The minute I listened to Gigi’s voicemail, I knew I had to get to her. She sounded so vulnerable, so shaken and frightened. I’d never heard that in her voice before and I never wanted to again. Problem was, the 2am Club was slammed, packed with some celebrity’s private party. I didn’t even check my voicemail until 11:30. Once I did, I couldn’t break away for another hour. Even leaving my shift two hours early might have cost me my job. I didn’t care. I’d find out tomorrow. The more I called Gigi’s number and it went straight to voicemail, the more I knew something bad was happening.

I made it over to her house in about half the time it should have taken me. Right away I spotted the car outside her house parked in the bushes. The fucking Maserati. I knew who drove that car and I swore I’d wring his fucking neck if he so much as touched a hair on her head.

The smashed window told me everything I needed to know. He was in the house with intent to harm, and somehow the alarm wasn’t going off. Fucker must have figured out how to disable it. I’m not sure my feet actually touched ground I was moving so fast and I caught him, thank God I caught him, crouching at the base of the stairs with a goddamned carving knife in his hands.

It would have been an easy takedown. I had a clear shot and I knew how to jump him from behind and get him in a lock so tight he’d black out. I’d done it before to diffuse violent situations. But suddenly another guy came out of nowhere. In the darkness of the hallway, at first I didn’t know if he was after me or after Brock, but then he stepped under a light and I saw it was Colt.

“Knife,” I called out, trying to warn him, but not before Colt had already stepped in too close. Brock lunged at him and nearly got him right across the neck, but I managed to smack his arm down so it just grazed his shoulder. I caught Brock’s wrist and held it tight, but insanity gave him purpose, strength and drive. He punched me hard with his other hand, kicked and went in to bite me Tyson-style. I had to knock this kid out. I got a mean uppercut in that caught him square in the jaw. He spun around like a ragdoll, just like I’d wanted him to. But then, as if in slow motion, I saw him trip on the stairs and wildly tumble to the floor, landing heavy with a thud and an unnatural keening cry.

Then I saw the blood. Blood pumping out of him, dumping out onto the wooden hallway.

“Fuck…fuckers,” he spluttered weakly, but he didn’t move.

“Oh shit.” Colt knelt down at Brock’s side and confirmed what I already knew. “He fell on his knife.”

I’d seen it too many times before. Knife fights got real, quick. Men could bleed out before you even had time to try and stop it. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the first towels I saw and ran back.

“Here.” I handed one to Colt who looked at me, confused. He had so much adrenaline flowing through him he didn’t realize he’d been hurt, too. I pointed to his shoulder. He saw and he pressed the towel to the cut. His cut didn’t look deep. He’d be OK. Maybe not Brock, though.

“Help me tilt him,” I asked Colt. Together we shifted him and saw what I’d suspected. He’d been holding the knife in his right hand, and when he’d fallen he’d brought it to his chest where it now stuck into the left side, right by his heart. Brock’s head listed back, blood coming out of his mouth and he didn’t open his eyes. It was probably already too late, but I brought the towels to his chest wound and tried to staunch the bleeding. I didn’t even try to remove the knife. I’d seen that make it worse and the blood was already spurting out. He’d hit an artery.

“Call 911,” I yelled to Colt. But he didn’t move.

“He’s dying.” He sounded oddly calm, and he was right.

“He is,” I agreed. “But we need to try—”

“Who are you?” Colt looked at me as if just realizing it was strange I was there, too.

“I work security at the country club. I’ve been watching Brock. He’s violent. I saw his car parked outside and came to see if everything was all right.”

“She tried to tell me.” He sounded upset with himself. “I went out tonight, but I should have kept an eye on her.”

Brock coughed and sputtered more blood, losing so much I knew there was no hope. Another life on my bloodstained hands.

“I’ll make the call.” I shifted Brock’s weight back onto the floor. He was so far gone he didn’t even make a sound in response to being moved.

