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“Genesis, it’s been a few days.” Ollie smiles, moving to the side and opening the door. He freezes when he notices Julian behind me.

I make aget out of heregesture toward Julian, but he shakes his head.

This doesn’t look good.

Ollie’s shoulders tense as Troy steps toward me.

“He’s with me,” I hurriedly tell them.

Troy—a man who’s nearly seven feet tall with muscles galore—levels his blue eyes on me. “Now, Genesis, you know?—”

Julian steps to my side. “I’m her fiancé and about to write a major check to this place. I’m no danger to this facility. You have my word.”

From the expression on Ollie’s face, I know he recognizes Julian.

While men in the mob are known as dangerous, they do help out the community as well. The Lombardis donate millions to charities and organizations to keep their name as clean as they can. They do all their dirty work behind the scenes, though most people know their business isn’t legit. I’ve never heard of them hurting women or children.

“Fiancé?” Ollie’s mouth falls open.

I nod. “He’s here as a major donor.”

Troy slowly nods and opens the door for us.

Julian nods in appreciation as we pass them.

As soon as I walk into the lobby, Lora bursts from her office.

“Genesis!” she calls out, rushing over to hug me. “I saw what happened on the news. I’m so sorry, honey.”

I squeeze her tight, and she runs her hand down my back.

Lora is the mission director. Safe Hearts is her life.

As she pulls away, her gaze drifts from me to Julian.

“This is myfiancé.” I grit my teeth as I say the word. “He wanted to watch me today and give averygenerous donation.”

I’m racking up the lies, but I don’t know how else to explain our relationship. It’d be mortifying to say he hired me to have his baby.

Julian extends his hand toward Lora and introduces himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lora shakes his hand, distrust on her face. She knows I’d never put the mission in harm’s way though.

A teenage boy calls Lora’s name, and she leaves us.

“All right,” I say with an annoyed groan toward Julian. “Time for class.”

He scrunches his brows. “Class?”

I motion for him to follow, and he looks around the place as he does. We pass the rec room, where a cartoon is playing, and then reach the classroom.

The room is cramped with only enough space to fit a teacher’s desk and ten small ones. Inspirational posters hang on the bright yellow walls, along with sections of crayon scribbles.

I blink, annoyed with the flickering ceiling light. It’s been that way for weeks now, and we’re waiting for someone to fix it.

“Sit in that corner desk,” I direct Julian. “And smile. Jesus, you’re going to freak people out.”

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t be here,” he argues, glaring at the desk and then at me.