"I'm not wearing a fucking wire."
The words echoed through the sterile federal interrogation room. Three days since the raid. Three days since I'd seen Dominic. Three days of endless questions, medical examinations, and attempts to turn me into a federal asset.
Special Agent Harper sighed, sliding the recording device back into her pocket. "Ms. Ricci, we're trying to help you."
"By making me testify against the Castellanos?" I leaned forward, my bandaged wrists resting on the metal table. "The same family that's been protecting me for a decade?"
"The same family whose matriarch had your father killed," she corrected, her tone maddeningly patient. "The same organization that's been working with Russian intelligence to undermine national security."
I ran a hand through my hair—my real hair, not the black wig I'd worn as Shade. That persona felt like a lifetime ago now.
"I'll help you decode the journal. That's it." I met her gaze steadily. "But I want something in return."
Harper raised an eyebrow. "You're not exactly in a position to negotiate."
"I'm in exactly that position." My voice hardened. "Without me, that journal is just a collection of numbers and symbols. You need me more than I need you."
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Alright. What do you want?"
"Dominic." The name left my lips before I could stop it. "I want to see him."
Something flickered across her face—amusement? Pity?
"Mr. Castellano is... complicated." She tapped her pen against her notepad. "He's still recovering from his injuries, for one thing."
"And for another?"
"For another, he's the son of our key witness against the Russian network and the acting head of one of Chicago's most powerful crime families." Harper leaned back. "We haven't decided whether he's a witness or a defendant yet."
Fear coiled in my stomach. "He didn't know about Sophia. About what she was doing."
"So he claims." Her tone made it clear what she thought of that. "Ms. Ricci—Valentina—you need to consider your own position here. With your help, we can offer you immunity, witness protection, a completely fresh start."
"Without Dominic."
She didn't deny it.
I stood, ignoring the protest of my bruised ribs. "Then we have nothing more to discuss today."
"Sit down." There was steel in her voice now. "You're not walking out of here."
"I'm not under arrest." I headed for the door. "And unless you plan to change that, I'm going to my hotel room to shower and sleep."
"We will need your continued cooperation." It wasn't quite a threat, but close.
I paused, hand on the doorknob. "You'll have it. Tomorrow. After I've had some fucking space to breathe."
To my surprise, she nodded. "Agent Lewis will drive you back."
The ride to the hotel was silent. The FBI had put me up in a modest place near their field office—convenient for them, with the added benefit of being easy to surveil. I wasn't fooled by the illusion of freedom.
The moment I entered my room, I headed straight for the shower, stripping off clothes that felt like they carried the stench of the interrogation room. Under the scalding spray, I finally let the tears come—for Reza, for my father, for the life I'd spent a decade building only to see it crumble in a week.
For Dominic, whom I might never see again.
I stayed under the water until it ran cold, then wrapped myself in a scratchy hotel towel and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep claimed me instantly, pulling me into blessed darkness.
* * *
A soft knock woke me. Disoriented, I glanced at the bedside clock—2:14 AM. I'd slept for nearly twelve hours.
The knock came again, barely audible. Not the heavy-handed pounding of federal agents, but something more cautious.
My heart lurched against my ribs. I grabbed the hotel bathrobe, cinching it around my waist as I moved silently to the door. The peephole revealed nothing but darkness—someone was covering it from the outside.
"Who is it?" I called, one hand reaching for the lamp I'd already assessed as a potential weapon.
"Housekeeping," came the low, amused reply.
That voice. My knees nearly buckled.
I unlocked the door with trembling fingers, opening it just enough to confirm what I already knew.
Dominic stood in the hallway, a baseball cap pulled low over his face, his tall frame wrapped in a nondescript jacket. The bruising around his eye had faded to a sickly yellow-green, and a fresh scar bisected his left eyebrow. He'd never looked more beautiful.
"How—?" I began.
He pressed a finger to his lips, slipping past me into the room. I closed the door behind him, heart hammering so loudly I was certain he could hear it.
"The feds watching your room are changing shifts," he murmured, scanning the space with professional efficiency. "We have maybe twenty minutes before the new team arrives."
Questions tumbled through my mind—how he'd found me, how he'd evaded surveillance, why he'd risked coming at all. But when he turned to face me fully, all words died in my throat.
