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“I don’t have ten thousand dollars,” I say—true whether I’m Aria or Chiara.

The hulk of a man pulls out a knife, letting the blade catch the light.

“Then we got a problem, don’t we?”

“Look, I have some cash. About three hundred. You can take it. Tell D’Angelo I’ll get the rest.”

“Three hundred?” the big guy laughs. “That doesn’t even cover last week’s interest.”

While we talk, the other starts methodically tearing the apartment apart—dumping drawers, flipping cushions, emptying cabinets.

“Stop it!” I yell, lunging toward him—until the big one grabs my arm and presses a knife to my cheek, murmuring, “This doesn’t have to get ugly. Just give us what we’re owed.”

“I told you, I don’t have it!”

The thin one grabs my purse from the counter and dumps it out. Wallet, keys, lip balm, receipts—all cascade onto the floor. He rifles through my wallet, takes the forty dollars inside.

“Please,” I sob through my tears. “I can get the money. I just need time.”

“Time’s up,” the big guy repeats, his hand reaching for my throat.

And then—a sound.

The door slams open.

A man steps inside like he owns the room—calm, lethal, eyes locked on them.

“Touch her again, and you’re dead.”

Charcoal suit, eyes like loaded weapons, and a face so devastating it belongs on the cover of a crime novel.

It’s him.

The man from the café. The one who saved my ass earlier today. And now—again.

I should be afraid.

Should wonder how he found me. Why he’s here.

But the way he looks at my attackers—like he’s already burying them in his mind—tells me everything I need to know.

He’s not here to join them.

He’s here to end them.

And right now? I don’t give a damn about the questions screaming in my head.

He came for me—and that’s enough.

Whatever brought him here, I just need him to finish it and get these bastards out of my apartment.

The air shifts the second he steps fully into the room.

Something electric. Dangerous. Final.

No one moves. Not for a breath.

Then chaos explodes.