I know why you usually won’t.”

Roman looked across the garage.

“For once, Counselor, assume I’m asking because I care more about getting her back than what happens to me afterward.”

That earned another silence.

“Who?”

“Evelyn Hart.”

Ward’s voice changed.

She knew Evelyn from subpoenas and depositions.

Everyone did.

“What do you have?”

Roman told her.

Everything he could without jeopardizing Evelyn further.

For the first time in his adult life, he opened a door to authorities he had spent years keeping closed.

He did it because somewhere in Greyhaven, Evelyn was frightened.

And pride had become less important than her pulse.

Across the city, Evelyn sat in an abandoned executive office overlooking a shuttered riverfront factory.

Marcus had removed her restraints.

That frightened her more than the bindings.

It meant he did not expect her to leave.

Two men guarded the only door.

Marcus stood at a desk, transferring files from a laptop.

“You said Roman knew.”

“He knew your father had been framed.”

“By you?”

Marcus smiled.

“He suspected.”

“Did he know before he hired me?”

“Yes.”

The answer hurt more than it should have.

Evelyn looked toward the dark windows.

Six years.

Roman had known something about the worst event of her life and never told her.

Marcus saw the wound and pressed harder.

“Why do you think he paid your debt?”

“Because he wanted my loyalty.”

“No. Because DeLucas prefer elegant guilt. Your father discovered that Roman’s father and I were moving money through municipal contracts. When Thomas threatened to report it, I altered records to make it appear he was responsible.”

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

“Roman’s father allowed it?”

Marcus looked away.

That was an answer.

“And Roman?”

“He discovered part of the truth after inheriting the organization. By then your father was dead. Roman couldn’t undo it.”

“So he hired me.”

“Exactly.”

Evelyn looked down at her hands.

The years rearranged themselves.

Roman’s strange patience during her first months.

The debt disappearing.

The way he never allowed anyone to mention her father as a criminal in his presence.

What had felt like generosity now carried the weight of penance.

Marcus approached.

“You were never special, Evelyn. You were a debt.”

Pain cut deeper than her ribs.

She refused to let him see it.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have had to drag me out of his home.”

Marcus’s expression tightened.

Good.

Evelyn continued.

“You’re afraid of me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You tried to kill me before I finished an audit. You invaded Roman’s home. You burned a loyal security officer. Now you’re running files at one in the morning.”

She smiled despite the blood at the corner of her mouth.

“You are terrified.”

Marcus slapped the desk.

One guard flinched.

Evelyn did not.

“You think Roman will save you.”

“No.”

She meant it.

Roman would come.

She knew that with a certainty she could feel in her bones.

But salvation was not the same as passivity.

Evelyn had spent six years building the administrative architecture Marcus was trying to steal.

He knew the accounts.

She knew the system.

More importantly, she had anticipated him.

At the gala, before accusing Marcus publicly, she had scheduled a contingency release.

If she failed to authenticate herself by 2:30 a.m., copies of her audit notes would be sent to the board, outside counsel, and a reporter Roman despised but respected.

Marcus did not know.

Yet.

Evelyn looked at the clock.

2:18.

Twelve minutes.

Marcus returned to the laptop.

“Unlock the central financial archive.”

“No.”

He looked at her.

“You built the authorization tree.”

“Yes.”

“I need root access.”

“You need a miracle.”

Marcus’s voice softened.

“Your father also became brave when he was cornered.”

Evelyn’s nails bit into her palms.

“Do not talk about him.”

“He could have lived.”

“So could you, if you hadn’t been greedy.”

Marcus crossed the room.

One of the guards shifted uneasily.

Marcus bent toward her.

“You still don’t understand. Your father didn’t die because he found the money. He died because he thought evidence would protect him.”

Evelyn’s heart hammered.

There.

The mistake.

Marcus believed evidence was powerless.

He believed systems existed only for men strong enough to corrupt them.

That arrogance had protected him for decades.

