Xavier stared at the screen of his computer as it showed Cian MacFarlane buckling his belt. The man was an early riser, like Xavier himself, and that got him a few points of respect. On screen, Cian sat in an armchair in his very modern high-rise apartment and laced up an expensive black leather boot. Xavier wondered where Cian had bought the boots, and if maybe he should try a similar pair. It seemed like the mobster had a handle on the whole dressing-for-success thing, unlike his three younger brothers, who looked like varying degrees of rich, spoiled hoodlum.

As Cian grabbed a wallet and keys from the dresser, Xavier’s heart beat a tad faster—don’t close it, don’t close it, the mantra played on a loop in his head. When MacFarlane then walked out of the room, and Xavier’s line of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. He pressed some buttons on his keyboard, and the image of the room zoomed in. Xavier looked carefully at the various pieces of furniture in the image—a nightstand, the armchair, a lamp, the bed, and there—at the far left of the screen, on the floor in the corner was a large potted plant, undoubtedly put there by an interior designer or an ex-girlfriend to soften up the cold space. It was on a stand, a strange thing made of what looked to be white Lucite. But it had curves, and the plant was lush and full. It would work.

Xavier picked up the phone and pressed two numbers.

“Yeah, he’s out. There’s a plant stand in the corner of the master bedroom. Last night, I was able to see the home office, and there’s a trophy in there, a large cup on the shelf behind the desk.”

He paused as he clicked off the image on the screen. “You’ll have to wing it in the living room.”

After he hung up the phone, Xavier muttered to himself. How most of the supposedly intelligent people in the world could refuse to admit the fact that their laptops provided cameras available to anyone with even rudimentary hacking skills was perplexing to him.

* * *

The text came at six a.m. on a Tuesday, and all Lila could think was that Cian MacFarlane must be nothing like Tony Soprano, because she knew for a fact Tony stayed up all night snorting coke and screwing hookers and wouldn’t have been caught dead texting people at six a.m.

We need to meet. Eight a.m. at Starbucks?

Lila squinted at the phone, because, unlike her mobster associate, she was not normally awake at six a.m.—business in the world of the dark web started sometime around ten—and had been sleeping soundly before his texts started chiming in her ear.

Now the only question was what the hell did the man want at such an ungodly hour?

Why are you texting me at six a.m.? Normal business hours don’t start until 8. Mine don’t start until 10.

She waited for a response, her tension ratcheting up as the little dots danced on the screen while he typed. Her judgment at six a.m. wasn’t the best. Maybe she shouldn’t have mouthed off to the mobster.

But when the answer finally came, it took her breath away, and not out of fear. No, it was breath stealing for an entirely different reason.

I was thinking about you all night, so it seemed only natural to contact you first thing this morning. Will nine work?

Just like that. No warning. No explanation. Simply “I was thinking about you all night.” Did that mean about her in her capacity as a her? Or her because she was part of the project he was thinking about all night?

Lila stared down at the phone, a slight tremor passing through her body.

I’m not sure what to make of that, she typed out.

I’m not either, he replied quickly. But regardless, we need to discuss the project.

She agreed to the nine a.m. meeting and spent ninety minutes lying in bed, trying desperately to go back to sleep. When it became apparent that she was wasting her time, she climbed off the nine-thousand-dollar mattress she’d splurged on with her ill-gotten gains and went to the shower, trying not to think about the scary guy she had to go meet with.

It didn’t make a lot of sense to be so nervous about him. She’d probably met mobsters dozens of times when she was younger—her father’s bookies, the guys he made debt payments to, the guys who set up the backroom poker games he attended. There was rarely a car ride with her dad that didn’t include a stop involving his “job,” as he’d called it. There had to have been mobsters around in all that. But not a one of them had made her feel like Cian MacFarlane did. The man scared the crap out of her. But she didn’t want to examine why too closely.

At nine oh five, Lila walked into what seemed to now be “their” Starbucks. She stifled the urge to slap the inner her who would think of hot mobster Cian MacFarlane in any context that resulted in “we.”

“Good morning,” he said as she arrived at the table he’d staked out in a back corner away from the front windows and all the activity of the fancy reserve coffee bar. She wondered if he always sat away from glass in case of drive-bys. While she had to worry about getting caught up in an investigation of dark web activity and finding the FBI on her doorstep someday, she’d never had to fear for her safety walking around in the world. She was hidden behind some of the thickest virtual walls ever erected. Almost no one knew who she was, what her real name was, or how she earned her living. She couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to be a moving target every time you set foot outside your armored car.

