"Two fucking days left."
The words tasted like ash in my mouth as I stared at the burner phone Dominic had somehow slipped into my bag. One cryptic message had come through this morning: coordinates, a time, and three words that made my pulse race.
*Almost ready. Decide.*
I paced the hotel room like a caged animal, the walls closing in with each circuit. The FBI had doubled their surveillance after they'd discovered the gap in their rotation—too late to catch Dominic, but enough to put them on high alert. Special Agent Harper hadn't said a word about it, but the tightened security spoke volumes.
"Ms. Ricci." Agent Lewis's voice crackled through the intercom by the door. "Your escort is ready. The Bureau expects you at nine."
I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, the product of another sleepless night weighing my options. Justice or love. My father's legacy or my future with Dominic.
"Coming," I called, tucking the burner phone into the lining of my bra where the daily pat-down wouldn't find it.
The ride to the field office was silent, as usual. Agent Lewis had given up trying to make small talk after the first day. Fine by me. I needed the mental space to sort through the chaos in my head.
The interrogation room felt colder today. Or maybe that was just the ice forming in my chest as decision time approached. Harper waited with her usual immaculate appearance, not a hair out of place. Beside her sat a man I hadn't seen before—broad-shouldered, with the unmistakable posture of military training.
"Morning, Valentina." Harper pushed a coffee toward me. "This is Special Agent Callahan, organized crime division."
I ignored the coffee. "What happened to 'Ms. Ricci'?"
"We're past formalities, don't you think?" Harper's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Especially after your late-night visitor two days ago."
My heart stuttered, but I kept my expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Callahan leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. "Security cameras in the lobby were disabled for exactly twenty-two minutes during a shift change. A curious coincidence."
I shrugged. "Sounds like an issue with your security protocols, not mine."
"Valentina." Harper's voice softened with practiced concern. "We're trying to help you. Dominic Castellano is not who you think he is."
"And who might that be?" I mirrored her posture, leaning in with mock interest.
"A ruthless criminal who's trying to manipulate you to save himself." Callahan slid a folder across the table. "Take a look."
Inside were crime scene photos—bodies, blood, evidence markers. I recognized some of the faces from the club, men who had worked for Dominic.
"These are the people who got in his way," Callahan continued. "Including Marco Vitali, found yesterday with a bullet in his head. Executed, execution-style."
That genuinely surprised me. "Marco's dead?"
"Very." Harper watched my reaction carefully. "Shot in his safehouse yesterday morning. Only someone with intimate knowledge of our witness protection protocols could have found him."
My mind raced. Dominic had been with me that night. Unless...
"You think Dominic ordered the hit?" I kept my voice level, giving nothing away.
"We know he did." Callahan tapped a surveillance photo showing Dominic speaking with one of his enforcers outside a restaurant. "This was taken hours before your midnight rendezvous. Care to guess what they discussed?"
The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity. While Dominic was making love to me, promising escape and a future together, he was also orchestrating Marco's execution. Tying up loose ends. Just like he might do with me if I became a liability.
No. I shut down that thought immediately. I knew Dominic in ways these agents never could. I'd seen beneath his armor, felt the truth in his touch, his vulnerability when he held me.
"Marco was working with the Russians," I said flatly. "He helped torture both of us. If Dominic wanted him dead, he had cause."
"And that justifies murder?" Harper raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't say that." I leaned back, crossing my arms. "I'm simply stating facts. Marco betrayed him. In Dominic's world, betrayal has consequences."
"And what about your world, Valentina?" Callahan's voice was quiet, dangerous. "Does betrayal have consequences there too?"
The implication hung in the air between us. They knew—or at least suspected—that I was planning something with Dominic.
"I wouldn't know," I lied. "I'm just a dancer who got caught in the crossfire."
"Bullshit." Callahan slammed his hand on the table. "You're the daughter of Alessandro Ricci, one of the most brilliant undercover operatives the Bureau ever had."
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "What did you just say?"
Harper shot Callahan a warning look, but he pressed on. "Your father wasn't just connected to the mob, Valentina. He was one of us. Deep cover, investigating Russian infiltration of organized crime syndicates across the country."
"That's not possible." My voice sounded distant, even to my own ears. "My father was a businessman with questionable associates. That's what Dominic told me."
"And you believed him?" Callahan laughed humorlessly. "Castellano's been playing you from the start. Your father was FBI. His code name was 'Maestro.' He was feeding us intel on the Russians for years before he was killed."
I felt the room tilt slightly. "If that's true, why didn't the Bureau protect him? Where were you when the Russians murdered him?"
