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I arch a brow at him, my lips curling in a slow, challenging smile. "Yeah, but he doesn't know that."

Jensen chuckles deeply from beside me, relaxing into his seat. "Cruz won’t know what hit him."

"True," I murmur, eyes flicking toward Matteo, then Jensen, assessing silently. "I'll decide who's going in with me closer to meeting time. We'll play it by ear."

Eli groans dramatically, glancing back at me with exaggerated dismay. "Great. That means we’re stuck babysitting our PD friends for another three days."

I smirk at his irritation, arching an eyebrow playfully. "Consider it community outreach, Eli. Builds character."

He rolls his eyes, lips twisting. "I'd prefer the kind of character built over drinks, but fine."

My laugh cuts softly through the tension as I lean back, closing my eyes for just a moment. Cruz might think he's calling the shots, but he has no fucking clue about the storm he’s just invited into his world.

Chapter 9

Seanna

Somehow,I’mnotsurprisedto find another sleek black box waiting for me on my doorstep, almost perfectly centered, as if carefully placed by meticulous hands. Moonlight spills across my cabin porch, outlining it with an eerie, silvered glow. Whoever’s behind these twisted little gifts clearly wants my attention. Unfortunately, they’re also getting irritation—mixed with a dash of grudging curiosity.

I pause, gaze sweeping carefully over the shadows between the trees, assessing the night’s silence. The property sprawls empty and isolated around me, the woods pressing close, whispering quietly in the darkness. With Mom and my dads deep in Chicago chasing a new lead and Hydessa submerged in an undercover op she barely discussed, I’m alone here. It’s rare, a stillness I normally savor, but tonight there’s a subtle edge to it, sharp enough to keep my senses heightened.

Sighing softly, I lean down and scoop up the box, its smooth, heavy surface cool against my fingertips. Turning to unlock the door, I carry it inside, kicking the door shut behind me with a decisive bang. I toss my keys onto the entry table, hearing them skid briefly across the polished wood before coming to rest. The entire cabin feels too quiet, every familiar creak and rustle amplified in the night’s hush.

I set the box down carefully on my kitchen counter, tapping my nails impatiently against the sleek surface before flipping the lid open. Nestled against midnight velvet, a single black rose stares up at me, hauntingly perfect, dark petals glinting softly beneath my kitchen’s overhead light.

“Charming,” I mutter dryly, picking it up delicately between two fingers. The petals are impossibly soft, too beautiful to be anything but a warning—a promise that someone out there is watching me closely.

With a low sigh, I set the flower aside, pulling out my phone. Scrolling swiftly through my contacts, I tap Max’s number, pacing slowly back and forth across the polished wood floor as it rings. He picks up on the third ring, his voice calm and alert, clearly expecting trouble.

“Seanna. Everything alright? I don't normally hear from you this often.”

“I got another delivery,” I tell him bluntly, irritation threading through my voice. “This one’s a black rose. What does it mean?”

He exhales slowly, thoughtful for a moment before he answers. “Black roses mean many things—the end of one era and the start of another, defiance, resilience, even transformation. Could also represent deep, enduring love, though I doubt that's the intent here. Unless whoever left it is obsessed with you. Was there a note?”

“Nothing,” I reply sharply, staring at the rose’s dark beauty as I shift the topic. “Any progress from your end on Reyes or his people?”

Max lets out a frustrated sound. “I’m still coming up empty. They’re ghosts, Seanna. Better at hiding and being invisible than even I am—and trust me, that’s saying something.”

I shake my head, sighing. “I had a meeting tonight with Cruz at the Silver Orchid. He’s suspicious but interested. I go back in three days to finalize negotiations.”

Max lets out a short laugh, humor tinged with genuine concern. “Maybe I should send in one of the recruits to watch your back. Considering Thorne’s particular dislike for federal agents, maybe that’s not the smartest idea—though I do think you’re the exception.”

A laugh slips from my lips, lightening some of the heaviness in my chest. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m good. I can handle Cruz. And I’m definitely not worried about some prick sending me roses in boxes.”

Max’s voice softens, genuine affection slipping through the gruffness. “Just watch yourself, kid. If it is obsession, that doesn’t usually end well.”

I grin faintly, my voice confident and unwavering. “You worry too much, Uncle Max. I’ve got this.”

Ending the call, I set the phone aside, glancing again at the rose resting on the counter. Let whoever sent this watch me—they’ll quickly learn I’m not someone they should’ve fucked with.

They’ll find out soon enough.

Slipping my shoes off I pour myself a generous whiskey. I savor the burn as it slides down my throat, chasing away the remnants of tonight's tension and the nagging irritation from whoever's playing this twisted little game. The familiar warmth spreads smoothly, easing my nerves just enough to regain control over the restless storm simmering beneath my skin.

Glass cradled loosely in hand, I wander down the hall toward my bedroom, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath my bare feet. My cabin usually feels like a sanctuary, a fortress nestled deep within solitude—but tonight, every familiar shadow seems sharper, every silence heavier.

I step into my bedroom, taking one lazy sip of whiskey, but my muscles instantly snap to attention. A sharp spike of adrenaline overrides the whiskey's comforting burn, and I freeze mid-step, eyes locked on yet another goddamned box—this one perched boldly in thecenter. Of. My. Fucking. Bed.