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I didn't know how to respond. The words lodged themselves in my throat, heavy and unfamiliar. So I just saidI know, like some idiot in a movie. But hell… I feel something for him. Something huge and terrifying and completely different from anything I ever felt for Pete.

Gabe sets my blood on fire. Whatever this is between us, it's hot. Electric. All-consuming. The kind of connection that makes my skin hum and my heart race even when he's not in the room. When he touches me, I forget how to breathe. When he looks atme like I'm the only thing that exists in his violent world, I feel alive in a way I haven't felt since I was a reckless teenager riding bikes and dancing on tables. He makes me feel seen. Wanted. Claimed in the best and worst ways.

But love?

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet around me. My thighs are still slick with him. My body is still tingling from the slow, sweet way he took me this morning, like I was something precious he wanted to savor, not just fuck.

Do I love him?

And what about the stalking?

He watched me for months. Sent gifts that appeared like magic. Paid for my car repair. A man like Gabriel D'Amato could have taken whatever he wanted. He could have had me dragged to this penthouse the night he first saw me. He could have killed Pete and simply claimed the widow.

But he didn't.

He waited. He watched from a distance. He sent me that red Gucci purse like a secret offering. He gave me and Pete an invitation to a masked ball he knew would blow our minds, even though the thought of seeing me on another man's arm must have gutted him.

It's actually kind of… sweet? A soft, slightly hysterical laugh escapes me. Sweet. Can a mafia boss be sweet?

Audra, remember when you ran away from an MC leader?

Yeah. Razor. The man who smiled while talking about selling me to the highest bidder. The man who liked them young, too young.

Gabe isn't Razor.

He's darker. More dangerous. More powerful. But he hasn't forced me. Not really. Even when I ran, he let me go. He sent gifts instead of chains. He waited for me to come back on my own terms.

That doesn't make any of this okay. The stalking. The surveillance. The way he inserted himself into my life without me knowing. But it also doesn't feel like the same kind of evil I escaped before. I press my face into my hands, groaning softly. This is insane. My husband is barely cold in the ground—killed because he dug too deep into the wrong people—and here I am, naked in another man's bed, feeling something electric and terrifying for the very kind of man that ended his life, the kind of man I swore I'd never go near again.

But Pete's steady love never made me feel like this. Never made my body burn, or my heart race, or my soul feel like it was finally waking up after years of sleepwalking.

Gabe does.

And that scares the hell out of me.

I stand up on legs that are still a little shaky and walk to the bathroom. The huge mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize, flushed skin, marked neck, wild hair, eyes that look brighter than they have any right to. I touch the bruise on my throat where his mouth was this morning. Gentle this time. Reverent.

I love you, he said this morning, and again before he left. I believe him. The question is… what am I going to do with that? I turn on the shower, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders while my mind keeps spinning.

Whatever this is, it's overshadowing everything else right now. The grief. The guilt. The revenge I still want. For the first time in years, I feel awake. Alive.

Dressed in nothing but the sheet wrapped loosely around my body, I slip out of Gabe's bedroom and pad quietly down the hallway toward the guest room I used two weeks ago. Sneak is the better word. I'm moving on tiptoe, heart beating too loud, praying neither Esther nor my mom pops out of their rooms and catches me looking like a well-fucked fugitive.

I make it to the guest room without incident, exhale in relief, and close the door behind me. My stomach rolls violently the second I'm alone. A wave of nausea hits so hard and fast that I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm on my knees, heaving into the toilet. Nothing but water and acid come up, but my body keeps convulsing until I'm shaking and sweaty.

When it finally passes, I rinse my mouth with cold water from the sink, splash some on my face, and stare at my pale reflection. Stress. It has to be stress. Or maybe I really am coming down with something after everything that's happened.

I pad back into the bedroom and open the closet. My old clothes are still hanging there exactly as I left them, faded jeans, a couple of worn shirts. But there's more now. New things. Expensive things. A small, reluctant smile tugs at my lips as I run my fingers over the hangers.

Gabe.

Of course, he restocked my wardrobe while I was on the run from him. The man is nothing if not thorough.

I pull on a pair of my old jeans for comfort, then hesitate before choosing one of the new shirts. It has a discreet designer label I've only ever heard of in passing, something soft and silky that probably costs more than my monthly car payment used to. When I slip it on, the fabric feels like a caress against my skin. It drapes perfectly, cool and luxurious. I catch myself smoothing my hands down the front, enjoying the way it moves with me. It feels… good. Too good. I'm still adjusting the hem when the door bursts open without warning.

Louie—one of Gabe's regular guards—steps inside, gun already drawn and pointed straight at me. A silencer is screwed onto the barrel.

"Not a peep." He snarls and motions with the gun. "Move."