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9

MITCH

M itch was already awake when the sky cracked open with the first light of morning.

He stood at the window of Andi’s loft, arms crossed over his chest, shirtless, the quiet hum of the city below offering no comfort. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after last night. Not after watching her strip away every layer of defense—physical, emotional, political—and hand him her trust like it was a live grenade.

She’d fallen asleep sitting between his legs, her cheek pressed against his thigh, warm and naked beneath the blanket he’d wrapped around her, her breathing slow and even for the first time in days. It had taken every ounce of restraint not to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed, but he suspected that’s what she expected, and she deserved better than that.

She hadn’t spoken after that final question. ‘What happens now?’ But she hadn’t needed to.

Now… he protected her.

Now… he figured out who the hell was trying to destroy her from the inside out.

He pulled his encrypted phone from the kitchen counter and typed a single message to Cerberus’ primary digital operations team:

Request priority check: Surveillance signatures. Loop for trace echoes—digital, mobile, wearable. Possibly unconfirmed breach via comms layer. Suspect internal.

The reply came within minutes—much faster than he would have liked:

Confirmed trace found. Signal masking protocol matched to campaign device ID. Embedded access route in scheduling software—ceremonial clearance level. Tier 3 access required.

Mitch clenched his jaw. Tier 3 clearance meant someone in Andi’s top five. Someone with authority… someone who had been invited in.

He stepped away from the window, checked the feed to confirm Andi was still asleep—she was, her arm draped across the pillow he’d used—and pulled on a shirt before crossing to the gear bag he’d locked up near the kitchen.

He extracted a small padded case, opened it, and removed a proximity sensor set: two flat disks, no larger than buttons, low-power emitters that ran off encrypted Bluetooth. Not standard issue. Cerberus didn’t do babysitting tech. This was something he used when clients didn’t follow orders—when they walked into kill boxes or thought ‘backup’ was optional.

He pulled out a pair of her jackets from the coat rack, both ones she wore often—one leather, one sleek and cropped—and sewed the sensors into the interior seams with surgical precision. Her phone already pinged off his Cerberus route tracker, but now, if she moved outside of the designated zone, he’d know before she opened a door.

He was securing the last stitch when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“I thought you weren’t a morning person,” Andi murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.

He turned slowly. She stood barefoot in the T-shirt he’d had on last night, hair mussed, legs bare. Her eyes were watchful but not guarded—not yet.

“I’m not,” he said. “But you have a mole, and I don’t sleep well when people are trying to kill my clients.”

She padded toward him, arms folded across her chest. “You think it’s someone close to me?”

“It’s not a theory anymore. It’s confirmed.” He tossed the phone onto the counter, where the screen still displayed the Cerberus diagnostic summary. “Tier 3 clearance.”

She sucked in a breath. “That’s…”

“Maya. Frank. Maybe a press secretary, depending on how you’ve set up campaign privileges. Only a few people have that level.”

“Jesus.”

He didn’t respond. She stepped closer, slow but unafraid, eyes searching his face like she was looking for something that could steady her.

“And now what?” she asked.

“Now I narrow the list. I lock down the access points. I issue personal comms replacements for every single one of your senior team, and I do it without warning. Whoever’s feeding intel is doing it through backdoor surveillance. Which means they’re sloppy. And scared.”

Andi rubbed her forehead, frustration breaking through her posture. “They’re risking federal prison for what? A payout? A threat?”

He stepped in, fingers brushing her chin to tip her face up. “We’ll find out. But until we do, you don’t go anywhere without a secure route and eyes on you.”

“I already agreed to that.”

“You agreed to me.”

Her lips parted.

He didn’t give her time to argue. “Come here,” he said.

He took the small velvet box from the counter and opened it. Inside sat a silver ring—simple, brushed metal, elegant. Nothing flashy.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Panic signal,” he said. “Disguised as jewelry. Tap it twice, and it sends a silent ping to my phone; three times and it sends a ping to Cerberus senior operatives. Both two and three will be GPS-locked. Four taps, and it escalates to an emergency override that disables nearby communications and locks out unsecured devices.”

