“Down!”
Declan moved before I understood what I was seeing.
Glass exploded.
June screamed.
I hit the floor as a bullet tore through the antiques shop window and buried itself somewhere behind us.
Declan had already drawn a gun.
Another shot cracked through the night.
Then tires screamed.
The sedan disappeared around the corner.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
My ears rang.
Broken glass covered the wooden floor.
Declan slammed one hand against the door.
“Amelia!”
“I’m okay.”
“June?”
“I’ve had better Tuesdays,” June shouted.
It was Thursday.
That was June.
Declan scanned the street before looking back at me.
“Open the door.”
I froze.
“Amelia, they know exactly where you are now.”
That changed everything.
I unlocked the door.
Declan entered but did not approach me.
He called Gavin.
“Shots fired. Whitaker Antiques. Lock the road down.”
His voice transformed completely.
The exhausted man outside disappeared.
In his place stood the version of Declan Chicago feared.
Precise.
Cold.
Controlled.
Then he looked at me, and the hardness vanished.
“You’re bleeding.”
I touched my cheek.
A small piece of glass had cut me.
“It’s nothing.”
Declan started toward me and stopped himself after one step.
He remembered the boundary.
That mattered.
June noticed too.
“Bathroom’s in the back,” she said. “Medical kit beneath the sink.”
Declan retrieved it.
He placed it on the counter instead of touching me.
Within minutes, Gavin arrived with two men.
He examined the bullet.
“Suppressed rifle. Shooter wasn’t trying to stay invisible after the first round.”
Declan’s jaw tightened.
“Calloway?”
“Probably.”
I stared.
“Probably?”
Gavin looked at me.
“We’ll confirm.”
“What if it wasn’t him?”
Declan answered.
“Then I have a second problem.”
Wonderful.
June walked into the center of the shattered shop.
“I assume none of you will be reimbursing me with criminal money.”
Gavin blinked.
Declan nearly smiled.
“I own an insurance company.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’ll have the window replaced tomorrow.”
“Legally?”
“As legally as windows can be replaced.”
June looked at me.
“I hate that I like his answer.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped me.
Declan stared as if hearing me laugh hurt.
The moment vanished quickly.
We couldn’t stay.
Gavin wanted to move us to a house farther into the mountains.
I refused.
“I’ve spent months running.”
Declan’s gaze held mine.
“This isn’t running. It’s surviving tonight.”
“There’s always going to be another tonight with you.”
He had no response.
That silence hurt because it was honest.
Ultimately, I agreed because June refused to leave without me.
“If men are shooting through my windows,” she announced, “I am officially involved.”
The safe house was forty minutes away.
A cedar cabin hidden behind dense trees.
No nearby neighbors.
One narrow road.
Gavin checked every room.
Declan gave June the master bedroom.
She looked delighted.
“I’m starting to understand the criminal lifestyle.”
“June,” I warned.
“What? The mattress is excellent.”
Declan placed himself in the living room.
I took the upstairs bedroom.
At four in the morning, sleep was impossible.
I found Declan sitting beside the dark fireplace.
He stood immediately when I entered.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I will.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I folded my arms.
“Tell me everything.”
Declan understood.
He gestured toward a chair.
I remained standing.
He sat again.
“Three years ago, Silas Calloway started buying influence in territories my father once controlled.”
“You told me your father was dead.”
“He is.”
“How?”
Declan’s face hardened.
“A life like his tends to collect endings.”
I didn’t ask again.
“Silas believed merging our organizations through marriage would stabilize Chicago,” Declan continued. “I refused.”
“Until you didn’t.”
“Until fourteen people were killed in eleven weeks.”
I swallowed.
Declan looked toward the fireplace.
“People who worked for both sides. Drivers. Security. Two men who weren’t involved at all. One restaurant employee.”
I thought about the elegant television announcement.
The smiling reporters.
The words powerful families.
It had all looked glamorous.
Nothing about dead drivers appeared on screen.
“Savannah didn’t want the marriage either,” Declan said.
“Then why agree?”
“Her father controls everything she owns. Accounts. Property. Security. She’d tried leaving twice.”
“And?”
“He brought her back.”
A new image of Savannah formed reluctantly in my mind.
Not a victorious woman stealing someone’s boyfriend.
A daughter in a different kind of prison.
“She proposed the fake engagement,” Declan said. “Six months. Public alliance. Private separation. During those six months, Gavin and I would restructure enough business to remove Calloway’s leverage.”
“What does restructure mean?”
Declan looked at me.
“Move legitimate companies away from everything illegal. Close operations that should have been closed years ago. Cut men loyal to my father’s methods out of the organization.”
I stared.
“You were leaving?”
“Not completely.”
“Why?”
His eyes held mine.
“Because of you.”
I laughed softly, painfully.
“Don’t.”
“It’s true.”
“You don’t get to turn this into romance.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Telling you what happened.”
That was fair.
I hated that too.
“I knew I couldn’t ask you to build a life around what I was,” he said. “So I started changing what I was.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“There seems to be a pattern.”
“Yes.”
Again, no excuses.
I sat opposite him.
“When Savannah asked about me…”
“Silas had photographs.”
My skin went cold.
“What photographs?”
“You entering my building. Leaving restaurants. At your studio.”
“You knew?”
“I found out that afternoon.”
