I’ve been in New York for the last day and a half, but I haven’t been able to go back to the house.

Cilla lied to me.

I know the real truth. And it all makes sense. It all makes perfect, sick sense.

But I meant what I said—I’m no hero. I slew her dragon, but I’m not her hero. I can’t be.

I step off the elevator and survey the club. It’s Mea Culpa’s anniversary party. Tonight, the guest list is by invitation only. But it’s not the anniversary I’m celebrating. There’s a meeting tonight too. An important one. Fuck my timing.

“Killian,” Mrs. Borgado lays her hand on my forearm. She’s the wife of Bennie Borgado, cousin to the boss of one of the Detroit mob families.

I force a smile, but my eyes are on the door. I’m waiting for Cilla, who’s late.

“Mrs. Borgado, you look enchanting.” She’s in her mid-forties and attractive, but I’m not interested in her.

“Thank you, Killian. It’s quite the party you’ve put on.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Borgado.”

“Layne. I told you to call me Layne.”

“Layne,” I say, sipping my drink. The door opens and, just like it has every time it’s opened in the last half hour, my heart rate picks up. But it’s not her.

The door hasn’t quite closed when it’s pushed open again. My jaw tightens. I glance at Hugo who sees him at the same time I do. Benji. Fucking Benji crashing this party.

Chrissy runs in behind him.

“Excuse me,” I say to Mrs. Borgado, frankly relieved for the excuse to walk away. I meet Chrissy’s eye to let her know I’ve got this and greet my cousin just as he’s taking a drink off a passing server’s tray. “Ben. What are you doing here?”

“You’re having a party and didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”

“You’re not hurt. You’re drunk.”

Hugo walks over. “Boss?”

I shake my head. “I got this.” I turn Ben away from the group. “What are you doing here, Ben? You knew the club was closed for a private party.”

“I got scared. What I told you the other day. What if they come after me?”

I exhale and it takes all I have not to shake my cousin to death. “I told you I’m not paying off this debt.”

He swallows the contents of his glass, glances around nervously. “I need another drink.”

The lights go down and the music changes. I check my watch as spotlights illuminate the stages. It’s almost time for the meeting and the entertainment has begun. I need to get this idiot out of here.

“No drink. Club’s closed tonight.”

I signal one of my men over. “Get Ben a taxi.”

“Yes, sir.”

I have to physically take hold of Ben and walk him toward the exit. “Why? Why’s tonight such a big deal?”

“Because I said so.” I check my watch. The guest of honor will be here soon.

“Christ, I’ll go,” he says.

Hugo’s beside me in the next minute. Cilla’s still not here and I see a couple of men walking into the meeting room.

“I’ll take care of this,” Hugo says, relieving me of my cousin.

“Kill, what the fuck. We’re family—”

I don’t bother to answer. Just as Hugo opens the doors to escort my cousin out, Cilla steps into view with John a few steps behind her. I swear every eye in the place turns to the doors when she sweeps in wearing the dress I bought her, looking stunning, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. Her hair is swept off her face and her makeup is heavier than usual and fuck if I don’t want to go to her, wrap her in my arms and steal her away. Never let her out of my sight again. Never leave her alone again. Not after Florida.

Her gaze finally falls on me. We stare at each other from across the room and it’s so fucking cliché and stupid but something shifts inside me and it’s like this instinct to protect, to guard, to rescue—fuck, maybe to be her hero—it’s like they take over every fiber of my being and she’s all I can see, all I can think about.

I go to her, stop just a foot from her. Her eyes are searching mine, and I know the question she wants to ask. But I don’t want to talk about Callahan right now.

Drawing her to stand beside me, I address my comment to John, the driver. “You’re late.”

“An accident, sir. I took the fastest route I could.”

I nod. Dismiss him. Turn to Cilla. “You look beautiful.”

“Is it done?” she asks.

I nod once.

She doesn’t say a word, just keeps staring up at me and I want to know what’s going on in her head because I can’t read her eyes. She’s too guarded. Too careful. She’s had to be.