Then Gigi screamed like something out of my nightmares. I didn’t know when she’d walked down the stairs and seen us, but she had and her face looked white as a sheet as she stared at the pool of blood surrounding Brock’s chest wound.

I told her to turn away but she stared in shock. It took her brother walking her up the stairs to get her to head back up. I hated that she’d seen it. I knew from experience, you couldn’t unsee something like that.

When Colt came back down again, he looked at Brock. “He’s dead.”

Damn it. He was right. I stood up, too. We needed to call 911.

“Don’t make the call yet,” he cautioned me.

“Why?” This wasn’t a shootout between two rival MCs. This was a clear-cut break-in and we’d already waited too long.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Dom.”

“Dom, I need to talk to you. Come with me into the kitchen.” Under the bright light, I helped him unbutton his dress shirt and remove his T-shirt to take a look at his shoulder wound. The knife had glanced him on the surface. The damage was minor. He’d have a scar but that was about it. I helped him clean it up and got a fresh towel for him to press against it.

“Do I need to head to the ER?” he asked me, like I knew about wounds. He was right.

“You’ll heal more pretty if you do. But you’ll still heal if you don’t.”

“Good.”

“Keep it clean and covered,” I told him, and he nodded. “So, how about that dead body in the hallway?” I still didn’t know what he was up to, not wanting to head to the ER, delaying the emergency call.

“Dom, you just saved my life. He went for my jugular with a six-inch knife and you stopped him. And you saved my sister from God knows what that monster had planned.”

I looked down, darkness filling my mind. I couldn’t go there, couldn’t let myself imagine what had almost happened to Gigi.

“I don’t think you should go to prison for it.”

“What?” He had my attention now. Why would I go to prison?

He laid it out for me. Brock came from one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in New York. The way his family would spin it, Brock died because I’d punched him. His father would hire every hard-hitting lawyer in the tri-state area to avenge his son’s death.

Unless he didn’t know I’d been there.

“Let me handle this, Dom,” Colt asked me. “I’ll keep your name out of it. I can take this on. We’ll have security camera footage—”

“He disabled the system.”

“Not all the cameras are on the same system. I’m sure we have something. I’ve got a knife wound to prove he attacked. They won’t go up against me the way they would you.”

“I can’t let you do that.” But I could hear the reason in his words. I knew how the world worked. Colt pulled the kinds of strings that could make even a huge mess like this go away. I did not.

“You saved my life and my sister’s. I’m the one getting off easy. Dom, listen to me.” He stepped closer, urgency in his voice. “I am in your debt for the rest of my life. You have just done a brave and heroic thing. Now you need to get out of here so you don’t get punished for it.”

I considered his words. He knew what he was talking about. And he didn’t even know that I had a criminal record in my past, a violent, deceased father and a former stripper of a mother as a character witness. I hadn’t even been in town for a year. I’d be a sitting duck.

“Go now,” Colt urged me. “No one will ever know you were here.”

I nodded. He was right. Gigi was safe. I’d done what I needed to do. Colt walked me to the door, shook my hand in gratitude, and I left the scene of the crime.

The day after the attack I kept waiting to hear about it. I half expected the cops to beat down my door. But I didn’t hear a damn thing. No headline news about a local young man who died under violent circumstances, not even any rumors. I paced the floor of my apartment, went to the gym to work out my extra energy then worked my shift at the 2am Club. Everything was as it was. I called Gigi twice, in the morning and the evening. She got back to me while I was working, telling me she was OK, thanking me. I wanted to hold her, feel that she was all right instead of just listen to her voice. But I knew I had to stay away. At least for now.

The next day the news hit, but it wasn’t the true story. Brock had died in an unspecified fatal accident at his home, alone. He’d been a varsity athlete, a scholar and a true gentleman. It was a tragic loss. I guessed that was what money could buy you. It hadn’t turned Brock into a good person, but it could give him a decent burial.

