The first time I sat on Dante Valenti’s lap, three men reached for their guns.
The second time, he asked me to stay.
But the first time, I was running for my life.
Not from a stranger in an alley.
Not from a masked man with a knife.
From someone who had spent two years telling everyone he loved me.
“Nora!”
Cameron’s voice cut through the music.
I didn’t look back.
Looking back was how he caught you.
He’d smile, tilt his head, and speak in that patient voice he used when other people were listening.
Sweetheart, you’re confused again.
Then he’d put a hand on my arm.
Not hard enough for anyone to notice.
Just hard enough that I couldn’t leave.
Tonight, I had already escaped him once.
I’d slipped out of our apartment while he was showering, taken the emergency cash I’d hidden inside an old paperback, and caught a cab downtown.
Forty-two dollars.
A dead disposable phone.
One missed bus.
That was everything I had left.
And somehow, Cameron had found me.
Again.
The underground nightclub was called Saint.
It occupied the lower two floors of a converted bank, all marble pillars, red velvet, and chandeliers that looked as though they had been stolen from a European palace.
The music was loud enough to rattle my ribs.
I pushed between two women near the bar.
My red hair had escaped its braid. My white blouse was wrinkled, and the cheap black skirt I’d worn to work that morning had a torn hem.
I looked nothing like the women surrounding me.
They wore diamonds.
I wore a silver necklace shaped like a little bird.
My mother had given it to me when I turned eighteen.
She’d told me birds didn’t need permission to leave.
I hadn’t understood why she said it.
I understood now.
“Nora!”
Closer.
God.
He was closer.
I glanced toward the main exit.
Two security guards stood near the doors.
Beyond them, Cameron was moving through the crowd.
He wore a navy suit and a familiar smile.
A handsome man.
A respectable man.
The kind of man strangers trusted.
His eyes found mine.
He lifted one hand.
Almost affectionate.
My stomach turned.
I ran in the opposite direction.
The service hallway was blocked.
The back entrance had a keypad.
And then I saw the VIP section.
Three steps above the main floor.
A velvet rope.
Two enormous security guards.
Behind them, several men gathered around a curved leather booth.
Only one was sitting.
He wore a black suit with no tie.
His dark hair was brushed back, and his broad shoulders filled the corner of the booth.
Black ink climbed the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. More tattoos covered the hand resting beside a crystal glass of whiskey.
A scar cut through his right eyebrow.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t speaking.
Yet everyone around him seemed to be waiting for him to do one or the other.
I didn’t know who he was.
I only knew Cameron wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of men like that.
So I did something incredibly stupid.
I ducked beneath the velvet rope.
One guard turned.
“Miss—”
I slipped past him.
Climbed the three steps.
Crossed the booth.
And dropped directly onto the stranger’s lap.
Three men reached inside their jackets.
I grabbed the stranger’s lapels.
“I’m sorry.”
His body went completely still.
For one terrible second, I thought I’d made the worst mistake of my life.
Then he raised two fingers.
The men stopped.
Just like that.
The stranger looked down at me.
His eyes were dark brown.
Almost black.
Up close, he was even more intimidating.
A strong jaw.
A short, neatly trimmed beard.
A faint scar beside his mouth.
And a face that belonged on the cover of an expensive magazine about men who owned things.
He studied me.
Not with surprise.
Not with amusement.
With the cold attention of someone deciding whether I was dangerous.
“Who are you?”
His voice was deep.
Quiet.
I swallowed.
“Nora.”
“Nora what?”
“Bennett.”
His gaze moved over my face.
My tangled hair.
My trembling mouth.
The faint red mark around my wrist.
Something changed in his expression.
Then Cameron reached the stairs.
“Nora.”
My entire body locked.
The stranger felt it.
I knew he did because his eyes shifted toward the man standing below us.
Cameron smiled apologetically.
“Sorry about this, gentlemen.”
Nobody answered.
He continued.
“She’s my girlfriend. She’s been having a difficult evening.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
He extended his hand.
“Let’s go home.”
The stranger beneath me didn’t move.
Cameron laughed softly.
“She’s a little confused when she gets upset.”
A few people were watching.
I recognized the routine.
The gentle voice.
The embarrassed smile.
The carefully chosen words.