Evelyn looked at the clock.

2:23.

She lowered her eyes deliberately.

“What happens if I unlock it?”

Marcus straightened.

“You walk out.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re lying badly.”

His mouth tightened.

Evelyn let fear enter her voice.

Not difficult.

“You can’t leave the country without access.”

“No.”

“And you can’t get access without me.”

“No.”

She let the silence stretch.

“Then I have value.”

Marcus studied her.

At last, greed defeated caution.

“What do you want?”

“My father’s file.”

His expression changed.

“You’re bargaining for paper?”

“I’m bargaining for the truth.”

Marcus laughed.

But he turned toward a steel case on the desk.

He removed a thin folder.

Old.

Yellowed at the edges.

Evelyn’s breath caught.

Thomas Hart.

Her father’s name was typed across the tab.

Marcus tossed it onto the table in front of her.

“There. Sentiment purchased.”

Evelyn opened it.

Bank records.

Internal memos.

A signed directive.

Marcus Vane’s signature.

Another signature below.

Antonio DeLuca.

Roman’s father.

She kept her expression blank.

At the back lay a later memorandum.

Dated seven years ago.

Roman’s handwriting.

Reopen Hart matter. Restore family losses personally. Vane not to be informed.

Evelyn stopped.

Roman had not participated.

He had discovered it.

Tried to repair it quietly.

Cowardly, perhaps.

But not cruel.

Marcus saw her reading.

“He knew.”

“He knew after.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed.

Because it destroyed his version of the story.

2:27.

Evelyn closed the file.

“I need the laptop.”

Marcus motioned.

A guard brought it.

She sat at the desk.

Her hands trembled slightly as she entered the first authentication sequence.

Marcus leaned over her shoulder.

“Faster.”

“I have a concussion.”

“You seemed eloquent enough at the gala.”

“Spite is medicinal.”

The second authentication screen appeared.

Evelyn entered another code.

2:29.

Thirty seconds.

Marcus frowned.

“What is that?”

“Secondary verification.”

A red icon flashed.

Evelyn smiled.

Marcus understood too late.

“What did you do?”

The laptop chimed.

Across Greyhaven, emails began arriving.

Board members.

Attorneys.

Federal investigators.

One journalist.

One secure mailbox Roman controlled.

Marcus grabbed the computer.

“Stop it.”

“You can’t.”

“What did you send?”

“Everything.”

His face transformed.

For the first time, Evelyn saw fear without disguise.

Marcus seized her arm.

“You stupid—”

The lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

A guard shouted.

Something crashed in the corridor.

Marcus dragged Evelyn against him.

Cold metal pressed beneath her jaw.

“Move and she dies!”

Silence.

Then Roman’s voice came from the doorway.

“Evelyn.”

One word.

Her heart broke open.

“I’m here.”

Emergency lights flickered red.

Roman stood beyond the threshold.

Leo beside him.

Federal officers farther back.

Marcus laughed harshly.

“You brought police?”

Roman’s gaze never left Evelyn.

“Yes.”

“You sacrificed your own protection?”

“Yes.”

“For her?”

Roman took one step forward.

Evelyn had seen him angry.

She had never seen him like this.

No theatrics.

No shouting.

Just terror disciplined into stillness.

“Yes.”

Marcus tightened his hold.

“You know what happens if they take me alive. Everything your father built comes out.”

Roman’s eyes remained on Evelyn.

“I don’t care.”

Marcus faltered.

“You’re lying.”

“I spent my whole life caring what survived me.”

Roman’s voice roughened.

“Tonight I care who survives.”

Evelyn’s eyes burned.

Marcus backed toward the window.

“You think she’ll still want you after she knows? After she knows why you hired her?”

Roman stopped.

Pain moved openly through his face.

So Marcus had found the final weapon.

Truth.

Roman did not evade it.

“I knew your father had been framed when you came to me,” he said to Evelyn.

She swallowed.

