Afterwards, we lie tangled together, both of us catching our breath. His head rests on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. My fingers stroke through his hair, gentle, soothing.
"We’re okay," I whisper. "Whatever cos next, we’re okay."
He lifts his head and looks at with those green eyes I love. "Are we? Vincent’s out there and is hunting us. And I..." he wallows hard. "I just made love to you instead of planning our defense."
"We needed this." I cup his face. "We needed to rember why we’re fighting. What we’re protecting."
"You’re what I’m protecting." His hand slides down to rest on my hip possessively. "And I will protect you. Whatever it takes."
There’s sothing in his tone that makes uneasy. A hardness was creeping back in, but before I could address it, his phone rings.
Luca.
Tony answers on speaker. "Speak to . What’ve you got?"
"Security assessnt. It’s bad, Tony." Luca’s voice is grim. "Vincent had access to everything - the old safe houses, protocols, and ergency procedures. Every system we used before that he helped design."
"So we start over." Tony’s already thinking tactically. "New phones, new security, new protocols."
"Already working on it. But Tony-" Luca pauses. "He’s been free for three months. That’s a lot of ti to prepare, to plan, and to position assets."
"I know." Tony’s arm tightens around . "What else?"
"Thomas wants to help coordinate. Use his old contacts to rebuild security from scratch. And Elliot’s trying to track Vincent’s digital footprint, but he’s being careful. Routing everything through-"
A knock on the door interrupts.
We both freeze.
"Expecting soone?" Luca asks through the phone.
"No." Tony’s already moving, pulling on pants, and grabbing his weapon from the nightstand. "Stay on the line."
I’m dressing quickly, my heart pounding. The knock cos again.
Tony checks the security cara feed on his phone. His face goes pale.
"What?" I ask. "Who is it?"
He shows the screen.
A delivery person in uniform, holding a clipboard, with a package.
Except I can see what Tony sees - the way the person stands: the professional awareness, the slight bulge under the uniform that suggests a weapon.
"Don’t answer it," Luca says through the phone. "I’m sending n. Five minutes."
The knock cos again. Then a familiar voice. "Delivery for Katherine Blaire. Need a signature."
Vincent’s voice.
Tony’s weapon is up imdiately. I grab my own gun, the one Tony insisted I keep after everything we’ve been through.
"Back door," Tony mouths to . "Now."
But before we can move, my phone rings from an unknown number.
Against my better judgnt, I answer and put it on speaker.
"Hello, Katherine." Vincent’s voice, clear and close. "You’re looking beautiful today. That blue dress really shows off your curves. Tony’s a lucky man... for now."
I look down. I’m wearing a blue nightdress, and he can see us right now.
Tony’s already moving to the window, with his weapon raised. The street looks normal, and no obvious surveillance.
"I’m closer than you think," Vincent continues, almost friendly. "And when I’m ready, you won’t see coming. Tell Tony I said hello. Oh, and Katherine?" His voice drops, intimate and threatening. "Lock your doors tonight... or don’t. Either way, I’m already inside."
And the line goes dead.
"Search the house," Tony orders. "Every room. Now."
Luca’s n arrive as we’re searching. They help - checking closets, under beds, in the attic. Nothing. There were no signs of entry... no caras... just nothing.
"He’s bluffing," one of Luca’s n suggests.
But I know he’s not. I can feel it.
We’re in our bedroom, checking one more ti, when I open my dresser drawer to grab my phone charger.
And freeze.
On top of my clothes - clothes I know I left folded neatly this morning sits a single white rose and a photograph beneath.
I pick up the photo with shaking hands.
It’s , asleep in our bed last night with Tony’s arm around , both of us peaceful, unaware.
The photo was taken from inside our room.
Vincent was here... in our bedroom while we slept.
I look up at Tony, and I see my own horror reflected in his eyes.
"He was here," I whisper. "God, Tony. He was watching us sleep."
Tony takes the photo, studies it with clinical detachnt that I know ans he’s barely holding it together. His jaw is tight, knuckles white around the weapon he’s still holding.
"Everyone out," he says quietly to Luca’s n. "Now."
They leave, and the door closes.
Then Tony’s control snaps. He puts his weapon down carefully, then drives his fist into the wall. Once. Twice. Until his knuckles are bleeding.
"Tony-"
"He was in our room." His voice is shaking. "While you were sleeping. Vulnerable. And I was right there, and I didn’t - I didn’t protect you."
I cross to him and take his injured hand. "He didn’t hurt us. He could have, but he didn’t."
"That’s worse." Tony looks at , and his eyes are wild. "Don’t you see? He’s playing with us. Proving he can reach us anywhere, anyti. That no matter what I do, I can’t keep you safe."
"Then we fight back." I grip his hand tighter. "Together. We-"
My phone rings again from an unknown number.
This ti, there’s no voice - just a text ssage.
It was a photograph of our office from today, Sofia Romano visible in the fra.
And a ssage: You took everything from . Now I take everything from you. Starting with her. The ga begins tomorrow. You can run or fight. Either way, I’m already ten steps ahead. —V
Tony reads it over my shoulder, and I feel him go cold beside . Shutting down. Retreating into the ruthless mafia boss everyone fears.
"Pack a bag," he says. His voice was dead and emotionless. "We’re leaving. Now."
"Tony-"
"No argunts. Vincent’s been in our house. He knows where we sleep, where we work, and where we’re vulnerable." He’s already moving, pulling weapons from hidden caches, checking ammunition. "We leave, we hide, and we hunt him before he hunts us."
I watch him transform in front of - the man I just made love to disappearing behind walls of tactical planning and cold rage.
"Where do we go?" I ask quietly.
"Sowhere he can’t find us. Sowhere even I don’t know about yet." Tony grabs his phone. "I’m calling Thomas. He’ll have contacts about places off-grid."
As he dials, I look at the white rose still sitting on my dresser. At the photograph of us sleeping, unaware, trusting.
Vincent didn’t kill us when he could have.
Which ans he has sothing worse planned.
And tomorrow, the ga begins.
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