Chapter 1 - Pretend You Know Me
Emma Reed had exactly three seconds to choose between a stranger who looked dangerous and a man she already knew was.
The bakery was packed for the lunch rush. Espresso hissed behind the counter. Plates clinked. A toddler cried near the window while two women argued cheerfully over the last apricot tart.
Emma stood beside the pastry case with a paper bag in one hand and her phone in the other.
Then she saw Grant Keller enter.
Everything inside her went cold.
Grant wore a navy suit, pale shirt, and the controlled smile he used whenever he wanted the world to believe nothing was wrong. To anyone else, he looked polished. Successful. Expensive.
Emma knew what his hand felt like around her wrist.
She knew how softly he could threaten someone.
And she knew he had no reason to be in this bakery except her.
Three weeks earlier, Emma had left him.
Not dramatically.
No screaming.
No final confrontation.
She packed two suitcases while he was in Boston, moved into her cousin’s apartment, changed her phone number, and told herself she would never again mistake possession for love.
Grant found the new number in four days.
He found the apartment in nine.
This morning he had sent one text.
YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER.
Emma blocked him.
Now he was twenty feet away.
She looked toward the kitchen door.
Too far.
Toward the front entrance.
Grant had already seen her.
His smile widened.
“Emma.”
She moved before she had a plan.
The man beside the pastry case was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. Dark suit. Black shirt open at the throat. No tie. Wavy dark hair pushed back carelessly.
His hands were tattooed.
So was part of his chest where the shirt opened.
An expensive steel watch sat on his left wrist.
He held a tiny orange tart between two fingers and studied it with the seriousness of a man evaluating evidence.
Emma grabbed his right hand.
The stranger looked down at their joined fingers.
Then up at her.
His eyes were dark and calm.
Not surprised.
That somehow made him more frightening.
Emma stepped close enough that Grant would see intimacy instead of panic.
“Please,” she whispered.
The stranger’s gaze sharpened.
“Pretend you know me.”
He looked over Emma’s shoulder.
Grant was approaching.
The stranger understood immediately.
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
“Emma.”
“I’m Roman.”
Grant stopped beside them.
“Emma.”
She forced herself to turn.
“Grant.”
His eyes dropped to her hand in Roman’s.
“You didn’t answer my calls.”
“I blocked them.”
“That was childish.”
Roman lifted the apricot tart and took a bite.
Emma stared at him.
Of all possible reactions, she had not expected pastry.
Grant noticed too.
“And you are?”
Roman chewed slowly.
Then he looked at Emma.
“You didn’t tell him?”
Something about the question was perfect.
Possessive enough to sound convincing.
Casual enough to suggest Grant did not matter.
Emma caught on.
“We haven’t exactly had time.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Roman looked at him.
“Roman Vale.”
Grant’s face changed.
Not much.
But Emma saw it.
Recognition.
Fear.
The bakery suddenly felt quieter.
Grant recovered.
“Vale?”
Roman took another bite.
“That’s usually how names work.”
The corner of Emma’s mouth almost moved.
Grant looked from Roman to Emma.
“What exactly is going on?”
Emma squeezed Roman’s hand.
He squeezed back once.
A signal.
Play along.
Roman turned toward her.
His expression softened just enough.
“You want to tell him?”
Grant stared.
Emma could hear her heartbeat.
“Yes.”
She faced Grant.
“It’s over.”
Grant laughed quietly.
“This is embarrassing.”
“For you?”
“For everyone.”
He stepped closer.
Roman did not move.
Grant lowered his voice.
“You’re coming with me.”
Emma felt the old reflex.
Agree.
Keep him calm.
Apologize.
Survive the car ride.
Roman’s thumb moved across the side of her hand.
A small grounding pressure.
Emma lifted her chin.
“No.”
Grant’s smile vanished.
His hand reached toward her elbow.
Roman caught his wrist.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
Just fast.
Grant froze.
Roman looked at the hand.
Then at him.
“She said no.”
Two men at a nearby table stood.
Emma had assumed they were customers.
They were watching Roman.
Security.
Grant realized it too.
He pulled his wrist free.
“You don’t know what this is.”
Roman’s voice stayed level.
“No. I know what ‘no’ means.”
Grant looked at Emma with something ugly behind his eyes.
“This isn’t finished.”
Roman tilted his head.
“It is inside this bakery.”
Grant left.
Emma did not breathe until the door closed.
Then she released Roman’s hand so quickly she nearly dropped her bag.
“I’m sorry.”
Roman looked at his empty hand.
“For what?”
“I grabbed you.”
“You did.”
“I lied.”
“You asked me to lie.”
“That’s not better.”
Roman finished the tart.
“You looked scared.”
Emma hated how close that came to making her cry.
She looked down.
“I was.”
Roman’s tone changed.
“Boyfriend?”
“Ex.”
“Dangerous?”
Emma hesitated.
Roman noticed.
“That answer was yes.”
One of his men approached.
“Boss?”
Emma looked up.
Boss.
Roman held out a hand without looking.
The man passed him a phone.
Roman spoke quietly.
“Get the plate on Keller’s car. Find out where he works, where he lives, whether he owns weapons, and whether he has any current restraining orders.”
Emma stared.
“No.”
Roman looked at her.
“You don’t want help?”
“I don’t want him hurt.”
Something unreadable passed over Roman’s face.
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“I know who you are now.”
“Do you?”
“Roman Vale.”
His name had been in newspapers.
Not always directly.
Vale Holdings.
Vale Shipping.
Vale Construction.
And whispered connections to half the city’s organized crime.
Emma took a step backward.
“I picked the wrong stranger.”
Roman almost smiled.
“Probably.”
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Emma outside the bakery.
Taken seconds earlier.
Below it:
HE WON’T BE WITH YOU ALL THE TIME.
Emma stopped breathing.
Roman held out his hand.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“I said no.”
Roman lowered his hand immediately.
That surprised her.
Then another message came.
A photograph of her cousin Claire entering their apartment building that morning.
Emma’s fear changed shape.
Grant had never threatened Claire before.
Roman saw her face.
“What happened?”
Emma turned the phone toward him.
He read the messages.
The calm in his expression disappeared.
Not rage.
Something colder.
“Your cousin?”
Emma nodded.
Roman handed the phone to his security man.
“Send a car.”
Emma grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
Roman looked at her hand.
She let go.
“Sorry.”
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Grab me.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped her.
It sounded almost hysterical.
Roman’s expression softened.
Then his security man returned.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Keller doesn’t work where he says he does.”
Emma frowned.
Roman looked at the phone.
Grant had told her he was a regional finance director for Mercer Atlantic.
The report said he had been fired eleven months earlier.
His current employer was a private investigations company.
Roman scrolled.
Then stopped.
“What?” Emma asked.
Roman looked at her.
“Keller has a client file.”
“On who?”
Roman turned the screen.
The file was labeled:
EMMA REED — SURVEILLANCE AUTHORIZED.
She stared.
“Authorized by who?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“The person paying Grant.”
“Who is that?”
Roman did not answer.
He looked toward the bakery window.
Across the street, a black sedan was parked.
A woman sat in the back seat.
Emma saw only a profile.
Silver hair.
Pearl earrings.
Perfect posture.
Roman knew her.
He went completely still.
“Roman?”
The sedan pulled away.
He watched it disappear.
May you like
Then he said the last name Emma expected.
“My mother.”