Guilt flashed across Harper's face. "We didn't know about the hit until it was too late. By the time we realized he'd been compromised, you'd already disappeared. We've been looking for you for years."
"Bullshit," I spat, echoing Callahan's earlier sentiment. "If you'd been looking, you would have found me."
"We did find you," Harper said quietly. "Several times. But each time we got close, you vanished again. Almost as if someone was warning you."
The implication was clear: Dominic.
"Your father's final message to his handler mentioned a journal," Callahan continued. "He said it contained everything we needed to bring down the entire operation—names, dates, financial records. He was going to bring it in the day after he was killed."
My father's journal. The same one I'd been decoding for the FBI, piece by piece. The realization made me feel physically ill.
"You've been using me," I whispered. "You never cared about giving me justice. You just wanted the fucking journal."
"We want both," Harper insisted. "Your father was one of ours, Valentina. We protect our own."
"Ten years too late." I stood up, unable to remain seated with the fury coursing through my veins. "If my father was FBI, why didn't he tell me? Why keep me in the dark?"
"To protect you," Callahan said. "The less you knew, the safer you were. Standard protocol for agents with families."
My mind reeled with the implications. If my father had been FBI, then everything I'd believed for the past decade was built on half-truths. My entire mission of vengeance had been aimed at the wrong target.
"I need proof." My voice was steel now. "Not just your word."
Harper nodded, as if she'd been expecting this. She pulled out her phone, tapped a few times, and slid it across the table. On the screen was a photo—my father, much younger, in a suit, receiving some kind of commendation. Beside him stood a man I recognized from news reports: the FBI Director from fifteen years ago.
"Your father was a hero," Harper said softly. "One of the best undercover operatives we ever had. He saved countless lives by exposing Russian operations."
I stared at the photo, unable to reconcile this new information with the father I'd known—the man who taught me to dance, who read me bedtime stories, who seemed like just another businessman with questionable connections.
"Why tell me this now?" I finally asked, looking up from the phone.
"Because we know Dominic is planning something," Callahan said bluntly. "And we think you're part of it. He's going to run, and he wants to take you with him."
My silence was confirmation enough.
"If you go with him, you'll never find justice for your father," Harper pressed. "The Russians who ordered his murder will escape. The truth will remain buried."
"And if I stay?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
"You help us finish what your father started." Harper leaned forward, earnest now. "You decode the rest of the journal. You testify against Sophia and the remaining Russians. You help us dismantle the entire network."
"And Dominic?" I couldn't keep the tremor from my voice.
Harper and Callahan exchanged a look.
"That depends on him," Callahan said carefully. "If he cooperates, turns state's evidence against the Russians, we might be able to work something out."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then he goes down with the rest of them." No hesitation, no mercy.
I sat back down slowly, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "I need time to think."
"You have until tomorrow morning," Harper said, standing. "After that, we move you to a secure facility outside of Chicago. Dominic won't be able to reach you there."
They left me alone in the interrogation room, the folder of crime scene photos still open in front of me. Marco's dead eyes stared up from the glossy paper, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Clean. Professional. Exactly how Dominic would have wanted it.
Two paths stretched before me, both impossible to walk. Betray the man I'd fallen in love with, or betray my father's legacy and the truth he died protecting.
One day left to decide.
* * *
I spent the afternoon in a haze, mechanically decoding another section of my father's journal while my mind spiraled through possibilities. Each symbol I translated felt like another betrayal of Dominic, yet honoring my father's work seemed like the only way to make sense of his death.
By evening, the walls of the hotel room were suffocating me. I needed air, space to think. After arguing with Agent Lewis, I was granted permission for a brief walk around the hotel's secured perimeter, with two agents following at a distance.
The cool night air cleared my head somewhat as I circled the building for the third time. The agents kept their distance, giving me the illusion of privacy while maintaining visual contact.
My burner phone vibrated against my skin. One new message.
*Surveillance blind spot. Northeast corner. Two minutes.*
My heart raced as I casually adjusted my course, heading toward the northeast corner of the property where a small landscaped area created a natural alcove between the building and the parking structure.
As I rounded the corner, a hand shot out from the shadows, pulling me into the darkness. Before I could react, familiar lips crushed against mine, desperate and demanding. Dominic.
"Sixty seconds," he whispered against my mouth when we broke apart. "The camera loop won't last long."
"How did you—" I began, but he silenced me with another brief kiss.
"No time." His eyes were intense, searching mine. "Are you ready? We leave tomorrow night."
