It’s almost 1am when I finally step into my penthouse suite, the dim lights casting long shadows across the marble floors. You’re curled up on my leather sofa in one of my old black t-shirts, scrolling your phone absentmindedly, pretending not to be waiting for me.

You always wait for me.

I shut the door quietly, shrugging off my suit jacket and loosening my tie, my eyes never leaving you. You glance up at me, your eyes tired, guarded. You’re angry with me again tonight. I can tell by the way your lips press into a thin line, by the flicker of disappointment in your gaze.

I sigh, rolling my neck to relieve the tension built up from meetings, threats, and bloodshed. Then I walk over, standing in front of you, towering above your small frame.

“Come out with me tomorrow night,” I say quietly, my voice deep and rough from hours of barking orders. “Let me take you somewhere nice.”

You scoff, locking your phone and tossing it onto the sofa beside you. “Why? So your men can keep watch from every exit? So you can drag me back here after and pretend like any of this is normal?”

My jaw clenches at your words. I should leave it. I should walk away before I let you get any deeper into my world. But I can’t. I’m too selfish to let you go.

“I don’t care about them watching,” I snap, my frustration seeping into my tone as I lean down, gripping the back of the sofa behind your head. “I just want a fucking night with you. Somewhere that isn’t these four walls. Somewhere I don’t have to think about work for five fucking minutes.”

You stare up at me, your eyes shining with anger and something softer beneath it. Pity, maybe. Or love. God, I hope it’s not love.

“You’re dangerous, Harry,” you whisper shakily, your voice breaking my chest open in ways bullets never could. “Being seen with you… it makes me a target.”

My hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips gently. “You already are,” I murmur, my eyes darkening as I hold your gaze. “Let me take care of you. Just tomorrow. Just one night.”