CHAPTER 12 THE SECOND HEAT #2
She set her fork down. "You don’t share meals with people you’re about to kill, do you?"
"Not my style."
"Good to know."
The corner of his mouth lifted again, just slightly. "You think I’d tell you if it was?"
Evelyn leaned back in her chair. "No. But you’d have a better reason than a ledger."
"Maybe I do."
A beat. The air between them sharpened.
She didn’t look away. "Then say it."
Dario set his glass down deliberately. "You’re still here."
"Observant."
"You could’ve run."
"You could’ve let me."
He studied her, the quiet stretching, until the hum of the refrigerator cut off and left them in total silence.
Then, very softly, he said, "I didn’t want to."
The admission hung between them, raw and unguarded. Evelyn’s pulse jumped, but she didn’t flinch.
Somewhere outside, a car door slammed.
Dario’s posture didn’t change, but his eyes darkened. "Time’s up," he murmured.
Evelyn exhaled. "Always is."
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers—just once, fleeting. A promise or a warning, she wasn’t sure.
Then he stood, leaving the plates behind.
She followed.
The sound of footsteps on gravel outside was deliberate, unhurried. Not a raid, then. Not yet. Evelyn kept her hands loose at her sides, her breathing steady. Dario moved to the window, angling his body just enough to see without being seen.
"Two," he said quietly. "One at the car, one circling."
She didn’t ask if they were his. The way his jaw tightened told her enough.
Evelyn picked up the ledger, thumbing the edge of the pages. "You think they know about this?"
"Doesn’t matter." His voice was low, controlled. "They know about you."
A beat. The weight of that settled between them.
She slid the ledger into her jacket. "Then we should make sure they don’t get it."
Dario turned, his gaze sharp. "You’re not a bargaining chip."
"Never said I was."
The footsteps paused near the front door. A knock, firm but not urgent. Polite, almost. That was worse.
Evelyn tilted her head. "You expecting company?"
"No." He reached into the drawer beside him, pulling out a pistol and checking the clip with practiced ease. "But they’re not leaving without an answer."
She watched his hands, the way they moved without hesitation. "You’re not going to shoot them through the door."
"Not unless they give me a reason." He slid the gun into the waistband at his back. "Stay here."
"Like hell."
Dario shot her a look, but there was no real heat in it. "Fine. But let me talk first."
She smirked. "What, you think I’ll start a war?"
"You might."
The knock came again, louder this time.
Evelyn moved to the side of the door, out of sight. Dario took a breath, then opened it just enough to fill the gap with his frame.
"Vitale," a smooth voice greeted. "We need to talk."
Evelyn couldn’t see the man’s face, but she recognized the tone—the kind of calm that came with leverage.
Dario didn’t budge. "About?"
"Your guest." A pause. "And the things she’s carrying."
She felt the ledger against her ribs like a brand.
Dario’s voice dropped, dangerous. "You don’t want to do this."
The man outside laughed, soft and humorless. "Neither do you."
Silence stretched. Evelyn could almost taste the tension, thick and metallic.
Then Dario stepped back, just slightly. "Come in," he said. "But leave your friend outside."
The door creaked open wider.
Evelyn braced herself. The game had changed again.
Dario leaned against the edge of Evelyn’s desk, the weight of his presence pressing into the space between them.
The office smelled of old paper and gun oil, the blinds half-drawn against the afternoon sun.
He didn’t look at her—not yet. Instead, he tapped two fingers against the polished wood, slow and deliberate, like he was counting down to something.
"You pulled it off," he said finally.
Evelyn exhaled through her nose, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough to be noticeable. "Marsh didn’t see it coming."
"That’s the point." Dario’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. "He’s used to being the one setting traps. Watching him walk into yours was… satisfying."
She could hear the approval in his voice, the rare acknowledgment of a job well done. It shouldn’t have mattered—she’d known the counter would work before she’d even laid the first piece of bait—but it did.
Evelyn crossed her arms, the fabric of her blouse pulling tight. "He’ll figure it out eventually."
"Not before it costs him." Dario pushed off the desk, closing the distance between them. "You made sure of that."
The air between them thickened, charged with something that had nothing to do with Daniel Marsh or the ledger still tucked against her ribs. She could see the faint scar along his jawline, the one she’d never asked about. A rule, unspoken but understood: some things didn’t need discussing.
Dario’s hand brushed hers, deliberate, testing. "You’re good at this."
