My friends sent me on a blind date with one of Boston’s most feared mafia bosses because they thought watching me panic would be funny.

The safehouse was not a dingy, cinderblock basement as I had imagined; it was a sprawling, modernist fortress built into the craggy cliffs overlooking the black expanse of Massachusetts Bay. High walls, surveillance cameras swiveling behind sleek glass domes, and guards in sharp suits moving like phantoms through the manicured grounds.

Inside, the living room had floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over the crashing waves below. A fire crackled in a massive stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the hardwood.

I paced back and forth across the Persian rug, clutching a mug of tea Daniel’s housekeeper had handed me. My mind was spinning. The betrayal by Jason eight months ago had felt like a clean, sharp knife between the ribs—it hurt, but it was simple. A cheating boyfriend was an ordinary, mundane tragedy.

This was different. This felt like the earth beneath my childhood home was being excavated, revealing that the foundations were built on top of a tomb.

The heavy mahogany doors at the end of the hall swung open. Marcus entered first, his face impassive, followed by two guards who escorted a sobbing, trembling Olivia into the room.

She wasn’t wearing her glamorous heels anymore; they had been replaced by wet, mud-spattered socks. Her designer trench coat was soaked, her blonde hair plastered to her neck. When she saw me standing by the fireplace, she took a desperate step forward.

“Emily! Oh God, Emily, please tell them to let me go!” she wailed, her voice cracking. “They grabbed me right outside the Grand Oak! They took my purse, they took my phone—Emily, please!”

Daniel stepped out from the shadows near the terrace doors. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only a tailored charcoal vest over his white shirt, the cuffs rolled back to expose strong, corded forearms. The casualness of his posture made him seem ten times more terrifying.

“Sit down, Miss Jennings,” Daniel said softly.

Olivia froze, her wide, panicked eyes darting between Daniel and me. “I didn’t do anything! I just wanted Emily to have fun! It was a joke!”

“A joke,” Daniel repeated, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped two feet away, towering over her. “Do you know what my men found when they pulled your bank records twenty minutes ago, Olivia?”

Olivia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She began to shake uncontrollably.

“Your brother, Nicholas,” Daniel said, his voice dangerously smooth. “He has a rather severe addiction to high-stakes baccarat. Three months ago, he ran up a six-hundred-thousand-dollar debt at an underground parlor in South Boston. A parlor owned by Salvatore Valenti.”

I gasped, dropping my mug onto the table. “Olivia... what?”

Olivia collapsed onto her knees, burying her face in her hands. “I had to, Emily! They were going to kill him! They were going to break his legs and throw him in the harbor!”

“So you sold your best friend,” I said, the words tasting like poison in my mouth. I walked over to her, looking down at the woman who had stood beside me at my father’s funeral, the woman who had held my hair back when I cried over Jason, the woman who had claimed she wanted me to ‘heal.’ “The blind date. The joke. It was all a setup?”

“No! I mean... yes, but not to hurt you!” Olivia sobbed, looking up at me with red, ruined eyes. “A man came to my apartment two weeks ago. He said he worked for the Valentis. He said they knew Arthur Vance had left something for Daniel Brooks. They knew Daniel would never speak to Arthur’s daughter unless something forced his hand. They said if I orchestrated a blind date between you two—if I embarrassed you enough to make a scene and then handed you that envelope—Daniel would have to reveal what he knew.”

“And what were you supposed to do after that?” Daniel asked, his voice dead of emotion.

“I was supposed to call them the moment Emily left the restaurant,” Olivia whispered, tears streaming down her chin. “They wanted to follow you. They wanted you to lead them to where the ledger was hidden. That’s all! They swore they wouldn't hurt Emily! They just wanted the book!”

“You idiot,” I whispered, taking a step back, sick to my stomach. “You absolute idiot. They sent someone to my store, Olivia! They threatened to burn it down! They have people watching Ruth!”

“I didn’t know!” Olivia screamed. “They lied to me!”

“Of course they lied to you,” Daniel said, his tone chillingly dismissive. “You made a deal with hyenas and expected them to show manners.” He looked up at Marcus. “Take her downstairs. Put her in the guest suite in the basement. Take her phone, lock the door, and put two men outside. If she so much as approaches the window, tie her to a chair.”

“Emily! Emily, please!” Olivia shrieked as Marcus hauled her to her feet and dragged her toward the door. “I’m sorry! I was just trying to save Nicholas!”

The heavy doors clicked shut, cutting off her desperate screams.

Silence rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating. I stood there in the center of the Persian rug, hugging my arms around myself, trying to stop the violent trembling in my limbs.

Eight months ago, Jason had looked me in the eye and lied about where he spent his nights. Tonight, my best friend had admitted to selling me like a piece of bait to mafia hitmen to save her degenerate brother.

I felt a sudden, terrible weight pressing down on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. The room began to spin. I swayed, my vision blurring at the edges.

Before I could hit the floor, strong arms caught me.

Daniel pulled me against his chest, his grip firm and steadying. He lowered me onto the leather sofa by the fire, sitting beside me, his hands resting on my shoulders.

“Breathe, Emily,” he commanded softly, his face inches from mine. “Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

I forced myself to look. His gray eyes were steady, unblinking, anchoring me against the storm raging in my head.

“I’m right here,” Daniel murmured. “You are not alone. And as long as I am drawing breath, no one will ever touch you. Do you hear me?”

A ragged sob tore through my throat, and before I could stop myself, I buried my face into his shoulder. The wool of his vest was rough against my cheek, smelling of rain, cedar, and an expensive, smokey cologne. He stiffened for a fraction of a second—a man unaccustomed to physical vulnerability—before his arm wrapped securely around my back, pulling me tighter against him.

For the first time in six years, amidst the terrifying chaos of mob wars and shattered friendships, I felt an inexplicable sense of safety.

“We have to find it, Daniel,” I whispered against his chest, my voice muffled by tears. “We have to find the ledger before they do.”

Daniel’s hand stroked the back of my hair, a tender gesture that felt jarringly intimate coming from a man who commanded an army of killers.