The problem is that Serena has already found the key.
I close the door behind me and head back home, knowing that I’m about to have the most difficult conversation of my life.I’ll tell Serena that I was wrong about the Vegas wedding.I’ll explain that while I care about her deeply, I can’t let this marriage become something real.I’ll be professional, distant, and careful with every word so that she understands this is about protecting her, not rejecting her.
I’ll build the walls higher than they’ve ever been.
And I’ll spend every night knowing that the woman sleeping in the guest room is the other half of a puzzle I refuse to complete.
The penthouse is dark when I arrive.I find Serena in the kitchen.She’s changed out of the clothes she wore to her father’s house into a pair of designer jeans and a silk blouse.Her hair falls loose past her shoulders.She’s making tea, which means she’s been waiting for me.Probably worrying.
“How did it go?”she asks, setting down the kettle.
“He took it well.Strategically sound.Cautious but committed.”I keep my tone professional, already rebuilding the distance I allowed to crumble since Vegas.“We’ll need to be very careful moving forward.He agrees with our assessment that the Syndicate can’t know that we’re investigating.If word gets out, we’ve got targets on our backs, and the entire operation goes underground.”
Something flickers across her face—disappointment, maybe.Or sadness.I can’t let myself examine it too closely.
“Of course,” she says quietly.“We should probably discuss security protocols.Make sure we’re not being followed or monitored.”
“I’ll have Ray’s team sweep both our offices for bugs.Here is safe so that we can use it for evidence review.”
She nods, watching me with those amber eyes that see too much.“Shelby, we should probably talk about?—”
“Not tonight.”I cut her off firmly, but in a gentle tone.“We both need rest.The investigation is going to be intense, and we need to be sharp.We can discuss logistics tomorrow.”
She flinches slightly at my coldness, but she doesn’t push.Instead, she turns back to the kettle and pours hot water over tea leaves with mechanical precision.
I excuse myself and head to my study, locking the door.I sit behind my desk and eye the flash drive Serena gave me earlier, sitting innocuously beside my laptop.That drive contains evidence of one of the largest criminal enterprises operating in the modern world.That drive also contains the blueprint for my own destruction.
Because investigating Giovanni DiLorenzo means getting closer to Serena.Means spending late nights reviewing evidence together.Means watching her process the betrayal of her own father.Means being there for her when everything falls apart.
And I can’t do that without letting her matter more than she already does.She’s already snuck past my carefully constructed defenses.
So, I’ll have to maintain distance.I’ll be the operative, the enforcer, the broken Marine who knows better than to trust his own judgment about matters of the heart.
And when this is over, when we’ve taken down their operation and brought Giovanni to justice, I’ll let her go.
I pour myself another drink and try not to think about the way she looked at me in that Vegas chapel.I have to erase from memory the feeling of waking up with her in my arms.There’s no point in imagining a future together because I’m not good for Serena.
“Hell, I’m not a good man.Period,” I mutter to the empty room as I open the flash drive and prepare for war.
13
Serena
The restaurant is upscale in that understated Boston way—all dark wood and soft lighting, the kind of place where power brokers and their wives conduct business over martinis and perfectly seared fish.I arrive fifteen minutes early, a habit born from years of never wanting to be caught off guard.My phone buzzes with a text from Shelby:Stay sharp out there.Text me when you’re heading back.
My husband’s concern for my safety and well-being still baffles me.I’ve spent too many years learning to fend for myself on my own.It’s taking a while to adjust to having a partner now.
I silence my phone and compose myself in the restaurant’s bathroom mirror.The woman staring back at me wears a silk Armani blouse and jeans.Diamonds hang from her ears and fan around her neck.Her dark hair is swept into an elegant twist, while her makeup is flawless.She looks like someone who has everything under control.Someone who isn’t slowly coming apart at the seams over learning that her father is a monster of the worst kind.
Get it together, Serena.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Maeve O’Connor Boyle is already seated at our table, her auburn hair catching the light as she gestures animatedly to the hostess.At her side, in a portable carrier that speaks to the realities of being a working mother in the Syndicate, is Patrick—Tommy’s son, barely eight months old, with his mother’s fair coloring and his father’s intense eyes.
Maeve lights up when she sees me, and the genuine warmth in her expression makes something in my chest ache.This is what normal looks like in our world.This is what partnership, love, and choosing family look like.
“Serena!”She stands to embrace me, careful not to jostle the infant.“I’m so glad you could make it.Angie is running about ten minutes late.There was an issue with Nick’s band or their studio.I don’t know exactly, but she promised to join us.”
We settle into our seats, and a server immediately appears with water and warm bread.I order a glass of Pinot Grigio, needing the courage more than I need the sophistication it projects.
