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Could Cade’s sister really be the same Sophie? Or just another of the thousands obsessed with Nico Vitelli?

Driven by desperate curiosity, I move to the vanity and rummage through the drawers. There’s not much: scattered Advil packets, a tangled charger, more dog-eared books . . . and a thick white card half stuck under the drawer joint. I pull it free.

I gasp at the message scrawled across it in bold, masculine strokes.

I want you in red . . . and dripping wet tonight,fiammetta.Nico.

The words pulse with dominance. This isn’t just any note. It’s a glimpse into the mind of Chicago’s most dangerous man.

The rumble of an engine shatters my snoopfest. My pulse spikes and I hastily shove the card back where I found it. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s time to go.

I pair the dark-wash jeans with a soft cashmere top and grab the rest of my things. When I find the living room empty, I move to peek out the window.

Morning sunlight gleams off a hulking, black Ford pick-up truck parked in front of the house. Cade leans against the driver’s side, phone pressed to his ear. His posture is stiff, tension radiating off him.

Whoever he’s speaking to is pissing him off. Cracking open the window an inch, I strain to hear.

“Hector is dead, Hawkins. Get over it.” A pause, then his voice rises. “Sucks for you, then. I’ll get Antonov when I’m good and ready. Now fuck off.”

I jerk back from the window, my heart racing. They’re arguing about what happened yesterday.

Between Hector’s death, talks of Antonov, and Cade’s possible connection to the Outfit, everything feels like a puzzle, and I’m trapped in the middle of it with no idea how the pieces connect.

I step onto the porch, my eyes drifting past the truck to where Saint is in the distance, moving like a shadow on the manicured lawn. A surge of impulsive bravery grips me and I wave.

It’s only a small motion, but Saint’s head snaps to me instantly. I freeze, unsure of what’s about to happen. For a moment, he just stands there, muscles taut. His gaze flicks to Cade, seeking permission.

At Cade’s curt nod, Saint bounds toward me. My stomach flips, but I force myself to sit on the porch steps, determined to stay calm.

He reaches me, towering over my seated form.

“I’m sorry about this morning, big guy,” I murmur as I reach out to scratch his head. Then, the impossible happens. Saint not only lays down, he slowly rolls over, his massive paws stretching out as he offers me his belly to scratch.

A startled laugh escapes me. “Oh, my God. Cade’s right. You’re a giant suck under all that menace!”

Asmy fingers find the sweet spot on his belly, the deadly guardian melts into a puddle of lolling tongue and contented sighs. His tail thumps against the ground in a steady rhythm, like a metronome counting the seconds where I glimpse the soul behind the weapon.

“I hate to break up the bonding session.” Cade jogs up the step bend to pick up my bag and spins back. “But it’s time to go.”

Giving him one final scratch, I stand and brush the dirt off my jeans and watch as Saint leaps into the truck bed like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door. Leather, musk, and citrus immediately wrap around my senses.

Oh shit.

That’s the scent I was craving this morning. It gets even more intense when Cade climbs in beside me. The truck rumbles to life, doors locking automatically with soft, electronic clicks.

Two days.

Two days of being cooped up in this space with this grumpy jerk who smells divine is going to drive me nuts.

“Your new boots didn’t fit?” Cade asks as he merges into traffic, tension from the earlier phone call still clinging to him.

My gaze drops to my trusty ankle boots with the secret compartment that holds my credit card.

“No, they were the perfect size. It’s just that, with Louboutins, I always have to break them in first otherwise, I get blisters.”

It’s not even been a full minute, and I’ve already told my first lie.