“I know.”

Surprise flashed.

“I saw the file.”

Roman’s face hardened toward Marcus.

Marcus smiled.

“Ask him why he never told you.”

Evelyn looked at Roman.

“Why?”

The room seemed to disappear.

Roman answered her as if no one else existed.

“Because I was ashamed.”

Marcus laughed.

Roman ignored him.

“My father signed the order that destroyed Thomas Hart. I found the proof a year after I took control. Your father was already gone.”

His voice broke slightly.

“I could return the money. I could clear records privately. I could not give you back what my family took.”

Evelyn’s eyes filled.

“So when I applied…”

“I recognized your name.”

“You knew my résumé was false.”

“Yes.”

“You hired me because you felt guilty.”

“At first.”

That hurt.

Roman took another step.

Marcus raised the weapon.

“Stop.”

Roman stopped instantly.

Evelyn stared at him.

“At first?” she whispered.

Roman’s eyes found hers.

“You became indispensable in three weeks.”

Despite everything, a laugh nearly escaped her.

“You complained about me for six months.”

“I was trying not to notice you.”

“You failed.”

“Catastrophically.”

Her throat tightened.

Roman’s voice became quieter.

“I should have told you. Every year I waited made telling you harder. Then you became the person I trusted most, and I became a coward because losing your trust frightened me more than any enemy I had.”

Marcus snapped, “Enough.”

Neither looked at him.

Roman’s entire world had narrowed to Evelyn.

“I am sorry,” he said.

Not carefully.

Not strategically.

The words sounded torn out of him.

“I am sorry I let shame become secrecy. I am sorry I decided for you what truth you could bear. And if you walk away from me after tonight, I will make sure you can walk anywhere you want without owing my family another second of your life.”

Evelyn could barely breathe.

“You would let me go?”

Roman’s face changed.

Pain.

Pure and unguarded.

“If that’s what loving me costs you.”

The word landed.

Loving.

Marcus felt Evelyn stiffen.

His attention shifted for one second.

One.

Evelyn drove her elbow backward.

Pain exploded through her ribs.

Marcus cursed.

His grip loosened.

She dropped.

Roman moved.

He crossed the space as Marcus raised the weapon.

A shot shattered the window.

Roman reached Evelyn first.

Not Marcus.

Not vengeance.

Her.

He threw his body over hers as officers surged into the room.

Marcus fought.

Leo disarmed him.

Within seconds he was on the floor, shouting names, threats, promises.

Roman never looked back.

He was kneeling over Evelyn.

“Look at me.”

“I’m fine.”

His hands framed her face.

“Do not say that sentence to me again.”

She almost laughed.

Then saw blood on his shoulder.

Her face drained.

“You’re hit.”

“Graze.”

“Roman.”

“Evelyn.”

She grabbed his jacket.

“You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re alive.”

His forehead dropped against hers.

The strength went out of him.

For several seconds, the man who held half of Greyhaven in fear knelt on a dirty factory floor and shook.

Only slightly.

Evelyn felt it anyway.

Her hands slid around his neck.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“You almost did.”

“I know.”

She pulled back enough to see his face.

“Never hide something like that from me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Never make choices for me because you think protection gives you the right.”

“I won’t.”

“And never announce our engagement to reporters without asking.”

Roman hesitated.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Roman.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

His thumb brushed her bruised cheek.

“Are we engaged?”

Evelyn stared at him.

Even Leo looked away to hide a smile.

“You are asking me here?”

“I’m injured.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m working with the setting available.”

Marcus was being dragged toward the door in handcuffs.

He twisted back.

“You think this ends with me? You think the board will accept her? You think the families will bow to a secretary?”

Evelyn stood.

Slowly.

Roman immediately offered his hand.

She took it.

But she rose under her own strength.

Then she faced Marcus.

“No.”

The room quieted.

“I don’t need anyone to bow.”

She held up the file bearing his signature.

“I need them to read.”

