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Besides, I’ve fled a situation before, and I know firsthand that it doesn’t always make you feel safe. I still look over my shoulder in public. Still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wondering if he will find me and hurt me again.

At least the nightmare from my past would have to get through this lunatic to hurt me again.

And it’s fucked up how that thought makes me feel safer than I have felt for a very long time.

Not that I’m the same woman I was when I fled the monster fifteen months ago. My fear no longer comes with obedience. I will not make myself small for another man in the hope he will leave me alone.

I did everything right last time, and it still didn’t help me. This time I won’t be so accommodating.

I drain the last of the scotch. The warmth has settled into my bloodstream, softening the edges just enough for my hands to stop shaking and for me to feel less stabby toward my fiancé.

I decide to get some sleep because maybe things will look better tomorrow.

Carrying my bag of belongings, I make my way down the hallway to the bedroom Dante said was mine, then push the door open.

The room is beautiful, with a king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linen and wall sconces casting a warm glow across the room.

An en suite bathroom is visible through an open door, with a walk-in closet to the left of it. It feels like I’ve entered a five-star hotel suite.

It's the nicest room I've ever been in.

I walk in, close the door behind me, and lock it.

Not that a lock would keep Dante out if he wanted in.

Because let’s face it, if he wanted in this room, he’d get in.

Not that I think he would. Dante looks at me like I’m a problem to solve, rather than a woman he wants to touch.

Dumping my bags on the floor, I sit on the edge of the bed and look around the room for any trace of personality, anything that suggests someone has stayed here before. A forgotten earring. A book on the nightstand. A hair tie accidentally dropped on the carpet.

But there is nothing. This room is as empty and void of life as the rest of the penthouse.

He probably doesn't do a lot of sleepovers.

After changing into a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants from my bag, I pull back the bed covers and slide in. The sheets are Egyptian cotton and so damn soft I let out a sigh.

It's like being held by a cloud. But the cold truth seeps in because I am not being held by a cloud. I’m being held by an unhinged psychopath who is probably in his room, planning all the evil things he is going to do tomorrow.

Thankfully, the scotch has made me sleepy, and I drift off almost immediately.

9

DANTE

Joseph Meadows cries in the back seat of my car. He’s not crying loudly. We passed loud three hours ago when Deno put him in a chair, and I explained what happens next to a man who takes from Dante Di Zaro. Now it’s an empty cry. The kind that’s given up.

I don’t look at him, I watch the exit signs on the highway out of the city.

His daughter is asleep in my penthouse.

Tonight, Sunny looked at me across the kitchen like she would put a knife in me if she could reach the block, and I’m not going to lie, I like her more for that than I’ve liked anyone in a long time.

Which is a problem.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight is for her father.