Baron woke to the pale light seeping between the blinds, his frame stretched lazily across the bed. The sheets hung low at his hips, baring the ridges of his abdomen and the sharp cut of his V-line. His arm instinctively reached out across the mattress—searching.

His hand landed on nothing but cold fabric.

Six months. That’s how long it had been since he left her, and still his body remembered. Six months of empty mornings, of finding her reflection in strangers, of hearing her voice in static-filled silence.

A bitter exhale slipped out as he sat up, running his fingers through his dark hair. He hated the thought, but the truth pressed on him—the bed felt wrong without her.

The shower scalded, steam ghosting off his skin as water rolled down the hard lines of his back and shoulders. Love is weakness, he reminded himself, words he had carried all his life. Weakness gets you killed. And yet, no matter how hard he buried it, her memory rose like smoke he couldn’t clear.

By the time he stepped into the corridor, tailored black suit hugging his frame and gloves snug against his hands, the softness was gone. His face was all sharp edges, carved from stone.

The office he entered was dim, the desk lamp casting amber light across maps and files. Don Armand leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Baron.

“You’re late.”

Baron’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “You call, I show.”

“There’s a rat,” Armand said flatly. “Caught on camera. Careless. I suspect they’re tied to the police.” He laced his fingers together. “Erase them. No delays.”

“How soon?”

“Before the sun goes down. I don’t want them alive when morning comes.”

The smirk fell, replaced by something colder. “Consider it done.”

The docks reeked of rust and salt when Baron arrived, his men following close. The warehouse loomed, steel door rattling faintly with the sound of movement inside.

He pushed it open, pistol in hand.

And then—he froze.

Light spilled over the figure in the corner, pressed against the wall. Recognition hit him like a blade. His chest tightened.

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For months he had seen her in his nightmares, heard her in dreams. But not like this. Not in Armand’s territory. Not where Baron could never be the man she once knew. Here, he was only the Underboss.

A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his mouth. “So this is the rat. I wondered who it’d be.”

The pistol leveled at her, though every nerve screamed against it. His voice came smooth, detached. “It’s been a long time… hasn’t it?”

Behind him, his men stirred, waiting.

“Leave,” Baron commanded, his tone like steel. “I’ll handle this myself.”

They hesitated, but one look from him sent them out. The door shut with a heavy echo.

Silence pressed in.

The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He stepped forward, eyes dragging over her like he was memorizing her all over again.

“Go,” he whispered, the word burning on his tongue. Then, harsher, “Get out. Before I put a bullet in you.”

But he knew—even as he said it—he never would. Not with her. Not even if it destroyed him.