Chapter 4
CASSIAN
She’s still here when I wake up.
That’s the first thing I notice—Catherine curled on her side, facing away from me, dark hair spread across the pillow, breathing deep and even.
The sheet’s tangled around her waist, and in the early morning light coming through the windows, I can see the curve of her spine, the constellation of freckles across her shoulder that I didn’t notice last night.
I should’ve sent her away after the second round.
That’s what I usually do—that was the whole point of bringing her to a hotel instead of my own apartment here in the city.
I usually make it clear that staying isn’t part of the arrangement, call her a car, keep things clean.
But I didn’t, and now she’s here, and I’m lying in bed watching her sleep.
I need to get my head straight.
This was supposed to be simple. A woman on a plane, mutual attraction, one night to blow off steam after three days of tedious meetings. Nothing complicated.
Except she’s still here, and I’m already thinking about tonight’s dinner instead of the calls I need to make now that I’m back in the city.
She stirs, rolling onto her back with a soft sound that does things to me it shouldn’t. Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening when she realizes where she is.
“Morning,” I say.
She turns her head toward me, and even sleep-rumpled and bare-faced, she’s striking. Those hazel eyes without the contacts, her real hair color starting to show through the dye at her roots. She’s beautiful in a way that makes me want to know every secret she’s hiding.
“What time is it?” she asks, voice rough.
“Early. Just past seven.”
She sits up, holding the sheet to her chest, and glances around the room like she’s reorienting herself. Then she looks at me, and there’s uncertainty in her expression that wasn’t there last night. “I should probably go,” she says.
“Or you could stay for breakfast.”
“I don’t want to—”
“I’m ordering room service either way. You might as well eat.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay. Breakfast.”
I call down and order enough food for three people, and when I hang up, she’s already out of bed and heading for the bathroom. I watch her go, appreciating the view, then force myself to get up and deal with the messages that have been piling up on my phone since last night.
Declan’s sent four texts. They’re all variations of the same thing—the Petrovs are pushing again. Dmitri’s been seen in our territory twice this week, making noise, talking to people he shouldn’t be talking to. It’s escalating, and Declan wants to know how I want to handle it.
I’ll deal with it later.
Catherine emerges from the bathroom wearing one of the hotel robes, her face washed and hair pulled back. She looks younger like this, more vulnerable, and I catch myself wondering again what she’s running from that has her this jumpy.
Room service arrives, and we eat at the table by the windows. The city stretches out below us, already busy with morning traffic, and Catherine picks at her eggs while I drink coffee and try not to think about how domestic this feels.
“So,” she says after a while. “Last night.”
“What about it?”
“Are we going to talk about it, or are we pretending it didn’t happen?”
I lean back in my chair and study her. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”
“Slept with a stranger?”
“Slept with someone I actually like.”
The honesty in that statement catches me off guard, and I find myself smiling despite the weight of everything waiting for me outside this suite. “I like you too,” I say, and it’s more truth than I meant to give her.
She looks at me for a long moment, then goes back to her eggs. “You’re probably busy today.”
“I am.”
“Right.” She finishes eating and sets her fork down. “So should I just…go? Or are we doing this again?”
“Dinner,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. There’s a place right down the street from here. Catch 22. You can’t miss it.”
“I’ll try to make it.”
“Try?”
She hesitates, and something shifts in her expression. “I’m not staying in New York long. I need to visit my mother’s grave today, and then I’m leaving the country.”
“Where are you going?”
“Rio.”
“I’ve been to Rio a few dozen times. That won’t be a problem.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to figure out if I’m serious. “You’d really follow me to another country?”
“I told you. I know what I want.”
Her mouth curves into a sad, almost amused expression. “You’re very confident.”
“I have reason to be.”
She stands, and the robe shifts, revealing a glimpse of thigh that makes me want to pull her back into bed and forget about everything else. But I don’t, because Declan’s messages are sitting on my phone like ticking bombs, and the Petrov situation isn’t going to resolve itself.
She disappears into the bathroom to change, and when she comes out, she’s back to the version of herself she showed me on the plane. Black hair, blue contacts, mask pulled up. The disguise that keeps her invisible.
I walk her to the elevator doors, and she pauses with her hand on the button.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For last night. For making me forget for a while.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know. But I am anyway.”
She starts to turn away, but I catch her wrist and pull her back. She looks up at me, startled, and I reach up with my other hand to pull the mask down just enough that I can see her mouth properly.
Then I kiss her.
My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, and I pull her in. Her lips part immediately, and this kiss is different from anything that happened last night.
She makes a sound in the back of her throat, soft and desperate, and her hands fist in my shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself.
I taste the coffee she had at breakfast, feel the tremble in her breath when I deepen the kiss.
Her body presses against mine, and for a moment we’re not two strangers keeping secrets—we’re just this.
Just her mouth on mine and the certainty that I’m not ready to let her go.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are still closed, her breathing ragged. My thumb brushes across her bottom lip, swollen from my mouth, and she leans into the touch before catching herself.