Marcus’s face collapsed.

The evidence Evelyn had released triggered everything he believed his reputation could prevent.

The DeLuca board removed him before sunrise.

His allies abandoned him by breakfast.

By afternoon, prosecutors had financial records, witness statements, and evidence connecting him to years of fraud, coercion, and the attack on Evelyn.

Daniel Cross testified.

Others followed.

Men who had once feared Marcus discovered courage when they realized everyone else had stopped fearing him first.

Roman could have made Marcus disappear.

Everyone expected him to.

Instead, Roman chose something Marcus hated more.

Exposure.

A courthouse.

Cameras.

A public record that would outlive every threat he had ever made.

Three weeks later, Evelyn stood inside the DeLuca boardroom.

The same men who once handed reports over her head now waited for her to speak.

The chair at Roman’s right was empty.

Her chair.

She did not sit immediately.

“Before we begin,” she said, “there is one matter we will settle permanently.”

No one moved.

Roman leaned back, watching.

Evelyn placed copies of the Hart file on the table.

“My father, Thomas Hart, was falsely accused of financial crimes twenty years ago. Evidence now proves Marcus Vane manufactured those allegations with assistance from former leadership.”

Several older directors went pale.

Evelyn looked directly at them.

“His name will be formally cleared. Every public record controlled by this company will be corrected. A restitution fund will be established for employees and families harmed by similar practices.”

One director cleared his throat.

“This could expose us to significant liability.”

“Yes.”

“We could handle it quietly.”

“No.”

The man glanced toward Roman.

Habit.

Seeking the real authority.

Roman’s expression turned glacial.

“Why are you looking at me?”

The director froze.

Roman nodded toward Evelyn.

“She answered you.”

The room shifted.

Small.

Permanent.

Evelyn felt it happen.

She was no longer standing beside Roman because he had pulled her upward.

She was standing there because she had earned the ground beneath her feet.

“Any objections?” she asked.

No one spoke.

“Good.”

She took her seat.

Afterward, she found Roman in his office.

Her old desk outside his door was gone.

She stopped.

In its place stood two matching doors.

His office.

Hers.

Evelyn stared.

Roman emerged from his.

“You removed my desk.”

“You threatened to burn it.”

“I was emotional.”

“I took you seriously.”

She walked into her new office.

Floor-to-ceiling windows.

A broad walnut desk.

Shelves.

Her preferred tea.

The ugly green lamp from her old workspace that Roman had complained about for five years.

She touched it.

“You kept this?”

“You like it.”

“You said it offended architecture.”

“It does.”

Evelyn smiled.

Then she saw a small box on the desk.

Her smile disappeared.

Roman remained near the doorway.

For once, he looked uncertain.

That was more frightening than the box.

“Roman.”

“I bought it the morning after the hospital.”

Her head snapped up.

“You bought an engagement ring after lying to the entire city?”

“I prefer ‘manifesting aggressively.’”

She laughed.

He didn’t.

Evelyn’s chest tightened.

Roman walked toward her.

“But I didn’t give it to you because the public claim was mine. This decision is yours.”

He stopped before her.

He did not kneel.

Somehow she preferred that.

They had never belonged in conventional poses.

He opened the box.

The ring was elegant.

Simple.

A clear stone set between two smaller ones, without the gaudy excess she would have hated.

Of course he knew.

Roman looked at her, not the ring.

“I loved you before the bridge.”

Her breath caught.

“I think I loved you when you walked into my office in a borrowed suit and informed me that my filing system was incompetent.”

“It was incompetent.”

“It was criminal.”

“That too.”

His mouth almost smiled.

Then his expression became vulnerable again.

“I told myself what I felt was gratitude. Then loyalty. Then dependence. Every word except the dangerous one.”

Evelyn’s eyes burned.

Roman continued.

“The night you called me, I understood something I should have understood years ago.”

He reached for her hand.

