His smile was fierce. Possessive. "Good. Let's keep it that way until you're through the first trimester."
I nodded. Smart. Pregnancy made me vulnerable in ways I wasn't ready to broadcast.
"We'll need to adjust security," Dante continued, his mind already working. "And your schedule. No more late nights at the casino. No field work—"
"Dante."
He stopped, hearing the warning in my tone.
"I'm pregnant, not fragile." I held his gaze. "I'll be careful. But I'm not stepping back from our operations."
Conflict warred across his face. The protective instinct battling the respect he'd learned to show my autonomy.
Finally, he nodded. "Compromise. You stay out of active danger. But you keep running strategy and operations from here."
"Agreed." I kissed him softly. "Thank you for not trying to cage me."
"I learned that lesson." His smile was rueful. "You'd just pick the lock anyway."
I laughed, and he gathered me close. We stood like that, wrapped in each other, until my phone buzzed.
Marcos again.Rivera wants to meet. Says he has information on the Miami distributor.
I showed Dante the message.
"Could be a trap," he said.
"Could be legitimate." I pulled up Rivera's file on my tablet. "He's been reliable so far. And he owes us after we cleared his territory of that trafficking ring."
Dante studied the screen, then nodded. "Set it up. But at the casino, not a secondary location. And double security."
"Already planned." I typed the response to Marcos, then looked up at Dante. "Want to sit in?"
"Try stopping me."
We spent the next two hours preparing. I reviewed Rivera's history and known associates while Dante coordinated security. By the time we walked into the private conference room on the casino's third floor, we had contingency plans for every scenario.
Rivera arrived precisely on time—a good sign. He was thin, nervous, but his eyes were sharp. Smart enough to be useful, scared enough to be honest.
"Mr. Taviani. Mrs. Taviani." He inclined his head to each of us. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Sit." I gestured to the chair across from us.
He sat, hands folded on the table. "I have information about your Miami distributor. Carlos Vega."
Dante leaned back, expression neutral. "We're listening."
"He's skimming. Has been for three months. I have documentation—shipping manifests that don't match delivery records, payments to offshore accounts."
Rivera slid a folder across the table.
I opened it, scanning the contents. Numbers lined up in neat columns, dates highlighted, discrepancies circled in red. Either Rivera was an excellent forger or this was legitimate.
"Why bring this to us?" Dante asked.
"Because Vega approached me last week. Wanted me to join his operation. Said you were..." Rivera swallowed. "Said you were too distracted by personal matters to notice what was happening under your nose."
Rage flickered through me, cold and sharp. Vega thought pregnancy made me weak. Thought love made Dante vulnerable.
