He grins—and lifts his phone and quickly dives in next to me. Far too cozy looking and now captured in an image. The camera clicks before I can react.
“What the hell was that?” I snap, pushing him away.
“Just a photo,” he says, chuckling lightly. “You look good tonight, Dallen.”
Fury burns away my fear. “Miss Byrne to you and you will not take photos of me. You will not touch me. And you will not contact me again. Do you understand?”
His smile doesn’t falter. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You don’t want to upset the wrong people.”
A chill runs down my spine, and my denial of what both Stephen and my father have said to me shames me. “I’m done. Go away.”
He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but I know—deep in my gut—that isn’t harmless flirting. It’s a warning.
When I return to Amy, she takes one look at my face and slides off her stool. “What did he do?”
I tell her everything. What Stephen has said about the family, what my father disclosed just this morning in my office. About the photo, his dismissal of personal space. The threatening tone and words. My skin crawls at the thought of ever seeing the Romeros again. I tell her about Stephen, his family, and what I’ve found online about them. I tell her everything, spilling my truths out like verbal vomit.
Amy listens silently, jaw tight. “Your father was right,” she says finally. “And so was Stephen.”
I sigh, my heart at odds with my commonsense brain. I should remove myself from all of this drama. I don’t need to get involved with a family that has so much baggage. Why couldn’t I find a nice, hot guy who didn’t have danger tattooed on their body like Stephen clearly does?
But even thinking of seeing anyone else, of moving on, my heart seizes. To not see Stephen again. To not have him own me, kiss me with his wicked mouth, to have him shelter me with his chiseled body, I loathe the thought.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me wanting the bad boy? But is he so bad? He’s a property investor and his family's real estate agent. How wicked could he be? Just because his family had a history of being in the underworld doesn’t mean they are now.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Three times. Stephen. With an image attachment.
My fingers tremble as I open it. The selfie of Elio and me. Close enough to look intimate. My heart slams against my ribs.
Where are you? Why is he with you?
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“What?” Amy asks, leaning over to look at my message. Her eyes widen. “Oh no.”
“I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I kiss her cheek and head for the door.
“Be safe,” I hear Amy call from the bar.
I leave in a rush, the cab ride stretching my nerves thin. When I arrive before Stephen’s building, I’m already bracing myself. He buzzes me in, his tone calm, but I know he’s fuming. I would be, too, if the roles were reversed. Even after knowing him for such a short amount of time, I know I’d hate to see him with another woman. Even if caught in an innocent trap, as the one I was tonight.
The elevator doors slide open—and Stephen is standing in his apartment's foyer, waiting.
The moment I see his bruised face, bloody knuckles, and barely restrained anger, my breath catches. “What happened to you?” I whisper.
The doors close behind me.
And I know—absolutely—that tonight is far from over.
NINETEEN
STEPHEN
I seeit the second the lift doors open—the hesitation in her step, the way her eyes flick up and lock onto my face before she can stop herself. Shock lands first. Then concern. Then something far more dangerous.
Pity.
I hate that one most of all.