“Eight o’clock,” I say, my voice rough. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“I’ll be there.”
She pulls the mask back up, and then she’s gone, slipping into the waiting elevator before I can find another reason to keep her here. I stand still for a long moment, watching the elevator doors close, and I know with absolute certainty that I’m going to see her again.
Even if I have to burn down half the world to find her.
Declan calls at nine.
“We’ve got a problem,” he says without preamble.
“The Petrovs.”
“Dmitri’s getting bold. He was at O’Malley’s last night, drinking with our guys, talking about how Russian territory is expanding and maybe it’s time for the Irish to step aside.”
I feel the anger start to simmer. “Where is he now?”
“Unknown. But he’s making noise, Cass. This isn’t going away.”
“I know.”
“So what do you want to do?”
I think about the meetings in LA, the legitimate business deals I’m trying to close, the careful balance I’ve been maintaining between the old world and the new one I’m trying to build.
Then I think about Dmitri Petrov running his mouth in my territory, disrespecting my people, trying to take what’s mine.
“Set up a meeting,” I say. “Somewhere public. Let him think I’m willing to negotiate.”
“And then?”
“And then we’ll see what happens.”
Declan’s quiet for a moment. “You sure about this?”
“He’s pushing because he thinks I won’t push back. It’s time to remind him why that’s a mistake.”
“Alright. I’ll make the calls.”
We hang up, and I spend the rest of the day handling business. Calls with lawyers about the LA deals, messages with my people here in New York about operations that need oversight, the endless logistics of running an organization that spans multiple cities and countless moving parts.
By the time evening rolls around, I’m ready to forget about all of it and focus on dinner with Catherine.
I shower and change into something more casual—dark jeans, a button-down, no tie. The restaurant I picked is upscale but not formal, the type of place where you can actually have a conversation without shouting over ambient noise.
I leave the hotel at seven thirty, deciding to walk instead of taking a car. The evening air is cool, traffic heavy but moving, and I use the time to clear my head and shift gears from business to whatever this thing with Catherine is becoming.
I’m three blocks from the restaurant when I see her, standing on the opposite side of the street about fifty feet away. She’s looking directly at me, and when our eyes meet, I smile.
I’m about to cross the street when someone steps into my path.
Dmitri Petrov.
“Cassian Rourke,” he says, arms crossed over his chest like he’s been waiting for me. “Walking alone. That’s not very smart.”
Fuck.
I should’ve brought Declan. Should’ve had security trailing me at a distance. But I wanted tonight to feel normal for Catherine, wanted to pretend for a few hours that I’m just a man taking a woman to dinner instead of what I actually am.
That miscalculation might cost me.
My hand goes to the gun at my back on instinct, and I focus on Dmitri. Two of his men flank him, both armed, both trying to look intimidating.
“I wasn’t aware I needed protection in my own city,” I say, keeping my voice level.
“Your city?” He laughs, and his men laugh with him. “That’s interesting. Because from where I’m standing, this looks like open territory.”
I step to the side, angling so Catherine isn’t directly in my line of sight anymore. The last thing I need is her getting caught up in this. “You’ve been making noise in my territory,” I say. “Talking to my people. Acting like the rules don’t apply to you.”
“Maybe the rules are changing.”
“They’re not.”
Dmitri’s smile turns ugly. “You know, I’ve been doing research on you, Rourke. Found out some interesting things. Like how your mother still lives in that little village in Ireland. Alone. No security. Just an old woman who probably doesn’t even lock her doors at night.”
My blood goes cold.
“You want to be careful what you say next,” I tell him quietly.
“Or what? You’ll do something stupid in the middle of a public street?
” He takes a step closer, emboldened by my reaction.
“See, that’s your problem. You think you can play both sides—be legitimate and still hold territory through fear.
But you can’t. Eventually, you have to choose.
And from where I’m standing, you chose wrong. ”
“Last warning, Dmitri.”
“And that woman you had in your hotel last night?” He grins, and I feel my jaw tighten. “Pretty little thing. Dark hair, nervous energy. One of my guys saw her leaving this morning. You getting sloppy, Rourke? Bringing civilians into your business?”
He doesn’t know who she is. Doesn’t know her name or that she’s standing fifty feet away, watching us. He’s just throwing out threats to see what sticks. But the fact that he’s threatening her at all means he’s crossed a line he can’t come back from.
“You’ve been watching me,” I say.
“Someone has to. You’re too busy playing businessman to notice when wolves are circling.”
The tension ratchets up, people on the street starting to notice that something’s happening, crossing to the other side to avoid us. I catch sight of Catherine in my peripheral vision—she’s frozen, watching the confrontation.
“You need to step back,” I say quietly, “before this becomes a problem neither of us wants.”
His smile widens. “I don’t think so. I think it’s time someone reminded you that power in this city isn’t bought with business deals. It’s taken. And I’m taking yours.”
He reaches for something inside his jacket, and I see the movement before my brain fully processes what it means.
The gunshot is deafening.