"The FBI knows," I blurted out. "About us, about your plans. They're moving me to a secure facility in the morning."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Then we go tonight."
"Dominic, wait." I gripped his arms, feeling the solid strength beneath his jacket. "There's something you need to know. About my father."
"Whatever it is, tell me when we're safe," he urged, checking his watch. "Thirty seconds."
"He was FBI." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Undercover. The journal—it's all the evidence he collected against the Russians. He was going to bring them down before they killed him."
Dominic went completely still, his expression unreadable in the shadows. "You believe that?"
"They showed me proof. A photo." I searched his face desperately. "Did you know? All this time, did you know what he really was?"
Ten seconds. His hesitation told me everything.
"You did know," I whispered, pulling back slightly. "You've been lying to me."
"Not lying." His voice was tight. "Protecting you. There are things about your father you still don't understand."
"Then help me understand." I clutched at his jacket. "Tell me the truth. All of it."
"Not here. Not now." He glanced over my shoulder. "They're coming. You need to decide, Valentina. Now. Come with me tonight, or stay and never see me again."
"How can I choose when I don't have the whole truth?" My voice cracked with frustration.
"Because sometimes the truth isn't what matters." His hand cupped my face with surprising tenderness. "What matters is what you feel. Here." He pressed his palm against my heart.
My pulse thundered beneath his touch. Despite everything—the lies, the half-truths, the violence—my body recognized his as home.
"Marco's dead," I said suddenly. "Did you order the hit?"
His expression hardened. "Yes."
At least he didn't lie about that. "Why?"
"Because he would have given the Russians information that would have gotten you killed." No hesitation, no remorse. "I'd do it again to keep you safe."
The agents were getting closer. I could hear their footsteps on the pavement.
"Tonight," I said, the decision crystallizing in that moment. "Where?"
Relief flooded his features. "The old boathouse at Monroe Harbor. Midnight. Come alone or don't come at all."
He kissed me once more, hard and desperate, then melted back into the shadows just as the agents rounded the corner.
"Ms. Ricci?" One of them called. "Time to head back in."
I nodded, hoping the darkness hid the flush in my cheeks and the war in my eyes.
As I followed them back to my gilded cage, the weight of my decision pressed down on me. I would be leaving behind justice for my father. I would be choosing love over truth. I would be turning my back on everything I'd fought for over the past decade.
But maybe, just maybe, there was a third option. The journal was in my possession for another twelve hours. Enough time to decode the most crucial sections. Enough time to ensure the truth wouldn't die with my father's case.
I could have both—Dominic and justice. I just needed to be smarter than everyone trying to control me.
Back in my room, I pulled out the journal and began working with renewed purpose, my fingers flying over the pages as I raced against the clock.
Midnight was coming. And with it, my final chance at both love and redemption.
* * *
By eleven, I had decoded enough to understand the full scope of my father's investigation. The names, dates, and account numbers formed a complex web of corruption that reached far beyond Chicago, implicating high-level officials in both the Russian and American governments.
I photographed each translated page with the burner phone, sending the images to an encrypted email address I'd created years ago as a contingency. Then I carefully selected the most damning evidence and compiled it into a package addressed to Harper, with instructions not to open it until morning.
At 11:30, I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Ten years of vengeance. Ten years of living for the dead. Tonight, I would start living for myself.
I slipped into black jeans, a dark sweater, and comfortable boots. Practical clothes for a practical escape. Around my neck, I fastened the medallion my father had given me—the one Dominic had returned. Whatever happened next, I would carry this piece of him with me.
Eluding the surveillance was easier than expected. The hotel's fire alarm system responded beautifully to the small blaze I created in the trash can. In the ensuing chaos, with agents scrambling to secure the exits, I slipped out through the service entrance I'd scouted earlier.
The night air was crisp with promise as I made my way to Monroe Harbor, keeping to the shadows, changing direction frequently to ensure I wasn't followed. The weight of my decision grew lighter with each step toward Dominic. Toward freedom.
The boathouse loomed dark and silent against the moonlit water. No signs of life, no indication that this was the launching point for my new existence. For a heart-stopping moment, I feared I'd been betrayed—that Dominic had changed his mind, or worse, that the FBI had intercepted him.
"You came."
His voice behind me made me whirl around, hand automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
Dominic stepped from the shadows, dressed similarly in dark, nondescript clothing. His eyes devoured me hungrily, as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.
"I came," I confirmed, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Alone?"
"Just me."
He closed the distance between us in three long strides, pulling me against him with desperate intensity. I melted into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the solid reality of him against me.
