Chapter 1
The abandoned gallery smelled of old paint and forgotten time.
Alora Bennett moved between cracked pillars with a camera hanging from her neck while late-afternoon light entered through broken windows. Dust drifted through the gold beams and settled against walls where damaged murals and fragments of old exhibitions remained.
The building was ideal for the historical-documentation project she had been completing for the library where she worked.
She raised the camera and began taking photographs, absorbed in the quiet that had always comforted her in abandoned places.
Then she heard voices.
They came from somewhere below, probably near the rusted metal staircase leading to the lower floor. They were subdued but tense, carrying the pressure of anger held barely under control.
Alora stopped with her finger on the shutter.
She should have left immediately.
Instead, fear fixed her in place.
“You owe Cross,” a man said below. “Either pay now or—”
The gunshot was quieter than she expected.
A silencer reduced it to a dull, final sound.
Alora covered her mouth before the scream could escape. A body struck concrete below with a weight that turned her stomach.
“Clean this up immediately.”
The 2nd voice was controlled and cold. Authority existed in every word.
Footsteps began climbing the stairs.
Panic moved through Alora’s chest. She needed to run or hide, but her limbs had become heavy and unresponsive.
The man appeared from the shadows.
He wore an immaculate black suit marked with dark stains that could only be blood. None of it appeared to be his.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a presence that seemed to remove the air from the room. When his dark eyes found Alora, everything became still.
He studied her without surprise.
“You saw everything.”
It was a statement rather than a question.
Alora’s mouth had gone dry.
“I did not see anything.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
It was not a smile. It was acknowledgment of an obvious lie.
“You are a terrible liar.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. Her hands shook around the camera.
“I will not tell anyone. I was only taking photographs. I will leave and forget everything.”
She attempted to move past him.
His fingers closed around her wrist before she managed 2 steps.
The grip was firm and impossible to escape, although not painful.
“Not so quickly.”
His hand was warm against her cold skin. He could undoubtedly feel the frantic pulse beneath his fingers.
“Please.”
The word emerged in a broken whisper.
“I promise I will not tell. Let me go.”
He looked at her more carefully then, as though the sight of her trembling while continuing to meet his eyes presented a contradiction he wanted to understand.
“What were you doing here alone?”
“It is a library project. Historical documentation of abandoned buildings.”
She raised the camera awkwardly with her free hand.
He took it from her.
His fingers moved efficiently through the controls, deleting the photographs she had taken since entering the gallery. When he returned the camera, every image that might have contained evidence was gone.
“Now you have no proof.”
“I was not going to show anyone.”
“I know.”
The threat in his voice had diminished, replaced by assessment and caution.
A younger man appeared behind him. He was tattooed, alert, and visibly accustomed to danger.
“Boss, we need to leave.”
“Wait.”
The man holding Alora’s wrist did not look away from her.
“But, boss—”
“I said wait.”
The younger man withdrew immediately.
“What is your name?” the older man asked.
“Why?”
Something close to amusement entered his eyes.
“Because witnesses have names, and I need to know whether you will become a problem.”
“Alora Bennett.”
Her voice was steadier than she expected.
“And you?”
His eyebrows rose.
“You are asking for my name?”
“You asked mine first.”
He watched her for several seconds.
“Dominic Wolfe.”
Alora swallowed.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I should.”
The pause that followed felt endless.
“But no. You look like someone who keeps promises.”
“I do.”
“Then we have an agreement.”
He released her wrist.
“You forget what you witnessed, and I allow you to leave.”
“That is all?”
“That is all.”
He leaned closer, bringing his face near enough that she could see amber flecks in the darkness of his eyes.
“If you speak, Alora, I will learn about it.”
His voice became almost gentle, making the warning more disturbing.
“What follows will not be pleasant.”
“I will not tell anyone.”
The promise was sincere.
He stepped aside.
Alora ran.
She left the gallery as though something from hell followed her, her heartbeat striking painfully through her chest. Even after reaching the street, she could still feel Dominic Wolfe’s gaze behind her.
Inside the gallery, Dominic remained facing the door.
Jax approached cautiously.
“You allowed a witness to live.”
“I know.”
“That is not how you usually handle witnesses.”
“I am aware.”
Dominic ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful arrangement.
“Find everything about her. Full name, address, place of employment, family, routine.”
Jax raised an eyebrow.
“Are you planning to have someone resolve the problem?”
“No.”
Dominic finally looked at him.
