Vito is in the passenger seat again, shoulders broad and restless under his jacket, one arm braced against the door as he watches the building.
Angelo is behind the wheel, silent as ever, hands relaxed but ready. I’ve got a comm in my ear again, the tiny pressure of it a reminder that even something as simple as a doctor’s appointment now requires a perimeter team, a route plan, two backup exits, and a driver who knows how to get us out fast.
Elsa sits beside me with both hands folded in her lap.
She’s calm on the surface. She’s gotten very good at that. Calm face. Straight spine.
I know better.
I know the slight tension in her jaw means she’s fighting fear. I know the way her fingers lace too tightly means her thoughts are sprinting. I know the stillness itself is effort.
This isn’t the first time I’ve brought her to a building with the front door effectively off-limits and men sweeping the perimeter before she’s allowed to step out.
I hate that for her.
I hate that for us.
A quiet crackle comes through my comm.
“North side clear.”
A beat.
“Rear entry clear.”
Another voice. “Stairwell secure. No movement on the block.”
I keep my eyes on the office windows. Dark. Closed. Private. Exactly the way we need it.
The recording of Bellandi’s men in the hallway hit Northstar this morning. Enough proof to make their bid radioactive if Northstar has any sense at all.
Now we watch and wait.
They haven’t contacted Elsa yet, but it’s only been a few hours. We expected that. Boardrooms don’t move as fast as gunmen.
When they do reach out, she wants to go in.
In person.
She said it like there was never another option.
I’d objected immediately, of course. Argued for video, for counsel, for distance, for every layer of insulation I could put between her and the fallout.
She listened. Then she said no.
She wants to look them in the eye and explain it herself.
That’s the woman I fell in love with, I suppose.
Stubborn. Proud. Brilliant. Not reckless, exactly—but unwilling to let fear stop her from doing what needs to be done.
I shift my hand over hers.
She looks at me.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
Her mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Will you ever stop asking me that?”