"At what?"
"Playing the long game." His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, just once. "Most people don’t have the patience."
Evelyn didn’t pull away. "Most people are stupid."
That earned her a real smile, sharp and fleeting. "Marsh certainly is."
She let herself lean into the touch, just for a second. "He won’t stay that way."
"No." Dario’s grip tightened, just enough to remind her of the stakes. "But we’ll be ready."
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
Evelyn stepped back, smoothing her sleeve like she could erase the warmth of his skin against hers. Dario didn’t move, his expression sliding back into its usual unreadable mask.
"Come in," he said, voice flat.
The door opened, revealing one of his men—unnamed, unimportant—holding a folded slip of paper. "Message from downtown."
Dario took it without a word, his eyes scanning the contents before he crumpled it in his fist.
Evelyn didn’t ask. She didn’t have to.
The rules were simple: when the counter worked, the game changed.
And Daniel Marsh had just made his next move.
Dario tossed the crumpled paper onto the desk, the sound of it hitting the wood louder than it should have been. The unnamed man lingered in the doorway, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he’d been dismissed.
"Go," Dario said, without looking at him.
The door clicked shut, leaving the office heavy with silence. Evelyn watched the paper where it lay, the sharp edges of it unfolding slightly, as if it might reveal its secrets if she stared long enough.
"You’re not going to tell me what it says," she said.
Dario tilted his head, considering her. "Would you believe me if I did?"
"Depends on the lie."
He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Marsh called in a favor. Someone’s leaning on the wrong people downtown."
Evelyn’s fingers twitched at her side. She could feel the weight of the ledger against her ribs again, the names inside it suddenly more dangerous than they’d been an hour ago. "How much does he know?"
"Not enough." Dario’s voice was calm, but his gaze flicked to the window, to the sliver of sunlight cutting through the blinds. "Not yet."
She didn’t like the way he said it—like it was only a matter of time. Like they were already behind.
Evelyn moved to the desk, picking up the crumpled message. She didn’t smooth it out, just held it in her palm, feeling the tension in the paper, the way it resisted her touch. "We could push harder. Make sure he doesn’t get the chance to dig."
Dario was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out, plucking the paper from her hand. His fingers brushed hers again, but this time it wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t testing. It was just contact, fleeting and meaningless.
"Pushing’s what got us here," he said. "Marsh doesn’t respond to force. He responds to pressure."
Evelyn clenched her jaw. "So we wait?"
"We adapt." He dropped the paper into the trash bin beside the desk, the motion final. "You’re good at that too."
The words should have been a compliment. They weren’t.
She turned away, toward the window, the half-drawn blinds casting stripes of shadow across her arms. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious. Cars honked. People walked. Daniel Marsh was out there somewhere, tightening his grip on something they couldn’t see.
Evelyn exhaled, slow and controlled. "What’s the play?"
Dario didn’t answer right away. When she glanced back, he was watching her, his expression unreadable.
"We let him think he’s winning," he said at last. "Just for a little while."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "And then?"
"Then we remind him why he shouldn’t."
The air between them shifted again, but this time it wasn’t charged. It was calculated. Cold.
Evelyn nodded once.
The game had changed.
So would they.
Evelyn didn't wait for Dario to close the distance between them. She stepped into his space, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt, the other already sliding around the back of his neck. The move was deliberate, calculated—the kind of surprise attack she knew he wouldn’t see coming.
His breath caught. Just for a second, but she felt it. The slight hitch in his usually unshakable composure.
"Problem?" she murmured, tilting her head just enough to watch his reaction.
Dario’s hand closed over her wrist, not to push her away but to anchor her there. "You tell me." His voice was low, measured, but his grip was firm. "You’re the one making moves."
She let her thumb trace the line of his jaw, slow and deliberate. "First time for everything."
His eyes darkened. "You don’t get to be reckless just because it’s new."
Evelyn smiled, sharp and knowing. "Who said anything about reckless?"
She kissed him before he could respond. Not soft, not hesitant—direct and deliberate, the way she did everything else.
His mouth was warm, his grip tightening reflexively against the small of her back.
It wasn’t surrender; it was reaction, the way a man used to control adjusted to someone else taking it.
When she pulled back, just enough to speak, his gaze had shifted. The usual calculation was there, but beneath it, something else—something that looked a lot like surprise.
"Still a problem?" she asked.