She took it from the box with careful fingers. “You’re giving me a Bat-Signal?”

“I’m giving you a fighting chance if something goes sideways.”

Andi held it up to the light, studying it. “Looks like a wedding band.”

“It’s a shield,” he said. “Not a symbol.”

She slipped it onto her right hand, twisting it once. “Does it come with a matching one for the overbearing bodyguard?”

“No,” Mitch said, watching her closely. “Mine’s permanent.”

She went still at that, eyes flicking to his. “You wear something like this?”

“Not jewelry. But when I take someone under my protection, I don’t take it lightly. If you go down, I go down trying to stop it.”

She swallowed hard, then stepped in and placed her palm on his chest, right over his heart. “This isn’t just the job anymore, is it?”

Mitch didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“You trust me to follow orders now?” he asked instead.

Andi arched an eyebrow. “Mostly.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to that low, commanding pitch she was starting to recognize. “Try again.”

She started to roll her eyes—then caught herself. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Then put on the black jacket,” he said. “We’re heading to campaign HQ.”

“What, no time for breakfast?”

“You can eat in the car.”

She turned to grab her bag, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “You’re not going to tell me what you did to it, are you?”

He met her gaze head-on. “No.”

Andi gave a short half-laugh and disappeared into the bedroom.

Mitch took the opportunity to grab his gear, double-check the new encrypted comms unit, and loop in Coop for eyes-on support once they arrived at the HQ. Whatever came next—whoever was selling her out—wouldn’t stay hidden for long. Not now.

He tapped a message into the Cerberus feed:

New parameters: Monitor all staff devices within 20-foot proximity of Donato’s GPS. Look for signal spikes, unauthorized access, secondary device syncing. We’ve got a traitor to pin.

He slid the phone into his back pocket and holstered his weapon. This wasn’t just about keeping her breathing anymore. This was about eliminating the threat—decisively, permanently—and proving that when Andi Donato gave him her trust, he was the man worthy of holding it.

* * *

Mitch parked the SUV three blocks from the press venue. He could’ve pulled right up to the cordoned entrance, but he didn’t trust the street perimeter. Too many open lines of sight. Too many reporters who didn’t play by the rules.

Andi looked over from the passenger seat. “You’re calculating a sniper angle, aren’t you?”

“I’m calculating ten.”

She gave a dry little laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He reached across her lap, opened the glove box, and pulled out the encrypted comm badge he’d clipped for her that morning. Matte black, shaped like a campaign pin.

“Left lapel,” he said.

She took it, pinned it without a word. She didn’t argue anymore about things that looked like control but were really safety. Progress.

As they walked toward the building, she stayed a half step ahead. She was back in performance mode—heels sharp, stride confident, chin high. But Mitch could see the tension in her spine. Her jaw worked a little harder with every step. She didn’t enjoy being on this side of the ambush zone again. Too public. Too unpredictable.

He scanned the faces ahead, then the rooftops. No glint. No elevated figures. A channel update from Coop pinged in his ear: no known threats on location, perimeter holding.

That didn’t mean they were in the clear.

They reached the steps of the old courthouse just as the flashbulbs started. Local press. National cameras. A few political sharks in borrowed blazers trying to look neutral. The team had announced the event as a community development pitch, but the crowd smelled like bloodhounds sniffing for scandal.

Andi squared her shoulders. He saw it in her body—the moment she stepped into the role. Her voice shifted. Her smile turned on like a light switch. She wasn’t faking it, but she was building a wall.

The first ten minutes were fine. Predictable. A few questions about zoning reform. A long-winded local columnist asking about permit extensions and union bid compliance. Mitch kept his eyes moving, cataloguing threats, watching every shift in the crowd.

Then a woman with a side ponytail and a mic from a digital outlet shouted over the others. “Councilwoman Donato—can you comment on the recent rumors about a security breach inside your campaign?”

Andi’s eyes didn’t flicker. “As you know, we don’t comment on unsubstantiated rumors.”

“But the photos…”

“Were delivered anonymously and are under active investigation,” Andi said. “And I trust the people around me to do their jobs while I do mine.”