Lila gave Cian a small nod in acknowledgment before sitting in the chair he’d pulled out for her in a gesture that was oddly gentlemanlike.

“What can I get you for breakfast?” he asked.

Lila peered at him, her brain still somewhat foggy from lack of sleep. “How do you know I haven’t eaten already?”

“Because I woke you up far too early, and you spent the next two hours trying desperately to go back to sleep before you finally had to crawl out of bed and rush to get here five minutes late.”

She stared at him, disgusted by how accurate his assessment was.

“It was only an hour and a half,” she muttered.

“What will you be eating?” he asked again, a placid smile on his face.

She huffed out a breath before giving him her order, which he texted to Danny.

“Now,” he said, a satisfied smirk in place as she tucked into the breakfast sandwich and chai Danny delivered to their table, “I have more questions about the security.”

Thirty minutes later, Lila had explained the entire setup of Rogue, with technical details she knew damn well Cian didn’t understand. But for some reason, he seemed to want to keep talking to her, asking question after question, ordering his henchman to refill her chai, and nodding thoughtfully as if he understood half of what she was saying.

“And that access code is switched out every thirty days?” he asked.

“Yes. We have a randomizer that pulls a new one at an exact time each month, then automatically sends it to Xavier and me. We then distribute it to two other staff members—different ones each month—so they can do certain types of work within the system.”

“And how do I know those other staff members are trustworthy?” he asked, looking at her from under his brows as he idly stirred his third cappuccino.

“How do any of us know anyone is trustworthy?” she answered, tiring of the inquisition. “Xavier pays well. The entire business is black market. There’s no reason to think our staff will suddenly go to the cops over your part as opposed to any other.”

Cian gave her a wry smile. “Lila from Rogue,” he said in that deep tone he had that set something in her stomach swaying. “You have no idea the types of enemies my family has. They would think nothing of bribing or threatening one of your staff members to jeopardize my business. They would love nothing more than to see my brothers and me in federal lockup.”

She felt her cheeks burn with the recognition he was right. This wasn’t like their ordinary business. Rogue had never been associated with anyone like the MacFarlanes.

As if he sensed she was fresh out of snappy comebacks, he continued. “I want all MacFarlane business separated from the rest of Rogue. And I want no one but you and Xavier involved. You will do all the work on this. You will be assigned to our account full time. And if Xavier balks at this, remind him how much his cut will be.”

Lila sat back in her chair, arms crossed, huffing out a breath as she did. “I wasn’t aware Xavier had made you co-owner of the company.”

Cian gave her a slow, dark smile, like the richest chocolate dripping from a spoon. “Do we need to go there?” he asked, leaving the unsaid…well, unsaid. Yes, his eyes communicated, I can insist on whatever I want because I’m bigger, richer, and meaner than Xavier Rossi will ever be, and he knows it.

His words were like a slap in the face, and she realized she’d been getting…comfortable…with him. She’d forgotten for a moment he wasn’t only mysterious, charming, and very sexy, but also dangerous, unpredictable, and very powerful.

“No. I apologize,” she amended quickly. “I’ll let Xavier know how you’d like it arranged.” She stood abruptly, something she seemed to do a lot around this man. Her hands shook slightly as she snatched her tablet off the table and lifted her messenger bag from the chair back. “I really need to get in to work now. I have a lot to do.”

Cian looked at her with those ice-blue eyes, then gave a small nod. He stood as well. “I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“It’s really not necessary—”

He suddenly stepped around the table, taking her elbow gently in his hand. Warmth rushed through her at the same time a strange chill did.

“I don’t—” He paused, his gaze fixed on something over her head before he looked down, straight into her eyes, penetrating and so intense. “I don’t hurt civilians.” His voice was quiet, his lips only inches from hers. “I’m not a monster, Lila. Just a businessman. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

She swallowed hard as she looked up at him. A wry smile caused his lips to turn up ever so slightly at the corners. “You’ll get these things set up as I’ve asked?”

She nodded again, unable to speak for reasons that went far beyond fear.

“Good. Let me know when you’re done.”

His hand left her elbow, and before she realized it, he was walking away, his long legs eating up the space between her and the door. Danny was on his feet and at his boss’s side before she could blink. The two men strode into the weak sunshine and disappeared into the back of a dark SUV that mysteriously appeared at the front curb.

Lila realized she’d stopped breathing minutes ago and took a bracing breath, her heart racing, her elbow still tingling where he’d touched, held her captive, if only for a moment.

Times like these, Lila truly regretted the world her father had raised her in. Because no matter how scared she was by Cian MacFarlane, she was also drawn to him, like a piece of iron to a magnet. And that was the worst idea Lila had had in years.