His eyes burned as they moved over me, from my damp hair to my bare feet, lingering on the V of skin where the robe gaped at my chest. Heat bloomed under my skin, instant and overwhelming.
"You shouldn't be here," I whispered, even as I took a step toward him.
"Probably not." His voice was rough, laced with something dangerous. "Tell me to leave."
I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't.
Instead, I closed the distance between us, my hands rising to touch his face, fingers tracing gently over the new scar, the fading bruises. "Are you okay?"
He caught my wrist, turning his face to press his lips against my palm. The simple contact sent electricity coursing through me.
"Better now," he murmured against my skin.
For a heartbeat, we simply stared at each other, the air between us charged with everything unsaid. Then, as if by mutual decision, we moved together.
His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding. I met him with equal fervor, my arms winding around his neck as his hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him. The kiss was nothing like our previous encounters—this was raw desperation, the frantic relief of two people who'd thought they might never touch again.
He backed me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, hard and unyielding. I gasped as his thigh pushed between my legs, creating delicious pressure exactly where I needed it.
"Dominic," I breathed as his lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "We can't—"
"We can," he growled, hands finding the tie of my robe. "We will." He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with desire but questioning. "Unless you don't want this."
In answer, I shoved his jacket off his shoulders, my fingers immediately moving to the buttons of his shirt. "I want this," I assured him, voice shaking with need. "I want you. I've been going fucking crazy thinking about you."
A primal satisfaction flashed across his face. He captured my mouth again as I pushed his shirt open, my hands greedy for the feel of his skin. He hissed when my fingers found bandages wrapped around his ribs.
"Careful," he murmured against my lips. "Still a bit broken."
"We shouldn't—your injuries—"
He silenced me with another kiss, more gentle this time but no less intense. "I'm not made of glass." His hands pushed my robe open, exposing me completely to his gaze. "Christ, Valentina. You're so fucking beautiful."
Self-consciousness flickered briefly—my body still bore the marks of captivity, bruises in various stages of healing across my ribs and thighs. But the naked hunger in his eyes banished all insecurity.
"Touch me," I whispered. "Please."
He needed no further invitation. His hands moved reverently over my body, relearning every curve, every sensitive spot. When his fingers finally slid between my legs, we both groaned at how wet I already was.
"For me?" he asked, circling my clit with agonizing precision.
"Always," I gasped, hips bucking against his hand. "Only for you."
He dropped to his knees before me, wincing slightly at the movement but refusing to stop. Before I could protest, he draped one of my legs over his shoulder and buried his face between my thighs.
"Oh God," I moaned, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue worked magic against my swollen flesh. The sight of him on his knees, still half-dressed, devouring me with single-minded intensity, was almost enough to push me over the edge.
"I dreamed about this," he murmured against me, his breath hot on my sensitive skin. "In the hospital. During the interrogations. All I could think about was tasting you again."
His words, combined with the exquisite pressure of his tongue, sent me spiraling. The orgasm hit without warning, intense and overwhelming. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as pleasure coursed through me in violent waves.
Before I could recover, he was standing again, lifting me effortlessly despite his injuries. He carried me to the bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness before shedding the rest of his clothes.
My mouth went dry at the sight of him—all lean muscle and olive skin, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. Bandages wrapped around his ribs and shoulder couldn't diminish his raw masculinity.
"Condom?" he asked, voice strained.
I shook my head. "I'm on birth control. And I'm clean."
"So am I." His eyes held mine as he positioned himself between my spread thighs. "I want to feel all of you, Valentina. Nothing between us."
The significance of his words wasn't lost on me. This wasn't just sex—this was trust in its most primal form.
He entered me slowly, both of us savoring every inch as our bodies joined. When he was fully seated, he paused, forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling.
"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice making my chest ache.
I cradled his face in my hands. "I'm right here."
He began to move then, setting a rhythm that was neither gentle nor rough but perfectly, exquisitely balanced. Each thrust drove me higher, rebuilding the tension that had barely subsided.
"Dominic," I gasped as he hit a spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. "Fuck, right there."
He growled in response, shifting to drive deeper, harder. His hand slipped between us, finding my clit with unerring accuracy.
"Come for me again," he demanded, his voice raw with strain. "I need to feel you come around my cock."
His crude words pushed me closer to the edge. I dug my nails into his shoulders, careful to avoid his injuries but needing to hold onto something as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.
