Page 37 of Tormented Oath

The heat of his body next to mine is familiar now, which is exactly the kind of thought that should send me running.

"You think too loud," Stefano mumbles, voice rough with sleep, his eyes still closed.

"Just planning my day," I lie, the words coming out naturally.

His eyes open. They are that startling blue that never fails to catch me off guard. "Anything interesting planned?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Dancing. Making money.” Stefano was adamant that I don’t need to work at the club anymore, but quitting my job was out of the question—the Fioris expect me to be there, like planned. Besides, I’m supposed to be saving money by moving in with him.

“Maybe planning my great escape to Montana." I keep my tone light, teasing, like it's all just a fun fantasy rather than the desperate plan it really is.

"Mmm." His hand slides up my side, leaving heat in its wake. "Still determined to become a cowgirl?"

The gentle mockery in his voice makes me smile despite myself. It's these moments that are the most dangerous—when he's soft and playful and so different from the ruthless boss everyone else sees.

These are glimpses of the boy he used to be before Chicago's underworld forced him to become something else.

"Maybe I just like the idea of wide-open spaces," I say, avoiding his eyes. "No complications. No history. Just...freedom."

His arm tightens around my waist, and something dark flashes across his face. It’s there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Freedom's overrated," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "Sometimes the best things in life are the ones that tie us down."

The words send a shiver down my spine—half desire, half warning. He has no idea how right he is or how tangled up in him I'm becoming. Each day makes it harder to remember that this isn't real.

"Let me give you something else to think about," he whispers, and God help me, but I let him.

* * *

Later, dressed in one of Stefano's silk robes, I stand at the window nursing a coffee and facing facts. Three weeks of careful observation, and I've got nothing to report to the Fioris. Nothing real, anyway.

The Silk Rose is exactly what it appears to be. The books are clean, I’ve checked multiple times.

The security is professional but not excessive. The girls are protected, respected, and paid well. Even the alcohol deliveries come from proper distributors with perfect paperwork.

Stefano has mentioned that the club is the perfect cover, but I haven’t come across anything incriminating yet.

My coffee has gone cold while I've been lost in thought. Just like my leads.

I befriended the staff, I memorized delivery schedules, I studied the camera layouts and security rotations. I even sweet-talked the accountant during our smoke breaks.

And the only thing I found is a man who pays above market rate, provides health insurance, and security escorts home the staff after late shifts. He’s a boss who banned a wealthy regular last week for getting handsy with one of the new girls.

The memory makes me smile despite myself. Stefano had been terrifying that night, all cold fury and lethal grace as he personally threw the guy out. But it was what he did after that really got me.

He'd made sure the girl was okay, offered her the night off with pay, and then had his lawyer draw up restraining order paperwork right there.

"Dammit," I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. This would be so much easier if he was the monster everyone thinks he is.

But he's not.

He’s running legitimate businesses alongside the less legitimate ones. He’s creating safe spaces in a world that offers precious few of them.

The truth hits me like a punch to the gut: I can't do this to him.

I can't fabricate evidence that might bring down one of the few safe harbors in Chicago's underworld. I can't betray someone who's shown more genuine care for others than any “legitimate” businessman I've ever conned.

But if I don't give the Fioris something soon...

---