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So this morning, I wanted to make sure she awoke to something nice. Something pleasant. Even though there was plenty of food in the house, I didn’t have the first idea how to cook it. So I placed an order for takeout, collected it, and set everything on the kitchen table.

When Serena emerged mid-morning, she didn’t say much as we ate. The silence was worse than anything she could have said.

I tried to catch her eye, but she stared resolutely at her food, pushing pancakes around the moat of syrup she’d poured over them. Her gold hair fell forward, creating a curtain between us.

“I should go,” I finally said, unable to bear it any longer.

“Why?” One word, flat and empty.

“Because this—” I gestured between us “—is clearly making you uncomfortable.”

She looked up then, her eyes piercing mine. “What happened to you last night?”

The question hung in the air. I could lie, make up some bullshit about a business meeting gone late. But something about the way she was looking at me—like she already knew the answer—stopped me.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She set down her fork with deliberate care. “There was blood in your hair.”

Something flickered across her face. Fear? Disgust? I couldn’t tell. My ability to read people seemed to malfunction around her.

“It’s one thing to know that I’m in the mob, it’s another to hear the details,” I stated firmly, taking my barely eaten food to the fridge, where I covered it and put it away.

“You know, I’m not such a stranger to...alternative business practices,” she said quietly.

So quietly that I had to strain my ears to hear.

“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded, bracing my hands on the counter.

Serena picked up her plate, repeating what I’d done. Only when her hands were free and the fridge door fell closed did I move, standing to trap her in the galley kitchen.

We stood there, facing off. The unspoken truth hung between us—she knew more than she was willing to tell.

Well, that wasn’t going to work. I would force the secrets from her.

As if reading my intent, Serena let out a harsh laugh. “I thought you were leaving, pirate.”

Her eyes met mine, those deep pools of brown that seemed to see right through my barricades.

“Come with me,” I prompted, giving us a way to end the stalemate.

A gold brow flicked in amusement.

“Let me take you fishing,” I insisted and took a step forward. “We haven’t spent much time together.”

Trapped on a boat, I could wear her down. Bring her secrets to the surface.

“See, here’s the thing.” Serena held up a graceful, delicate finger. “Last night, your boss commanded you to go fishing, and you came back bloody. I’m not sure I’m eager to ‘go fishing.’”

“Atlas isn’t my boss.”

“And you didn’t fish.”

A ragged sigh of frustration escaped my lips. “Taking an employee fishing is code for dealing with a problem. That’s not the kind of fishing I’m proposing to you. You said before that you’d only been on the water twice—and those were lakes. Let me show you a whole new world.”

If my words offered relief, she didn’t show it. Nor did she rise to the bait.

“If Atlas isn’t your boss, then who runs your syndicate?” she countered.