"I can't—it's too much—"
"You can," he insisted, circling my clit faster. "Let go, Valentina. Let me see you fall apart."
The orgasm that tore through me was even more powerful than the first, ripping a cry from my throat that he captured with his mouth. My inner walls clamped down around him, pulsing rhythmically as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.
He followed me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside me. The sensation of his release—hot and primal—triggered aftershocks that left me trembling beneath him.
For long moments, we lay tangled together, hearts racing, bodies slick with sweat. He was careful not to crush me, braced on his forearms even as he remained buried inside me.
Eventually, reluctantly, he rolled to the side, drawing me against his chest. I went willingly, craving the continued contact, my head finding the perfect spot over his heart.
Reality intruded slowly. The ticking clock. The FBI agents who would soon discover his absence, or my unwanted visitors.
"How long can you stay?" I asked, not wanting to break the spell but unable to ignore the danger.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare back. "Not long enough." He sighed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "But I had to see you. To make sure you were really okay."
"I'm better now." I echoed his earlier words, tilting my face up to his. "But how did you find me? How did you get away from the feds?"
A ghost of his familiar smirk appeared. "I have my resources, even with most of my organization in custody." His expression turned serious. "But that's part of why I came. Things are moving quickly, Valentina. The FBI is building a RICO case against what's left of my family's operations. Sophia is singing like a fucking canary."
Ice formed in my stomach. "What about you?"
"They don't have enough to charge me yet. My lawyers are good." His jaw tightened. "But they're watching me. The Russians still have operatives in the city. And without access to my usual security, I'm vulnerable."
Fear gripped me. "Are you in danger?"
"Always." He said it matter-of-factly. "But now, so are you. The FBI might be protecting you for the moment, but there are others who want that journal—and the only person who can decode it."
I pulled back slightly to look at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we need to disappear." His eyes held mine, deadly serious. "Both of us. Together."
My heart leapt even as my mind raised objections. "How? The FBI is watching me constantly. You said yourself that your resources are limited."
"I've been planning for contingencies like this for years." His hand came up to cup my face. "I have identities, money, properties that even Sophia doesn't know about. Places we could go where neither the feds nor the Russians could find us."
The offer was tempting—dangerously so. "And what happens to the case against Sophia? Against the Russians who killed my father?"
"The FBI has the journal. They'll find someone to decode it eventually." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Your father would want you safe, Valentina. He died to protect you. Don't throw that away for revenge."
The irony wasn't lost on me—that I'd spent a decade pursuing vengeance, only to be counseled against it by the very man I'd once planned to destroy.
"When?" I asked, the single word an acceptance.
Relief flashed across his features. "Soon. Within the week." He pressed his forehead to mine. "I need to finalize some arrangements first. Make sure we can't be tracked."
"And until then?"
"Until then, you play nice with the feds. Keep decoding the journal, but slowly. Buy us time." His eyes searched mine. "Can you do that?"
I nodded, even as doubt gnawed at me. "What if they separate us? Take you into custody?"
"They won't." His confidence was absolute. "Not yet. They're hoping I'll lead them to bigger fish."
He glanced at his watch and cursed softly. "I need to go. The new surveillance team will be here any minute."
The thought of him leaving sent panic through me. I clutched at him, suddenly desperate. "Not yet. Please."
His expression softened. He pulled me into a kiss that was achingly tender, at odds with the urgency of our earlier coupling.
"I'll come back for you," he promised against my lips. "Trust me."
"I do." The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating. I trusted him completely, this man I'd once sworn to destroy.
He dressed quickly, efficiently, pausing only to press one last searing kiss to my mouth before moving to the door. There, he hesitated.
"Valentina." The way he said my name made my heart stutter. "Whatever happens... know that I have never felt for anyone what I feel for you."
Before I could respond, he was gone, slipping into the hallway like a shadow.
I sat in the rumpled bed, skin still flushed from his touch, his taste still on my tongue, and felt the weight of my decision. To run with him would mean abandoning the justice my father deserved. Staying meant losing the only man I'd ever truly wanted.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand—a text from an unknown number.
*Three days. Be ready.*
No signature needed. I deleted the message immediately, heart pounding with equal measures of fear and anticipation.
Three days to decide my fate. Three days to choose between justice and love.
Three days until everything changed again.