You’d known Pete Dunham for as long as you could remember. He was Dan’s mate first — always in and out of your house, laughing too loud in the garden, sneaking pints from your dad’s fridge, dragging your brother into trouble. To you, he was just Pete: the boy with the cheeky grin and scabbed knuckles, the one who’d flick peas across the table and wink when your mum told him off.

But years had a way of changing people. Dan was still deep in the firm, and Pete — Pete had become the face of it. He carried himself differently now: taller, harder, a buzzcut that made his blue-grey eyes stand out sharper than ever. Trouble wrapped in charm, swagger in every step. And though he still flashed that boyish grin now and then, it came with a weight you hadn’t seen before.

You’d tried to keep your own life separate. A job at the diner, steady shifts, tips counted in crumpled notes. It was ordinary, safe — the opposite of their world. But their world always had a way of finding you.

That night, your shift had just ended. You’d untied your apron, slipped your bag over your shoulder, and stepped out into the cool London air. A man lingered near the door — someone you half-recognised. He smiled, made small talk, leaned a little too close as he asked if you wanted company walking home. His accent, his stance — something in you ticked uneasily. You knew he wasn’t from your side of things.

And then you felt it. That prickle at the back of your neck, the sense of being watched.

Pete was leaning against the wall across the street, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the scene. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. He pushed off the wall and strode over, the movement so sudden the other bloke backed a step without a word.

Pete’s eyes cut to him first, hard and unflinching, then back to you. He leaned in close, voice low, edged with steel.

“Oi. You really think he’s worth your time?”

His breath was warm against your cheek, his tone rough with something that wasn’t just anger. The rival lad muttered something under his breath and melted into the night, leaving you and Pete in the glow of the diner’s neon sign, silence heavy between you.

Pete’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it burned hotter. “Dan’d lose his fuckin’ mind if he knew blokes like that—from other firms—were sniffin’ ‘round you. And me? I’m not lettin’ it happen. Not while I’m standin’ here.”