“I will watch her myself.”
That night, Dominic stood alone inside a luxurious apartment that felt more like a fortress than a home. He held whiskey and stared through floor-to-ceiling windows at Boston below.
He could not stop thinking about Alora.
He remembered her frightened brown eyes, the way her body shook while her voice remained stubbornly clear, and the courage with which she asked his name after witnessing a killing.
Dominic had ordered men killed for significantly less.
The ordinary response would have been fast and permanent.
Something in Alora had stopped him.
The reaction irritated him because he could neither explain nor dismiss it.
“What is happening to me?”
He asked the question of the whiskey and the city.
He knew part of the answer.
Since Serena’s betrayal and the death of his brother, Leo, Dominic had felt almost nothing beyond control, obligation, and anger. What remained of him had become hard enough to survive.
Alora had produced a reaction in the space of several minutes.
Dominic did nothing halfway.
If he intended to watch Alora Bennett, he would do it thoroughly.
Three days later, Alora was organizing books in the history section of the library when a familiar voice reached her.
“I need a recommendation.”
Her fingers tightened around the book she was shelving.
She turned slowly.
Dominic stood several feet away in a dark-gray suit without bloodstains. Sunglasses concealed his eyes.
“You.”
He placed a finger against his lips.
“We are inside a library.”
He removed the glasses.
“I genuinely require a book.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Reading.”
“You do not look like someone who reads.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you look like someone who—”
She stopped.
“Who does what?”
He moved closer.
Alora stepped backward until a bookshelf stopped her.
“Other things.”
His voice lowered.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I promised.”
She lifted her chin.
“And I do not want to die.”
Something vulnerable appeared briefly in his expression.
“I will not hurt you.”
“How can I know that?”
“If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have.”
He eliminated most of the remaining distance.
“May I take you for coffee?”
Alora stared at him.
“What?”
“Coffee. You and me. Consider it an apology for frightening you.”
“This is absurd.”
“I agree.”
His almost-smile altered his face completely.
“Will you come?”
She should have refused.
“When?”
“Now. Your shift finishes in 10 minutes.”
Her eyes widened.
“How do you know that?”
“I prepare carefully.”
He extended his hand, offering rather than ordering.
Alora looked at his palm, then at the man who carried deadly secrets behind an immaculate suit.
She placed her hand in his.
Jax drove while studying Dominic through the rearview mirror.
Dominic appeared to be answering messages, but an expression Jax had not seen in years remained on his face.
It resembled satisfaction.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Did you invite the witness for coffee?”
“It is research.”
Dominic did not look up.
“I am confirming that she intends to remain silent.”
“Research involving coffee.”
Jax made no attempt to hide his skepticism.
“And the foolish smile you had inside the library?”
Dominic lifted his eyes.
“Be careful.”
“I am only observing that during 10 years of working for you, I have never watched you invite anyone for coffee, particularly a woman who saw you kill someone.”
The car remained quiet for a moment.
“She is different,” Dominic admitted.
“I noticed. Different can be dangerous in ways bullets are not.”
“I know what I am doing.”
Jax laughed.
“Of course. That explains why you resemble a teenager preparing for his 1st date.”
“Jax.”
“I will be silent.”
He waited several seconds.
“You are finished.”
Dominic did not disagree.
The café Dominic chose was small and discreet, hidden on a side street Alora would not have noticed alone.
He held the door for her.
They sat at a corner table away from the windows. Dominic ordered black coffee. Alora ordered cappuccino.
For several moments, neither spoke.
“Are you always as brave as you were inside the gallery?” he asked.
“Brave?”
“You witnessed something dangerous, and now you are drinking coffee with the man responsible.”
“You said you would not hurt me.”
“You believed me?”
“Not entirely.”
Her honesty surprised him.
“I came because you seemed sad and alone. I understand what that feels like.”
Dominic stopped with the cup suspended near his mouth.
No one had spoken to him that way in years.
“You are strange.”
“It sounds like a compliment.”
“It may be.”
He set down the untouched coffee.
“Spend the day with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want your company.”
His answer contained no hesitation.
“And because you want mine, although you will probably deny it.”
“You are presumptuous.”
“It is not presumption when the conclusion is accurate.”
Half an hour later, they stood outside an art museum Alora loved but rarely had time to visit.
Dominic’s expression tightened when she suggested it, but he had allowed her to choose.
May you like
“You truly want to enter a museum?” she asked as they climbed the steps.
“I said you could choose.”
