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For a second, I think the conversation is finished. Instead, he walks around the table and stops in front of me.

"Stay."

I look up at him.

"I'm already staying."

"No."

Something in his voice changes. He holds out his hand. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.

"I don't mean tonight."

My heart gives one hard beat, but Adrianos doesn't release my hand.

"Stay here."

I stare at him.

"At the penthouse?"

"With me."

I search his face. There is no ring. No proposal. No elaborate declaration. Just Adrianos standing in front of me, asking for something instead of taking control of the outcome.

He continues before I can answer. "Not because you're investigating OB6. Not because you work for me. Not because I think you need protection."

"That last one sounded painful."

"It was."

I squeeze his fingers.

"When this is over," he says, "when there are no accounts on your screen and nobody waiting downstairs to be interrogated, I want you here."

The simplicity of it hurts more than any grand declaration could. He doesn't want my skills. He doesn't need my investigation. He wants the ordinary pieces. Coffee going cold beside my laptop. Arguments over vegetables. My clothes mixed with his. My terrible habit of leaving financial reports on his furniture.

He wants me when there is nothing left for me to solve. I look at him with deliberate seriousness.

"You're a catastrophic risk profile."

His eyes narrow.

I continue before he can object. "High exposure to organized crime. Questionable conflict-resolution strategies. Severe control issues. Excessive security expenditure. A tendency to murder useful sources."

"Elena."

"Your emotional disclosure history is also appalling."

"And?"

I let him wait. Then I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt.

"I'm keeping the investment."

For a moment, Adrianos simply looks at me. Then his hand slides around my waist.

"That might be the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."