“Hey,” I say when I hear the door to Caine Foster’s office open behind me.

“Logan, Logan, Logan . . .” Caine sighs as he walks in and takes his seat in the big leather chair across the desk from me.

He shakes his head, but the small smile on his face tells me he’s more amused than annoyed by what I did last night.

“What were you thinking?” he asks. As usual, he’s wearing a sharp, well-fitted suit. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling glass panels let me see the sun setting over the city.

In this swanky office, he looks more like some kind of a CEO than the son of a mafia boss. People say the Fosters are going legit, and by the looks of Caine, there may be some truth to those rumors.

I shrug. “I just did what I had to do.”

“Damsel in distress. So irresistible to a guy like you, right?” Caine cocks me an arrogant smirk.

I ignore his question. As long as my stunt last night didn’t anger anybody enough to make them want to kill me or Harper, I don’t care what happens. I’m leaving this world anyway.

“As it so happens, if I had to wait for your help, it would’ve been too late,” I say.

To his credit, Caine wipes that smirk off his face. In a grim voice, he says, “I’m sorry about that. There was a family emergency, and you know how it is. Family comes first.”

I nod. “I understand.”

“I know I dropped the ball this time. You know it’s important to us that we take care of our people. I did what I could. From what I heard, old man Enzo was happy to cooperate with you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. What did you tell him anyway?”

“Well, for once, Todd was helpful. He knew for sure nothing happened between you and Rosa because he was watching her the whole night, trying to hit on her,” he says.

I chuckle. “He’s a creepy bastard, your cousin.”

“Hey. He’s not a real cousin, okay? We treat his father like family, but we’re not related by blood,” Caine says.

“I know.” I let my lips curl up into a small smile. This kind of reaction is exactly why I like to refer to Todd as Caine’s cousin.

But it’s time for some serious talk.

“Look, I’m here because there’s something we need to talk about.” I lean back in my chair. It’s significantly smaller and lower than Caine’s—a deliberate design decision, no doubt. I clasp my hands together.

“I’m listening.” In the blink of an eye, Caine’s back to his usual, professional self, ready to get things done. Even if his father has to retire due to health reasons, he’s entirely ready to take over.

“I have to quit,” I say. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Caine lets out another big sigh and looks at me. “You’ve probably thought this through, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind? Better pay? Round-the-clock protection?” he asks.

“I appreciate the offer, but no,” I say firmly.

“Damn. It’s going to be a pain in the ass, trying to find someone good enough to replace you.” Caine appears so genuinely annoyed that I can’t help but grin.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No, you’re not.” Caine shakes his head. “Look at you. You’re happy to be leaving the business.”

My grin grows wider. “I am.”

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?”

I simply nod.

“Girls,” Caine groans. “They’re trouble.”

I laugh. “One of these days, a girl is going to show you why she’s worth the trouble.”

Caine continues to look at me with an irritated frown on his face. “It’s been a pleasure working with you,” he says, rising from his chair and extending his hand across his desk.

“Likewise.” I stand up and shake Caine’s hand. “Thank you. You and your father have been fair and generous, and I hope he’ll have a speedy recovery.”

“Good luck with everything, Logan. I’m told a baby is on the way. I hope you and your girl will enjoy parenthood.” Caine gives me a cordial smile. “Call me if you need anything.”

I thank Caine again, relieved that hard part’s over. As I walk out of his office, I breathe a sigh of relief.

People say getting out of a crime organization can be impossible. That was certainly the case when I was a teenager.

But luckily for me, even my bosses are getting out of the business. That was what I repeated in my head while waiting for Caine in his office.

Now, all I need to do is deliver the good news to Harper.

* * *

“You what?” Harper asks.

Under the afternoon sunlight, her green eyes glisten. She looks amazing in her work outfit—a fitted button-down shirt and a pencil skirt.

The sight of her fills me with jealousy, knowing she spends almost all her free time in that office with men I don’t know, men who are familiar with a side of her I’ve never seen.

“I quit my job. I just told Caine,” I repeat.

“When?” she asks, just as bewildered as before.

“Just now. Before I came down here to the lobby to wait for you.”

“Are you serious?” she asks as we walk through the revolving door into the crisp air outside. It has been getting warmer these past few days. Still, Harper pulls on her jacket.

I sling my arm around Harper’s shoulders, hoping to help her feel warmer. “Of course.”

She falls silent as we walk side by side to her apartment. “Does that mean . . . Are you . . . What are you going to do next? You’re going back to the mountains?”

“Nope.”

“So, what are you going to do? You’ll . . . go back to working in a hospital?”

“Probably,” I say. “But I have enough savings to last me for a while.”

“Where are you going?” Harper asks in a soft voice. She looks straight ahead. Is she avoiding my gaze on purpose?

“I’m staying right here, my love.” I wanted to wait until dinner, until we have a bottle of champagne on the table to celebrate to tell her. But I can’t stand to see her like this.

