CHAPTER 12 THE SECOND HEAT
The safehouse smelled of fresh paint and sawdust, the kind of place still waiting for its first bloodstain.
Dario set the deadbolt with his shoulder, his other hand gripping Evelyn's wrist—not hard enough to bruise, just enough to confirm she was real, here, alive after the ambush.
The back of his neck still prickled from the near-miss, the adrenaline not quite burned off despite their success.
Evelyn twisted free, but only to press her palm flat against his chest. "You're still breathing too fast."
"Occupational hazard." He caught her fingers before she could pull away, brought them to his mouth. The kiss he pressed to her knuckles was a mockery of chivalry, all teeth.
She didn't flinch. Instead, her free hand slid up his ribs, testing. "No holes I missed?"
"Would've told you before we left." He released her to shrug off his ruined jacket. The left sleeve was shredded where a bullet had grazed him—close enough to sting, far enough to spare him a hospital trip.
Evelyn exhaled through her nose. "That counts as a hole."
"Not one that matters." The jacket hit the floor. He reached for her again, but she stepped back, just out of reach.
Her eyes flicked to the window, the street below. "Daniel's late."
"He'll be here when he's done." Dario didn't bother checking the time. His lieutenant knew better than to keep him waiting without cause.
Evelyn's thumb rubbed at a smudge of dirt on her sleeve. "Celebrating seems premature."
Dario caught her chin, tilted her face up. "We're alive. That's worth something."
For a heartbeat, she held still. Then her mouth crashed against his.
It wasn't like the other times—no teasing, no calculated provocation. Just hunger, raw and immediate. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just shy of painful. He let her steer him backward until his thighs hit the edge of the table, let her push him down onto it.
She climbed into his lap with none of her usual hesitation. The safehouse's single lamp caught the gold in her hair, the flush spreading down her throat. Dario traced the line of it with his tongue, felt her pulse jump under his mouth.
Evelyn's hands worked at his belt with more determination than finesse. "You're thinking too much."
"Always." But he helped her, shoving fabric out of the way. Her skirt was already rucked up around her hips, his fingers sliding under the edge of her underwear. She was wet, hot, her breath hitching when he stroked her.
She bit his lower lip. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" He crooked his fingers, just to watch her eyes darken.
"Teasing." She rocked against his hand, impatient. "I didn't start this for foreplay."
Dario laughed, low and rough. "What did you start it for, then?"
Her answer was to shove his hand away and sink onto him in one smooth motion. The noise he made was half groan, half approval. Evelyn braced her hands on his shoulders, her hips moving in slow, deliberate rolls.
It wasn't frantic like before. No rush to take or prove anything.
Just the two of them, the solid weight of her in his lap, the quiet sounds she made when he hit just right.
Dario let his head tip back, let himself feel it—the stretch of her around him, the way her nails dug into his skin like she needed an anchor.
Her forehead dropped to his. "Look at me."
He did. Her pupils were blown wide, her mouth red from his. There was something terrifyingly open in her expression, something that made his chest tighten.
She kissed him again, softer this time. "I trust you," she murmured against his lips.
The words hit harder than any bullet.
Dario didn't answer. Couldn't. Instead, he gripped her hips and thrust up into her, swallowing her gasp. He didn't close his eyes when he came, didn't look away from her face when she followed.
After, when she slumped against him, breath still uneven, he pressed his mouth to the damp skin behind her ear. The words were there, clawing at his throat. He didn't let them out.
The lock turned in the door.
Evelyn tensed, but Dario held her in place with a hand on her thigh. "Daniel," he said, without turning.
His lieutenant cleared his throat. "We've got a problem."
Dario exhaled through his nose. "How bad?"
"Bad enough I didn't call first."
Evelyn slid off his lap, adjusting her clothes with quick, efficient movements. Dario stood, zipped his pants, and reached for the gun on the table.
"Show me," he said.
Dario watched Evelyn adjust the strap of her tank top, her fingers trembling just enough to betray the adrenaline still coursing through her. The gun on the table between them felt heavier than it should—not because of its weight, but because of what it implied.
"Bad enough I didn't call first," she'd said.
That was the problem. Evelyn didn't call. Not unless it was dire. And now she was here, in his private space, with Daniel Marsh standing silent by the door like a ghost waiting for permission to speak.
Dario picked up the gun, checked the safety, and tucked it into the back of his waistband. "You misread the situation," he said, watching her face.