A waiter passes with champagne. I stop him. “Get me two whiskeys.” I don’t want champagne. This isn’t a celebration.

“Yes, sir.”

Cilla puts her hands over her face, rubs it, then her neck. The waiter returns and I take the tumblers, hand her one. Her hand is trembling when she takes the drink and I watch her swallow it. All of it.

“Easy, Cilla.”

“Why?” she looks around, locates a waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses and signals him to come over. I watch her. “Get me a bottle,” she says, then points to me. “On him so make it a good one.”

“Cilla.”

“Sir?” the waiter asks me as my cell phone rings. I ignore the call and the look I give him dismisses him, but not before Cilla swallows what’s in the glass and takes another from his tray. She turns to face me and gives me a ridiculous smile.

“I’m celebrating,” she says, holding the glass up. “To justice. Cheers.” She swallows what’s in there too.

People are looking now. I take her by the arm, turn her away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” My phone starts up again. “Jesus!” I take it out and, without looking at the screen, silence it, shove it back into my pocket.

“What’s wrong with me? Nothing. I’m the happiest woman in the world tonight. Look at me. All of this?” She spins around, stumbles. I catch her. “A very expensive gift from my dragon slayer.” She turns in search of a waiter. I force her attention back to me. “My hero,” she adds on, the sarcasm in her tone biting.

Hugo walks toward us. “Santa Maria’s here.” He gestures to the entrance. It’s Giovanni Santa Maria, Dominic Benedetti’s cousin, and the second most powerful man on the east coast. He’s standing in for Dominic tonight. This is why Ben had to go. This meeting tonight, it’s secret. A new alliance is being formed. One that will rock organized crime in North America.

Giovanni scans the room. I’ve only seen him once before. He’s a big guy, as big as me. He’s dressed elegantly in an expensive suit and two men flank him. Soldiers. I get the feeling he can handle whatever the fuck comes his way, though.

I give him a nod when he sees me.

The phone starts to vibrate with a call again. “Fuck.”

Cilla tries to pull free. “Let me go. I’m here, like you want. Dressed up like you want. I’ll even spread my legs for you later, just like you want.”

I tug on her arm. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Cilla.” I dig the phone out of my pocket.

“I don’t care what these people think of me so I must be embarrassing you. Let me go home and you won’t have to worry about me doing that ever again.”

“I’ll take her upstairs,” Hugo says.

I look at the screen, not expecting what I’m seeing.

“You won’t touch me,” Cilla spits back, trying to free herself from me.

When I release her, she stumbles backward, but Hugo catches her. I turn my back and swipe the green bar to answer.

“What?” I bark into the phone.

“Don’t fucking turn your back on me!” It’s Cilla, but I’m not paying attention to her. Not now.

“When?” I ask. Shit. Fuck. Shit. I take a deep breath in, nod, turn to face Cilla. “We’ll be right there.”

Hugo’s holding her back, but she’s not fighting anymore. Her expression changes as she watches my face, watches me disconnect the call.

It’s like she knows before I say a word because her big eyes fill up with tears and her lip is trembling.

“Cilla,” I start.

A tear rolls down her face. “What?” it’s barely a whisper.

I signal to Hugo to release her. “You need to take care of the meeting,” I tell him.

“What is it?” she’s more panicked now.

I rub the scruff of my jaw. “It’s your brother.”

“What?” She knows what I’m going to say. I see it in her eyes.

“He tried to hurt himself.” Hang himself. Like Ginny. My gut twists, and seeing Cilla double over with an unnatural sound, I know exactly what she’s feeling. Fucking exactly. It’s like the fucking past just catapulted itself into the present because it’s not done with me yet. It’s not done with either of us.

“He’s alive,” I say, but I don’t know if he’s okay. “Let’s go.”

She straightens, nods. Her face is the color of ashes and there’s a strange look in her eyes, a resignation almost. I think this is worse than hysteria.

We’re almost out the door when Cilla stops, grips my arm. I look down at her. I already know what she is going to ask. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”