"We don't have much time," he murmured against my hair. "The boat is ready. We'll be in Michigan within hours, then Canada by tomorrow night."
I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "Before we go, I need to know the truth. All of it. About my father."
A shadow crossed his face. "I told you—"
"Not everything," I cut him off. "You knew he was FBI. What else haven't you told me?"
Dominic sighed, glancing toward the water where a sleek boat waited in the darkness. "Can this wait until we're underway?"
"No." I stood my ground. "I've left behind everything to be with you. I deserve the truth before we disappear together."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Alessandro wasn't just FBI. He was working a joint operation with the CIA, investigating Russian intelligence assets embedded in American organized crime. He recruited me when I was nineteen, barely more than a street kid with connections."
I stared at him, processing this new information. "You were his informant?"
"At first." Dominic's voice was low, intense. "Then I became his asset. His protégé. He taught me everything—how to move in these circles, how to gather intelligence without raising suspicion. I was supposed to take over his operation when he moved up the chain."
"Then why did you tell me you tried to save him? Why not tell me you were working with him from the start?"
Pain flashed across his features. "Because I failed him. I was supposed to be his backup the night he was killed. I was running late—following up on a lead about Sophia's involvement with the Russians. By the time I got there..." He trailed off, the memory visibly haunting him.
"It wasn't your fault," I whispered, reaching for his hand.
"It was." His fingers tightened around mine. "Your father's last words to me were about you. He made me promise to keep you safe, to keep you away from all of this. That's why I let you believe I was just a criminal who tried to help him. It was easier than admitting I was the reason he died alone."
The truth landed like a physical blow. Not only had my father been a federal agent, but Dominic had been working alongside him. Everything I'd believed, every motivation that had driven me for a decade, was built on incomplete information.
"So all this time, when I was planning to destroy you, you were what—protecting me? Honoring your promise to my father?"
A rueful smile touched his lips. "I never expected you to show up at my club. When I realized who you were—who 'Shade' really was—I thought fate was giving me a second chance. A chance to keep you close, to keep you safe, like I promised him."
"And now?" I asked, suddenly uncertain. "What am I to you now? A promise to keep? A debt to repay?"
Dominic's expression softened as he cupped my face in his hands. "Now you're everything. The reason I'm walking away from the life I built. The reason I'm starting over." His thumb traced my lower lip. "I protected you because I promised him. I love you because I can't do anything else."
The word hung between us, never before spoken so plainly. Love. Such a simple word for the complex tangle of emotions binding us together.
"I sent the decoded journal pages to the FBI," I admitted. "Before I came here. The truth about my father, about the Russians—it deserves to be known."
Instead of anger, respect flashed in his eyes. "Your father would be proud."
"And you're not angry?"
"Valentina." He smiled slightly. "I never expected you to choose me over justice. It's one of the reasons I love you."
The sound of distant sirens split the night. Dominic tensed, his hand moving instinctively to the gun concealed beneath his jacket.
"They found us," I whispered, panic rising.
"No." His voice was certain. "They're heading for the hotel. They've discovered you're gone." He took my hand, pulling me toward the waiting boat. "But they'll figure it out soon enough. We need to move."
We raced down the dock, the wooden planks creaking beneath our feet. The boat—larger than I'd expected, some kind of luxury yacht—bobbed gently in the water, ready for our escape.
Dominic helped me aboard, then quickly untied the moorings. Within moments, the engine hummed to life, and we were gliding away from the shore, from Chicago, from our past lives.
As the city lights receded behind us, I stood at the rail, watching the only home I'd ever known fade into the distance. Dominic's arms encircled me from behind, his chest warm against my back.
"Having second thoughts?" he murmured, his breath tickling my ear.
I leaned back into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my spine. "No. Just saying goodbye."
"We can come back someday," he promised. "When it's safe. When the truth has done its work."
I turned in his arms, studying the face that had become more familiar to me than my own. The face of the man I'd once sworn to destroy, now the man I couldn't live without.
"I don't care where we go," I said honestly. "As long as we're together."
His kiss was tender, a promise of everything to come. As the boat cut through the dark waters of Lake Michigan, carrying us toward our uncertain future, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Ten years of vengeance, finally laid to rest.
Whatever came next—whether running, fighting, or building something new—we would face it together. The dancer and her captive. The hunter and her prey. Two broken pieces forming something whole.
The night embraced us as we sailed into the darkness, leaving behind Chicago and all its ghosts. Ahead lay only possibility—and for the first time in a decade, I wasn't afraid.