Evelyn stiffened. "I didn't misread anything. You think I'd be here if I had another play?"
Daniel cleared his throat. "She's not wrong. The ledger's gone."
Dario stilled. The ledger wasn't just missing—it couldn't be missing. It was warded. Protected. Unless—
A cold understanding settled in his gut. Evelyn hadn't misread the situation. He had.
The wards weren't failing. Someone had bypassed them. And that meant one thing: whoever took it wasn't just a thief. They were connected.
Evelyn stepped closer, her voice dropping. "You told me the ledger was safe. That no one could touch it unless they had your blood or your permission."
"Unless," Dario corrected, "they had access to my blood."
Her breath hitched. "Who?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Daniel. "You still have eyes on the docks?"
Daniel nodded. "Yeah, but—"
"Find out who shipped out in the last twelve hours. Anything unusual. Crew changes, delays, new faces."
Evelyn caught his wrist. "Dario."
He met her gaze. The fear in her eyes wasn't for herself. It was for him.
That was new.
And it changed everything.
Dario pulled his wrist free, but not harshly. Just enough to break contact, to put space between them before that look in her eyes sank too deep. He couldn’t afford it—not now, not when the rules had just shifted under him.
"The wards didn’t fail," he said, more to himself than to her. "They were worked around."
Evelyn exhaled sharply. "Which means whoever took it knew exactly how your protections function. Down to the blood."
Daniel shifted by the door, his boot scuffing against the floorboards. "Or they had help."
Dario’s jaw tightened. The implication was clear. The only people who knew the specifics of his wards were those he’d trusted enough to bleed for. Literally. His circle was small—painfully so.
Evelyn’s fingers twitched toward the gun on the table again, then stilled. "You’re thinking it’s an inside job."
"I’m thinking," Dario said carefully, "that we don’t have the luxury of assumptions."
He crossed to the narrow window overlooking the alley, peeling back the edge of the curtain. The street below was quiet, just the usual flicker of neon from the deli sign across the way. No shadows out of place, no lingering figures. That didn’t mean anything.
Daniel cleared his throat again. "The docks won’t tell us shit if the ledger’s already moved. You know how fast things slip through there."
"They’re a starting point," Dario said.
Evelyn shook her head. "They’re a distraction. If someone went through the trouble of breaking your wards, they didn’t do it just to dump the ledger in a shipping container. They’ll use it."
Dario turned back to her. "And what would you do with it?"
The question hung there, sharp as a blade.
Evelyn didn’t flinch. "I’d go straight to the top. The ledger doesn’t just list names—it ties them to favors, debts, secrets. Whoever has it doesn’t just have leverage. They have a roadmap."
Daniel whistled low under his breath. "Shit."
Dario stared at her. That was the miscalculation. He’d assumed the ledger was a target for what it held—blackmail material, a way to twist arms. But Evelyn was right. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was a key.
And if someone had it, they weren’t just coming for him. They were coming for everything.
Evelyn’s voice cut through the silence. "You taught me one rule about this world, Dario. Power isn’t in having secrets. It’s in knowing whose secrets to keep."
He hadn’t realized she’d been listening that closely.
Now, he wished she hadn’t.
Because the second rule—the one he’d never said out loud—was that some secrets weren’t meant to be kept.
They were meant to burn.
The kitchen smelled of garlic and rosemary, the only light coming from the stove’s dim bulb. Evelyn Crane leaned against the counter, watching Dario Vitale stir the pan with the same precision he’d used earlier to dismantle a threat.
"You cook," she said.
He didn’t look up. "You sound surprised."
"I figured you had people for that."
"I do." The corner of his mouth twitched. "But I like knowing how things work."
She moved closer, close enough to catch the warmth of the stove and the sharper scent of his aftershave. "That why you let me in here? To see how you work?"
Dario slid the food onto two plates, handed her one. "You were already in."
They sat at the small table, the quiet between them not quite comfortable, not quite tense. Evelyn took a bite, the flavors richer than she expected.
"Good," she admitted.
His gaze flicked up. "You sound surprised again."
She shrugged. "Figured you’d be the type to burn water."
A faint huff of amusement. "I’ve been called worse."
Daniel Marsh’s ledger sat on the counter, the weight of it pressing into the silence. Evelyn didn’t ask if they were safe here. She already knew the answer—nowhere was safe. But this, at least, was a pause.
Dario watched her over the rim of his glass. "You’re not eating."
"I am."
"You’re pushing it around the plate."