“When I thought you might die, I did not care about the business. I did not care about the family name. I did not care who would see me afraid.”

His thumb moved across her knuckles.

“I only cared that you had called me because some part of you believed I would come.”

Evelyn whispered, “I knew you would.”

Roman closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, there was nothing guarded left.

“I want you beside me when the rooms are dangerous and when they are boring. I want your terrible tea in my kitchen and your ugly lamp in our office. I want you correcting me when I’m wrong, which apparently will occupy most of our marriage.”

“Most?”

“Don’t interrupt my confession.”

She laughed through tears.

Roman’s hand tightened around hers.

“I want mornings with you. Arguments with you. Ordinary nights. I want every version of life men like me are usually too foolish to understand before they lose it.”

His voice lowered.

“But I will not call you mine unless you choose to call me yours.”

Evelyn looked at the ring.

Then at him.

“For the record, your proposal still needs work.”

Roman exhaled.

“That sounds like you’re rejecting me.”

“It sounds like I’m editing.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She took the ring from the box.

Roman went very still.

Evelyn slid it onto her finger herself.

“It’s a yes.”

The breath left him.

Then she caught his shirt and pulled him down.

The kiss was nothing like the careful one after her nightmare.

Roman kissed her with all the restraint he had spent six years destroying.

His hands framed her waist, firm and protective, pulling her close without hurting the fading bruises along her ribs.

Evelyn rose onto her toes.

His hand slid into her hair.

The world outside the office disappeared.

Board votes.

Enemies.

Headlines.

Old guilt.

For once, nothing existed except the man holding her as if power meant knowing when to be gentle.

When they finally separated, Roman kept his forehead against hers.

“You put the ring on yourself.”

“I handle my own contracts.”

“I noticed.”

“And we are having a long conversation about wedding press strategy.”

“I feared that.”

“No public declarations without approval.”

“Agreed.”

“No deciding where I live.”

Roman’s brows lifted.

“We’re negotiating cohabitation now?”

“We are establishing governance.”

“Terrifying.”

“You proposed to your COO.”

“My first mistake.”

“First?”

Roman kissed her again before she could finish.

Evelyn smiled against his mouth.

Months later, the city still talked about them.

The secretary who became an executive.

The mafia boss who walked into a hospital alone at two in the morning.

The engagement everyone thought had begun as strategy.

People argued over when it became real.

At the hospital?

On the bridge?

At the gala?

In the factory?

Evelyn knew better.

It had happened quietly.

Across six years of coffee left on desks.

Late nights.

Remembered preferences.

Arguments neither wanted to win too badly.

A thousand restrained touches neither had dared interpret.

Danger had not created what existed between them.

It had only burned away their excuses.

On the evening Marcus Vane was formally sentenced, Evelyn stood at the penthouse windows watching rain silver the city.

Roman came behind her.

His arms closed around her waist.

Protective without imprisoning.

Possessive only because she leaned back into him willingly.

“It’s over,” he murmured.

Evelyn looked at their reflection in the dark glass.

“No.”

Roman’s chin rested lightly against her hair.

“No?”

She turned in his arms.

The city that had once treated her as an accessory now knew her name.

The family that had once underestimated her now brought problems to her table.

Her father’s reputation had been restored.

Marcus had lost the power he valued most: the ability to decide what truth survived him.

And Roman—

Roman had learned that loving her did not mean building walls around her.

It meant standing beside her when she chose which walls needed to fall.

Evelyn touched his jaw.

“No,” she said softly. “It’s beginning.”

Roman looked at her for a long moment.

Then his expression became that rare thing he showed almost no one.

Peace.

“Together?”

She remembered the hospital.

His coat around her shoulders.

The penthouse.

The gala.

The factory floor.

Every time his hand had reached for hers without forcing her to take it.

Evelyn intertwined their fingers.

“Together.”

Roman bent and kissed her.

Outside, thunder rolled over Greyhaven.

Neither of them looked toward the storm.