The white flare from the motion sensors threw the penthouse into stark light, every shadow cut sharp against the walls. Selene's heart leapt into her throat, the muscles in her legs taut as if ready to run though she didn't know where to.
Kieran crossed to the wall of monitors, fingers dancing over a concealed control panel. With a soft hum, the large center screen flickered to life, showing the security feeds outside the building.
There were men out there.
Not the usual slick-suited bodyguards she'd seen at the Hart galas. These moved like liquid shadow, their faces half-obscured by black hoods, their hands bare, casual as if gloves were for amateurs who worried about leaving prints.
They weren't here to hide. They were here to send a message.
Kieran's jaw flexed. He switched the feed, revealing another camera this one catching the street corner just beyond the building's private garage. A sleek black car idled there, its windows tinted so dark it reflected the city lights like a mirror.
Then the back door opened.
A man stepped out slowly, almost lazily. Even at this distance, Selene could tell the cut of his suit wasn't off-the-rack, and the glint at his wrist wasn't from some department store watch. He moved like he owned the ground beneath his feet, the air bending slightly toward him with each step.
Kieran didn't speak at first. His fingers pressed the side of the monitor, zooming in until the man's face came into focus.
Olive skin, sharply cut cheekbones, eyes so dark they looked bottomless and the faintest curve of a smile that didn't belong on a friend.
Selene felt it in her bones before Kieran confirmed it.
"That," Kieran said quietly, "is Dante Vassallo."
The name landed heavy, tasting like steel in her mouth.
"I thought you said I didn't want his name in my mouth," she murmured.
"You don't." Kieran's gaze stayed locked on the feed. "Because names are like contracts to him. Say it too often, and he'll consider you an investment."
Selene's arms folded over herself, though she told herself it wasn't from fear. "So he's the one who sold you the video?"
Kieran's eyes cut toward her sharp enough to make her regret speaking. "He's the one who made it exist."
The man on the monitor Dante wasn't looking at the building. He was looking up, right into the camera lens, his lips curling as if he knew exactly who was watching.
Then he lifted one hand and traced a slow, deliberate line across his throat.
The feed cut to static.
Selene flinched at the sudden hiss of white noise.
Kieran's hand slammed the monitor off.
"We're leaving," he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Selene was in the back seat of a different car not the glossy sedan from earlier, but a black SUV with windows like armored glass. Kieran sat beside her, one arm draped casually along the seat back, the other holding a phone to his ear as he spoke in rapid Italian.
She didn't need to understand the words to hear the command in them. Every syllable was clipped, precise, edged with a control so tight it felt dangerous.
The driver didn't speak. He didn't even check the rearview mirror.
When Kieran ended the call, Selene asked, "Where are we going?"
"A place Dante won't walk into without thinking twice."
She gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. "And where's that? The moon?"
"Closer," Kieran said. "And much more dangerous."
The SUV pulled into an underground garage beneath a building that didn't look like much from the street a blank facade of black glass and no signage. Inside, however, the air changed.
It wasn't louder. It was heavier.
A single elevator awaited, flanked by two men in dark suits whose eyes swept Selene from head to toe, then flicked to Kieran with a wordless nod.
The elevator doors slid open on a space that didn't belong to any part of the city Selene knew.
Black marble floors. Crystal light fixtures dripping like frozen rain. Music low enough to make the pulse in her ears louder.
Men and women in clothes that whispered of wealth without ever shouting it, cigarette smoke curling in the air, laughter that didn't quite reach the eyes.
It was the kind of place where fortunes were made in whispers and destroyed in smiles.
Selene stepped closer to Kieran without thinking.
"This is neutral ground," he murmured as they walked through. "No one touches anyone here without consequences."
"Neutral," she repeated softly, "but dangerous."
Kieran's lips curved. "Exactly."
They entered a private room at the back long table, leather chairs, a decanter of amber liquor already waiting.
Selene sat. Kieran didn't. He poured himself a glass, took a measured sip, and said, "Dante won't come here himself. He'll send someone. That's how he works. He'll test you before he touches you."
"And if I'm the test?"
Kieran's eyes softened slightly, though his voice didn't. "Then you'll pass."
She almost asked how, but the door opened before she could.
A man stepped in tall, blond, wearing the easy grin of someone who enjoyed other people's discomfort. He didn't bother to hide the gun under his jacket when he took the seat opposite them.
"Mr. Wolfe," he said, his accent more Paris than Manhattan. "The boss sends his regards."
Kieran didn't sit. "Tell your boss I'm not in the mood for games."
"Oh," the man said, his gaze sliding to Selene, "I think you are. Otherwise, why bring her?"
Selene kept her face still, though her stomach tightened.
Kieran leaned in, his voice low and lethal. "One more glance like that, and you leave here without eyes."
The blond man laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. "The boss says you owe him a favor. He says it's time to collect."
Kieran's jaw tightened. "And what does he want?"
The man's smile widened. "Her."
The air between them turned electric.
Kieran didn't look at Selene. He looked at the man across the table as if deciding how many ways he could dismantle him before security arrived.
"She's not part of this," Kieran said finally.
The blond shrugged. "Then you should have kept her out of the pier. Out of Alexander's reach. Out of sight. But you didn't, and now the boss thinks she might be useful."
Selene's voice came before she could think better of it. "Useful how?"
The blond man's smile was all teeth. "Bait."