I never got the full story from Colt, but I could guess. He’d probably had a sit down with Brock’s father. I’d seen it before, powerful men struggling with rage, grief and the desire for vengeance. But reality was a strong force, too. At first he’d probably wanted Colt’s blood, old–testament-style, but then he’d considered all the evidence: Colt’s wound from Brock’s knife, the security camera footage, Brock’s history of a violent temper. In the end, he’d chosen to keep the Kavanaugh family out of it so he could remake history, giving his son a good name in death.

Colt called and checked in with me every day, asking how I was doing, expressing his gratitude. Each time I heard from him it surprised me. He didn’t need to keep thanking me. But he clearly felt guilty about having dismissed Gigi’s concerns and he seemed deeply impressed by what I’d done.

“I owe you my life,” he kept saying. “I’ll never forget what you did for our family.” I almost felt like I’d done a favor for a mafia boss. “I need people around me I can trust,” he confessed. “I don’t always know who’s got my back.” I guessed being the son of a billionaire sometimes left you wondering who your real friends were.

But maybe there was more to it? I’d always wondered how his father had amassed his wealth. In the world that I’d grown up in, money flowed to the ruthless. I’d been on the Kavanaugh Investors website and read a couple of headlines. It looked like they mostly invested in real estate but also branched out into other opportunities. I wondered about some of those branches. I’d just seen wealth, power and expensive attorneys rewrite history, covering up the circumstances surrounding a death. Who knew what Gigi’s dad was really doing? It could be all kinds of shady. He’d have everything he needed to keep it out of the public eye.

“My father travels with bodyguards and I’m not sure any of them would have acted that fast,” Colt admitted.

I didn’t ask why his father traveled with bodyguards, but it did compound my suspicions. Personal security might be a standard precaution of all the uber-wealthy, but instinct and experience told me otherwise. Though it didn’t all add up—if Gigi’s dad went to lengths to keep himself safe, why had he let his teenage daughter spend the summer living practically by herself in a house with a Swiss cheese security system?

“One of these days, Dom,” Colt reflected. “If I ever take over for my father, I hope I can call on you if the need arises.”

“You can, Colt.” I meant it. I’d do anything for Gigi, and he was her brother. Plus, I knew I was indebted to him as well. He kept talking about how he owed me, but I knew I owed him, too. He’d taken a huge mess and made it disappear like a magician. Whatever trouble he saw brewing on the horizon, I’d help him out if he needed it.

Gigi and I talked every day, too. She was shaken to the core. She told me about the contents of the crazy text message and picture Brock had sent, plus the note he’d left on her windshield. I’d had to punch a few pillows over that. Why hadn’t she told me? She explained she hadn’t wanted me to overreact. In retrospect, a big reaction would have been a good idea.

I’d known that boy was sick in the head. I’d known it, but I’d still nearly lost her to him. And he’d died. Maybe I was getting soft in my old age of 23. I’d seen enough dead bodies in my teens to think I’d be hardened for life, but Brock’s death struck me as a goddamned senseless waste. Deep down I knew he would have brought a world of hurt to a lot of people had he lived. But his death still felt like yet another bloodstain on my soul.

I needed to see Gigi. I needed to hold her, feel my lips against her soft skin, get lost in her scent, her sighs. She wanted to see me, too, but we were both aware that the ground was still shaky. Five days after the attack, no one had come knocking on my door. No one knew I’d had anything to do with Brock’s death. No one knew Colt or Gigi did, either. Colt didn’t even know that there was anything between us, and if he suspected he didn’t let on.

But it still felt like tempting fate. What if someone saw us together and wondered, remembered Brock’s jealousy over our rumored coffee date? What if some reporter started sniffing around and discovered Brock’s obsession? When I worked at the country club, of course Brock’s death was all anyone was talking about, and the speculation was rampant. Had it been a drunk driving accident? Had it been a suicide? I didn’t hear a whispered word about Gigi or me, but there was still a lot of fertile ground for someone to start suspecting.

