CHAPTER 8 THE FIRST HEAT #2
"You're not exactly the picture of innocence yourself," he said, glancing back at her.
"Safehouse looks like it's seen its share of action."
She smirked, leaning back on her hands. "Occupational hazard. Comes with the territory."
Dario twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. The water was cold, almost too cold, but it helped clear his head. He leaned against the counter, studying her. "You ever think about getting out?"
"Out?" She raised an eyebrow. "You mean retire? Settle down somewhere quiet, maybe take up knitting?"
"Something like that," he said, his voice flat.
Evelyn laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "And miss all the fun? Not a chance."
He didn't laugh. He couldn't. The weight of the night pressed down on him, heavier than before. "Fun," he echoed. "Is that what you call it?"
Her expression shifted, just slightly, the amusement fading into something more serious. "What's eating at you, Vitale? You don't usually come here looking for a heart-to-heart."
He hesitated, the bottle still in his hand. "Had to make a call tonight," he said finally. "One I didn't want to make."
Evelyn's gaze didn't waver. "And?"
"And now I'm here," he said, setting the bottle down on the counter. "Because I needed to see you."
She stood, crossing the room to him with that same deliberate grace she always had. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. Her touch was warm, grounding. "You're here," she said softly. "Now what?"
Dario looked down at her, the exhaustion in his bones momentarily forgotten. "Now," he said, his voice rough, "I stay."
Her lips curved into a slow smile, and she stepped closer, her body brushing against his. "Good," she murmured. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you leave."
He didn't resist when she leaned in, her mouth finding his with a heat that burned away the last of his weariness. The kiss was fierce, hungry, and he let himself fall into it, into her. The safehouse faded around them, the world narrowing to the two of them and the undeniable pull between them.
When they finally broke apart, Evelyn's eyes were dark with intent. "Bedroom," she said, her voice in a low voice. "Now."
Dario didn't argue. He followed her, the weight of the night still on his shoulders but somehow lighter now, as if she had taken a piece of it for herself. And as they disappeared into the shadows of the safehouse, the city outside seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next move.
Dario caught Evelyn’s wrist before she could reach for the subpoena again. The document lay between them on the kitchen counter, its crisp edges at odds with the warm, tangled aftermath of the night.
"You don’t touch that," he said, voice low. "Not until we’ve talked."
Evelyn’s fingers flexed under his grip. "I’m not one of your soldiers, Dario. You don’t get to give me orders."
He didn’t let go. "This isn’t about orders. It’s about you walking into a federal courthouse without understanding what you’re stepping into."
She exhaled sharply, twisting free. "I understand perfectly. They want me to testify about the Moretti family’s operations—which, by the way, I don’t know shit about."
"You don’t have to know anything," Dario said. "They’ll ask the wrong questions until you say something they can use. That’s how this works."
The safehouse’s kitchen was too small for this argument, the air smelling of coffee and last night’s sweat. Evelyn crossed her arms, the thin silk of her borrowed shirt slipping off one shoulder. "And what’s your brilliant solution? Disappear me?"
His jaw tightened. "If I wanted you gone, you’d already be gone."
"Then what? Because ignoring a subpoena isn’t exactly legal."
"Neither is half of what keeps this city running." He leaned in, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of her. "You think this is about you testifying? It’s not. It’s about them using you to get to me."
Evelyn went very still. "Why?"
"Because I’m the one who keeps Moretti’s house standing." His voice was quiet, deliberate. "And certain people would love to see that house burn."
She searched his face, then glanced at the subpoena again. "So this is political."
"Everything’s political." He straightened, running a hand through his hair. "You walk into that courtroom, and you become leverage. Against me, against the family. That puts you in the crosshairs of people who don’t care if you live or die."
Evelyn’s fingers tapped against her elbow, a quick, restless rhythm. "And if I don’t show up?"
"Then they issue a warrant. They escalate." He watched her, the way her pulse jumped at her throat. "But I can make it go away."
Her eyes narrowed. "How?"
"By reminding the right people that dragging civilians into this is bad for business."
"You mean threatening them."
"I mean negotiating."
She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "You’re really asking me to trust you on this?"
Dario didn’t blink. "I’m asking you to let me handle it."
For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then she reached past him, snatching the subpoena off the counter. "No."
He didn’t move to stop her this time. "Evelyn."
"I’m not hiding behind you," she said, folding the paper with deliberate care. "And I’m not letting you turn this into another one of your power plays."
"It’s not a play. It’s survival."
"Then survive smarter." She tucked the subpoena into her back pocket. "Because if they’re coming for you, they’re coming for me either way."
The truth of it hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. Dario exhaled through his nose, the weight of the night before still humming under his skin. He could feel the clock ticking—not merely on the subpoena, but on whatever fragile thing they’d built in the dark.
Evelyn turned toward the door. "I need air."
He didn’t stop her.
The safehouse’s front door clicked shut behind her, leaving Dario alone with the silence and the faint, metallic taste of a problem he couldn’t solve with threats or bribes.
Somewhere outside, a car alarm wailed, then cut off abruptly. The city never slept.
Neither would he.
Evelyn’s fingers curled around the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white.
The safehouse’s fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across Dario’s face as he stepped into her space, deliberate, unyielding.
The air between them crackled—not with the charged heat of last night, but something sharper, edged with teeth.
“You walked out,” he said, voice flat. Not an accusation. A fact.
She didn’t flinch. “I had work.”
His laugh was a low, humorless thing. “You think this subpoena gives you leverage?”
The tension coiled tighter. She could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something expensive and understated, layered over the iron-sharp scent of his frustration. “I think,” she said slowly, “you don’t like being cornered.”
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to pin her in place. Her pulse jumped against his thumb.
“Careful,” he murmured.
The confrontation turned physical between one breath and the next—her free hand shoved against his chest, his grip tightening in response.
The counter dug into her lower back as he crowded her, their bodies pressed close enough that she could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“You don’t get to disappear after last night,” he said, voice rough.
“I don’t belong to you.”
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. “No,” he agreed. “But you’re in my world now. That means rules.”
She bared her teeth. “Fuck your rules.”
He moved fast, spinning her around so her back hit the wall, one hand caging her in, the other tilting her chin up. His breath was warm against her lips. “Say it again.”
The challenge hung between them, thick and electric. She could feel the tension in his body, the rigid control he was barely keeping leashed. Last night had been about surrender—this was about defiance.
Her knee came up, aiming for his groin, but he twisted, catching her thigh against his hip. The impact knocked a gasp from her lungs. His mouth crashed down on hers, hot and punishing, all teeth and possession. She bit back, tasting blood—his or hers, she couldn’t tell.
The fight burned through her, sharp and bright. She clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping fabric, then skin. He growled, low in his throat, and hauled her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the couch.