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“…needs to be handled before he causes more problems,” a man says. His voice is deep, gravelly.

“He’s back in New York,” another replies. “The wedding is our chance. It’s clean. Simple.”

“Simple.” That voice belongs to Remo. It’s low, almost lazy, but there’s steel under it. He could be discussing the weather or deciding someone’s fate. Probably the latter.

I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t make myself leave. I edge closer, peering through the crack. Remo sits at his desk, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on a stack of papers. Two men stand before him, one holding a photograph. Remo takes it, glances at it, then tucks it into his jacket.

“It’ll be done,” he says. “Make sure there’s no blowback.”

My pulse hammers as I step back. Unfortunately for me, my sneakers scuff against the floor, and the sound is deafening.

“Do you have a habit of eavesdropping, or is it just with me?”

I freeze. His voice reverberates through the air, sharp and precise. Slowly, I step into the doorway. Remo’s eyes lock onto mine, cold and unreadable, and the men with him glance at me, their expressions impassive.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I say, lifting my chin. “I was looking for you.”

“Congratulations. You found me.” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “What do you want?”

“I want to leave. Adeline called, and I’m meeting her for coffee.”

He studies me like I’m a puzzle that’s missing pieces. “And you thought you’d just…stroll out?”

I grit my teeth. “I didn’t think I needed to ask for permission to have a life.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that. But no, you don’t leave without my say-so.”

I take a step closer, fists clenched. “Why? What’s the point of keeping me here? You’ve already made your threats. I get it. I’m not going to the cops.”

Remo tilts his head. “Trust isn’t about threats, Daniela. It’s about control. And you don’t have any.”

“That’s not trust. That’s paranoia.”

“Call it whatever you want.” He stands, the movement fluid, predatory. “I know about the call, by the way.”

The room tilts. “What?”

“Your phone is tapped.” He says it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.

“You’re spying on me now? Jesus, Remo, do you even hear yourself?” My voice shakes, but I don’t care. “This isn’t normal. It’s sick.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, something dangerous flickers there. Then it’s gone. “Normal doesn’t apply here. Not to you. Not to me.”

I swallow hard, my voice rough. “At least call off your watchdogs on me today. If I show up with too many bodyguards to see Adeline, she’ll know something’s up.”

He studies me for a long beat like he’s deciding whether to entertain the request. I can see the cogs turning behind those piercing eyes, but he doesn’t answer right away. His mouth opens slightly like he has something else to say, but then he closes it again, the moment hanging in the air between us.

We both know what we’re thinking anyway. Since that night at the club, neither of us has been ready to speak about it. The raw, unspoken weight of what almost happened still lingers, and maybe it’s better left buried.

Remo shifts his posture, a slight change in his stance that signals his decision. “You can go,” he finally says. “But remember this: if you try anything funny, if you even think about running—” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “I’ll know. And you’ll regret it.”

****

The door to Remo’s office slams shut behind me, and the sound echoes down the hall like a judge’s gavel. My fists curl at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. I breathe through clenched teeth, steadying myself.

He gets under my skin so easily. It’s maddening.

The guards glance at me when I approach the door to the outside, their expressions blank as ever. One of them, the taller one with a buzz cut, steps aside wordlessly. I push the door open, letting the cool winter air slap me in the face.