Another reporter jumped in, younger, louder. “Is it true you’re under twenty-four-hour protection from the private black ops security firm, Cerberus?”

Mitch stepped forward before she could speak. His body slid into place in front of her like a gate locking shut.

“That’s enough,” he said.

He didn’t raise his tone. He didn’t have to. The crowd stilled.

“I’m sorry, and you are…?” the woman asked, mic still raised.

“Leaving,” Mitch replied. “Along with the rest of you. Councilwoman Donato has finished her statement.”

“We weren’t finished…”

“Yes, you were.”

The press flinched at the sound of a single, clipped syllable.

Behind him, Andi placed a hand gently on his back—two fingers only, a silent message. I’ve got this. He ignored it. Instead, he stepped in tighter and laid one hand flat on her hip. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just steady. Andi’s inhale was sharp, audible to no one but him.

The crowd surged again with flashbulbs. Someone caught the touch. Someone would post it. Good. Let them speculate. He held his position until Maya stepped out of the building, flagged the car, and gave a signal.

Mitch took them out the way they’d come—Andi never breaking stride, never dropping that perfect press smile—but he could feel the difference. She walked a little closer to his side now. Leaned slightly into the pressure of his hand on her waist.

By the time they reached the SUV, the cameras were still snapping.

He opened the door and waited for her to climb in. She did—but not before glancing up at him with a look that was equal parts gratitude and warning.

“Your hand,” she said.

“What about it?”

“It was a statement.”

“I don’t whisper,” he said. “I speak, so people listen.”

She didn’t argue. But she didn’t look away, either.

Back at the loft, night settled over the city like a second skin. Mitch locked down the door, looped the perimeter cams, and swept the digital logs again for anomalies. Andi disappeared into her room for a shower, and he used the quiet to get ahead on his Cerberus brief.

Coop’s field report on the press event uploaded clean. No flagged data spikes, no signal interference.

But when he checked the system alerts, he found a message waiting.

Priority: Medium

Sender: Unknown

Route: Masked IP

Delivered: Hand drop, 1900 hrs

Target: Langdon

He opened the file and froze.

Cerberus had scanned it through a biometric check. The envelope had been delivered to the front desk of their off-grid facility in River North—a place known only to a handful of Cerberus contractors and high-clearance allies.

The message inside was short. Handwritten. Black ink. Expensive stationery.

You’re protecting the wrong woman. Cerberus can’t stop what’s coming.

If you stay, you’ll burn with her.

You think this is about her career.

It isn’t.

We’ll take her when we’re ready.

And when we do, you won’t even see it coming.

There was no signature. No direct threat. Just implication and arrogance—and confidence in access Mitch hadn’t accounted for.

He scanned the letter again, then pulled a latex glove from the drawer and sealed it in an evidence bag. He needed to get Cerberus to do an in-depth analysis. Someone had obtained access to that drop box, which meant the breach wasn’t just political anymore. It was personal.

Andi stepped out of her room then, towel around her shoulders, eyes clear but tired.

“You okay?” she asked. He didn’t answer. She frowned. “Mitch?”

He held up the envelope. “This one’s for me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“They delivered it to one of our secure facilities. By hand.”

She came closer, reading the first few lines through the plastic. Her color drained. “Jesus.”

He didn’t let her look away.

“They’re not just watching you anymore. They’re baiting me.”

Andi wrapped her arms around herself. “What does that mean?”

Mitch set the envelope on the counter. “It means we escalate. Total lockdown. No unvetted staff. No unscheduled appearances. And you don’t leave this loft without my word. Not even to get the damn mail.”

Her voice cracked. “You think it’s someone close to me.”

“I think this letter means we’re running out of time fast to figure it out.”

He stepped in, wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, and tilted her face up to his.

“You asked me what happens now,” he said. “This is what happens now—we play offense.”

Andi didn’t answer. She just nodded once. Then leaned into him like she didn’t have another move left. And Mitch knew, as he folded her into his arms, that this wasn’t the end of the game. It was just the opening move.