We agreed on one week. We’d give this a week to pass, then we’d see each other again. It still felt like too long. After the night of her 19^th birthday, I’d thought we were going to be spending a lot more time together. I’d done my best to keep things cool between us, but I was human. After she’d fallen asleep that night I’d sat by her bed, watching her so peaceful and gorgeous and I’d realized I couldn’t stay away any longer. Good things like what we had between us didn’t just fall into your lap every day. They were rare, maybe once in a lifetime.

She left for college in a few weeks. I’d planned on spending as much of it as I could with her. Then this happened, and here I was without her in my arms. Two more days, then we’d have a full week between us and that night. Then, nothing could keep me away from her.

Friday night, I had plans with my mother. She’d talked me into having dinner with her and her boyfriend. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Gigi had dinner plans, too, so we agreed we’d meet up afterward. I could hardly wait.

When I walked into the restaurant on Friday night, the first person I saw was Gigi. What a small town we were in. It was like everyone knew everyone. She looked gorgeous but shaken, pale and tense. She must still be recovering from the shock of that horrible night last weekend. No wonder, she’d never seen anything like it.

Instead of her usual response to me, lighting up, rushing toward me like she couldn’t stand the distance between us, either, she gripped the back of the chair next to her and looked over at the people at the table with her. I followed her gaze and saw her father. And my mother.

My brain still didn’t get it. It was already overloaded with all the recent events, like I’d been working on a 10,000 jigsaw puzzle of a clear blue sky. I looked at them standing together, Gigi’s dad’s arm resting at the small of my mother’s back. I saw her smile up at him, then look over, see me and wave in greeting. But I still didn’t get it. I wondered if maybe Gigi had seen my mom waiting for me and introduced herself and her father, but that didn’t make sense because she wouldn’t know who my mom was. They’d never met.

“Dom!” My mom stepped around the table to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

I stood stiff, as if realizing I were suddenly part of a play I very much did not want to be an actor in. “What’s happening?”

“I want you to meet Richard.”

Gigi’s father rounded the table, too, and stood by my side with a hand extended for a shake. “How are you, Dominic. Good to finally meet you.”

Unfuckingbelievable. They had to be kidding me. I shook his hand and managed to sit, right next to Gigi, but I’d mostly stopped feeling my limbs. My mother was dating Gigi’s father? He was the big fish she’d reeled in? He was the one?

“I hear you work security for the club where we’re members!” Richard’s voice boomed with the deep confidence of a billionaire CEO. “I’ll have to put in a good word for you, see if we can get you running the show over there. If half the things your mother says about you are true, you’re the man for the job.”

I nodded and my mother filled in the silence with happy chatter about what a hard worker I was, how within a week of my having arrived in East Hampton I’d found not one but two jobs. I looked over at Gigi. She was looking down at the tablecloth like a stone statue. Woman in Shock.

“Have you two ever met, over at the club?” my mother asked.

I still couldn’t make words come out of my mouth. Gigi managed, “No.” It was obviously the right answer to give, but somehow it hit home even more than the rest of it. This was really happening.

“I was lucky to meet this one.” Gigi’s father put an arm around my mom, gazing at her with obvious affection. “If I hadn’t gone to Dr. Bockman that day in May we might never have met.”

That explained why he’d left Gigi in that big house by herself all summer. He’d been otherwise engaged. I rubbed my face and took a long swig of ice water, but it didn’t change the fact that this all was real.

I felt like I’d stumbled into a Telenovela. I hadn’t thought about those shows in years, but they’d been a big part of my early childhood. Whoever was looking after me, the one thing they all seemed to have in common was watching those soap operas. I knew them well, the melodramatic plot twists heightened by over-the-top acting with wide eyes and fainting spells, all topped off with camera work like slow-motion or close zooms onto the shocked faces.

But I wasn’t on the set of a TV show. This was really happening. My mother was dating my girlfriend’s father.