Harper stops in her tracks. She stares at me with her big, doe eyes. “Here? As in . . . in the city?”

“Well . . .” I pause, a smile spreading across my face. “We’ll have to see. I should be able to get a job in the city, but maybe we should live in the suburbs. You know, somewhere with good schools nearby.”

Harper’s jaw drops open. She covers her face with both her hands, leaving only her eyes visible. “You mean . . .”

I put my hand on her head and stroke her red hair as it blows in the wind, the sun’s rays making it glow. “I mean, I’m not going anywhere.”

Harper doesn’t say anything—she doesn’t have to. The tears rolling down her cheeks and the arms thrown around my neck tell me everything I need to know.

“I’m home wherever you are,” I tell her.

* * *

Later that night, we sit at Harper’s kitchen island with two candles and some frozen lasagna we “cooked” in the oven.

“This is delicious,” she says, twirling her fork in the air.

“I know. We did a good job, if I may say so myself. I return her grin.

Harper smiles as she looks at me, her face illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of the candles.

I was supposed to have some expensive dinner at a pretentious restaurant with Rosa today to apologize for cheating on her. But this is way better.

Just me, Harper, and shitty junk food.

“Are you sure you’ll like working at a hospital?” Harper asks. “It doesn’t seem like you had a good experience the first time.”

I shrug. “I guess I was too idealistic. It’s a job. I shouldn’t expect too much out of it.”

“You never told me what made you quit.”

I draw air into my lungs. “That story is kind of a downer. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“I don’t mind. I want to know everything about you.” Harper pauses as if she has just realized she said the wrong thing. “I mean . . . as much as you want to tell me.”

“You can ask me anything, my love,” I tell her. “There was this woman. Pam. A friend. She was like a mother to me. When we met at the cemetery . . . I was at her funeral.”

Harper says nothing, but she puts her fork down and reaches across the kitchen island to take my hand.

“Pam was diagnosed with cancer,” I say. “We could’ve treated her easily had we discovered it sooner . . . but we didn’t. Still, the first round of treatments worked, and that gave her a couple of extra years to live. But then the cancer came back with a vengeance. It was too sudden. Too quick. And we lost her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The reflection of the candlelight dances in Harper’s eyes as she looks at me.

Normally, I don’t like telling people my sob stories because what good does it do? I don’t need their fucking pity.

But it’s not pity I see in Harper’s beautiful eyes. It’s sympathy. She seems to feel what I feel without imposing her judgment on me.

“That wasn’t the reason I quit. But the way the hospital handled Pam’s illness opened my eyes to everything I had ignored up until then.

“I saw the way they refused to treat people who didn’t have insurance and couldn’t pay for treatment. I saw the way doctors would recommend aggressive chemo to patients who were clearly dying, instead of letting them spend their last days at home with their families. I saw a doctor turn down a dying man’s request to speak on the phone because it wasn’t billable.

“The whole thing was fucking disgusting. Made me sick to my stomach,” I say through gritted teeth. My muscles tense up, and my heart races like all these things happened yesterday.

I take a deep breath and chuckle. “So when Robert Foster offered me a job, I figured, ‘why not?’ At least the mafia knows they’re scum and don’t pretend like they’re perfectly respectable members of society.”

“Are you sure you want to go back to working at a hospital?” Harper asks again.

“Yes. I’m going in with my eyes open this time. I know what I’m getting myself into.” I nod firmly. “Everything comes with its own set of pros and cons, Harper. I liked working for the Fosters, but it wasn’t exactly safe. It was an acceptable risk for me, but I can’t endanger you and our baby.”

Harper smiles. For a while, we just sit there with our fingers interlaced on the kitchen island, thinking about the future.

Harper parts her lips. “There’s something I need to tell you . . . This isn’t my first pregnancy.”

I remain silent as I try to suppress my shock and jealousy. It looks like Harper has enough difficulty telling me about this.

“I . . .” Harper hesitates. She clenches her jaw, the muscles of her neck tightening. But she smiles when I caress the back of her hand with my thumb.

She continues, “When Mark died, I was pregnant. I didn’t know about it until it was too late. I didn’t . . . I didn’t take care of myself. Didn’t sleep. Barely ate. I . . .”

A rush of emotions stops Harper from telling me the rest of her story. Tears fill her eyes and wet her cheeks.

I get up from my chair, walk around the kitchen island, and pull Harper into my arms. “It wasn’t your fault, my love. It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s what I try to tell myself,” she says in between sobs. “But I can’t believe it.”

“I’ll tell you again and again until you do.”

“When Rosa . . . When she told me she was getting me a pill . . . to . . . you know . . .” Harper pauses like she can’t bring herself to even say the words. “I thought . . . I thought it was my punishment.”

“Anyone who dares to punish you would have to get over my dead body first.” I stroke Harper’s hair, even as anger burns hot in my chest.

Nobody will hurt her again. Not on my watch.