Waitress Slipped a Note to the Mafia Boss — “Your Girlfriend Sold You Out. They’re in Position.”

The grand ballroom of the Metropolitan Club glittered beneath three-story crystal chandeliers, a sea of black ties, champagne flutes, and whispered secrets.

When Dante Moretti walked through the gilded double doors with Clara on his arm, the low hum of conversation rippled and died across half the room.

Clara kept her chin high, though her heart was drumming wildly against the ultra-thin Kevlar bodice beneath the emerald silk gown. The dress was backless, clinging to every curve before pooling around silver heels, and Dante’s large, warm hand rested proprietorially against the bare skin at the small of her back.

"Stop holding your breath," Dante murmured against her temple, his lips curving into a charming, public smile for the staring crowd. "Every man in this room is wondering who you are, and every woman is wondering how you replaced Camilla Sterling in less than twenty-four hours."

"They’re looking at me like I’m fresh meat in a shark tank," Clara whispered back through a practiced smile.

"Let them look," Dante growled softly, pulling her an inch closer against his side. "Anyone who gets within biting distance loses their teeth."

Across the parquet floor, Uncle Enzo stood near a marble pillar holding a glass of scotch. His cold blue eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Clara draped in Moretti emeralds. Beside him stood a tall, impeccably groomed man with silver-blond hair and a scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

Clara’s fingers tightened on Dante’s tuxedo sleeve. "Dante. Twelve o’clock. The man next to your uncle."

"I see him," Dante said, his voice turning to steel. "Aleksei Orlov. Viktor Kael’s second-in-command and legal consigliere. Since he works as a registered corporate attorney, the cops can't arrest him on sight."

As the string quartet launched into a slow waltz, Dante guided Clara onto the dance floor. When his hand slid around her waist and hers came to rest on his broad shoulder, the pretend tension between them vanished, replaced by something raw and dangerously real.

"Look upset with me," Dante whispered, looking down into her eyes as they moved effortlessly across the polished floor. "Orlov is watching."

"It’s not hard when you’re bossing me around every five minutes," Clara shot back, glaring up at him on cue.

A genuine flash of amusement lit Dante’s dark eyes. "Careful, little bird. I might start to think you enjoy fighting with me."

"I enjoy breathing," she murmured, her gaze dropping momentarily to his mouth before snapping back up. "And right now, your uncle is walking toward the terrace."

As the song ended, Dante released her hand with deliberate coldness, playing the role of the ruthless captor, and stalked toward the bar where two of his captains were waiting.

Left alone near the champagne fountain, Clara didn't have to wait thirty seconds before a shadow fell over her.

"Emerald suits you much better than a stained apron, Ms. Vance," a smooth, accented voice murmured.

Clara turned. Aleksei Orlov stood beside her, holding out two flutes of Dom Pérignon.

"Tell Viktor to keep his snipers away from my family," Clara hissed beneath her breath, taking the glass only to maintain appearances.

"Midnight," Orlov replied, smiling politely as a senator walked past them. "Plug the drive into the phone. Once the data uploads, walk down to the service elevator in the penthouse basement. Marco will have a car waiting to take you, your brother, and your friend to Teterboro Airport."

Orlov leaned in slightly closer. "Do not fail us, Clara. Camilla Sterling is already learning how unforgiving Mr. Kael can be when investments don't pay off."

Wait—Camilla was supposed to be in federal custody.