“The afternoon I came to tell you about the baby.”
“Yes.”
His voice softened.
“I had a plane waiting at Midway.”
My eyes narrowed.
“For me?”
“For Gavin and a security team. They were going to offer you relocation options.”
“Offer?”
Declan looked ashamed.
“That was the plan after I spent two hours arguing with Gavin.”
“What was the plan before?”
“To move you immediately.”
“Without asking.”
“Yes.”
“You were going to kidnap me for my own safety?”
“When you say it like that—”
“How else would anyone say it?”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I remembered the burned ultrasound.
“I destroyed our baby’s first picture because of you.”
Declan became completely still.
“I found it.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“In your sink.”
My throat tightened.
“There wasn’t anything left.”
“There was a corner.”
He reached inside his jacket.
From his wallet, he removed a tiny plastic sleeve.
Inside was a charred fragment.
A curved black edge.
Part of a hospital logo.
My eyes filled instantly.
“You kept that?”
“Every day.”
I couldn’t speak.
He placed it on the table.
“I didn’t know what it was at first. Gavin identified the hospital. We searched appointment logs, but your records were protected.”
“As they should be.”
“Yes.”
“When did you realize?”
“The pharmacy footage.”
His voice weakened.
“You were wearing that gray cap you hate.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You called it ugly.”
“It is ugly.”
“Then we agree.”
Silence settled.
For the first time since he arrived, Declan looked almost like the man I remembered.
Then he asked, “Did you want the baby?”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
“Even when you thought I’d betrayed you?”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped.
“And you decided to do it alone.”
“I decided our child deserved peace.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you?”
He looked around the guarded cabin.
“More tonight than I could yesterday.”
I rested both hands over my stomach.
“What does Silas want?”
“To find out what you mean to me.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because if he understands what you mean, you become leverage.”
“And the baby?”
Declan’s expression darkened.
“He doesn’t know.”
“If he learns?”
“He won’t touch you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, Declan. That’s exactly the problem. You believe wanting something badly enough makes it controllable.”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“You couldn’t control what I heard. You couldn’t control me leaving. You couldn’t control Calloway following Gavin. You couldn’t control that shooter.”
His face tightened with every sentence.
“Our baby cannot grow up surrounded by men carrying guns because his father promises he’ll control where the bullets go.”
His.
I had said his.
Declan noticed.
“So it’s a boy?”
My lips parted.
I hadn’t meant to reveal it.
We had received the genetic test results three days earlier.
“Yes.”
Declan inhaled slowly.
“A son.”
I looked away.
“What have you been calling him?”
“Peanut.”
Declan blinked.
I laughed despite myself.
“It started when an app said he was the size of one.”
“I have an heir named Peanut.”
My smile vanished.
“He is not your heir.”
Declan understood immediately.
“Right.”
“He isn’t inheriting territory.”
“No.”
“He isn’t inheriting enemies.”
“No.”
“He isn’t being taught that fear is respect.”
“No.”
“He gets to be a child.”
“Yes.”
“And if you can’t give him that—”
“I will.”
I shook my head.
“You’re doing it again.”
Declan stopped.
“Promises before plans.”
He leaned back.
“All right.”
I waited.
“What would a plan look like?”
The question surprised me.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“For permission?”
“Yes.”
I thought about it.
“Leave Chicago.”
He did not react immediately.
“Permanently?”
“If you want to be his father.”
His face changed.
That was the first truly impossible thing I had asked of Declan Voss.
“Sell the legitimate companies,” I continued. “Close everything else. Walk away from whoever expects you to be this person forever.”
“You think they let people like me retire?”
“I think you’re the man everybody claims controls half of Chicago.”
“Less than half.”
“Very reassuring.”
He almost smiled again.
I leaned forward.
“If you can’t get yourself out, how were you ever going to keep us out?”
That struck him.
I saw it.
He looked down at his hands.
They were hands that had signed deals, carried weapons, held me in the dark, and once spent forty minutes repairing a broken drawer in my studio because he refused to admit he didn’t know how.
“I don’t know if I can do it quickly,” he said.
“Then don’t promise quickly.”
“I can do it.”
“Don’t promise that either.”
He looked at me.
“What can I promise?”
“Nothing.”
That hurt him.
But I continued.
“Show me.”
The room went quiet.
Finally, Declan nodded.
“All right.”
He didn’t say I swear.
He didn’t say trust me.
He simply nodded.
At sunrise, Gavin entered.
“We identified the car.”
Declan stood.
“Calloway?”
Gavin looked at me before answering.
“No.”
Declan’s expression hardened.
“Then who?”
“One of ours.”
Silence.
Gavin placed a photograph on the table.
The man behind the wheel was someone I recognized.
Marcus Vale.
Declan’s operations lieutenant.
A man who had eaten dinner with us twice.
A man Declan trusted.
Gavin’s voice became grim.
“Marcus has been feeding Silas Calloway information for at least six months.”
Declan stared at the photo.
“How much does he know?”
“We don’t know yet.”
My stomach clenched.
Then Gavin’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Declan stepped toward him.
Gavin slowly lowered the phone.
“Savannah Calloway disappeared from her apartment thirty minutes ago.”
Declan went still.
Gavin continued.
“Before she vanished, she sent one message.”
“To who?”
Gavin looked directly at me.
“To Amelia.”