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I realize I've been silent too long. I force steadiness into my voice. "I'm here. You're right, we need to be cautious. But I don't want someone at my door 24/7," I add quickly. And certainly not Sam Wright, as he just proposed. "I'll find somewhere safe to stay—alone."
"Bullshit. The Bureau will find you somewhere. Look, Nat, Iknowthis is difficult for you. Just remember, she's a criminal mastermind." I almost laugh at that, until his next words. "Whatever she made you feel…it wasn't real." His voice has shifted to a patronizing warmth, as if he's soothing a child. It grates, but I don't have the energy to fight it right now.
"We can talk about this in the office," I say shortly. "I'll come in tomorrow. I have some papers I need to drop off. Goodnight," I add as he takes a breath, and then I hang up.
Alone again in the darkness, I try to calm my breathing. I'm a trained FBI agent, I remind myself. I can handle this. But icy tendrils of fear wrap around my spine, impossible to ignore.
One vengeful Mafia princesses, bent on my destruction. One ice-cold Mob Queen in Juno Bianchi, who questioned me—and threatened me—herself, the night my cover was blown.
And Johnny the Gentleman, a ruthless assassin who even now might be finding the perfect silk handkerchief to lay over my ruined face after he's done with me.
The threat presses down on me, suffocating in its intensity. But I brought this peril down on myself for daring to tangle with Alessa de Luca.
And for my breach of ethics in letting an undercover role become far too personal.
I'm in the crosshairs, in every way possible.
Moving through the darkened apartment on autopilot, I double-check the locks, the windows, keeping my service firearm close at hand. Protecting myself has become second nature over the years, but this time feels different. None of my training prepared me for Alessa's complete capture of me. And now that she's free, I can't shake the primal fear that she's coming for me.
But beneath the wariness lives something else—a flicker that feels dangerously close to anticipation.
Ever since that first electric meeting, some part of me has been waiting, wanting, reaching for Alessa. And as frightening as it is, some twisted part of me craves that intensity again.
I hate this conflicted state of being, this internal war between terror and longing. Everything is muddled, inside and out. Perhaps itwouldbe easier if she just found me, unleashed her rage and had done with it. Almost a relief.
An easy way out.
I check the last lock and turn to look out the window again, battling the dark desires within me. Dawn is still hours away, but morning will come—and with it, the potential for my path to fatefully cross with Alessa's once more.
My body hums with adrenaline, on high alert.
Does Alessa feel the same conflicted magnetism that haunts me? Or has her rage eclipsed everything else? I wish I could be certain how she'll react, but she's always managed to surprise me. Another side effect of the tangled web between us: that even now, I can't predict her actions with any certainty.
I only know that she has a way of stripping everything down to its core and leaving no place to hide. Not here, not some FBI safe house.
Nowhere is safe from her, because despite everything, I'm still carrying her around in my heart.
CHAPTER2
ALESSA
The cold metal bench digs into my back, an infuriating reminder of where I am.
The holding cell.
The holding celldowntown, for God's sake. This was an indignity I was assured would be temporary, and yet here I remain hours later.
Waiting.
Seething.
There are two police officers nearby eyeing me warily, intimidated not by me but by the name that trails in my wake. De Luca.
I offer them a withering glare before turning my gaze to the other occupants of this dreary cage. Some stare at me with thinly veiled hostility, their eyes dragging over my dress and designer heels. They made me remove all jewelry when I came in, and I'm glad for it now, as two women whisper together while glancing my way.
A heavily made-up woman with brassy blonde hair approaches me. "You one of them fancy society types, aint'cha? What you in for?"
I simply arch a brow in response, unwilling to indulge such crass prying. But my lack of reply only seems to embolden her and she tilts her head, considering.
