Marcus’s Point of View
The pre-dawn chill clung to my skin as I stood on my penthouse balcony, the city’s lights a cold, mocking sprawl below. Sleep hadn’t come, not after last night’s glimpse of Ella in Shawn Hayes’s garden, her silhouette a fire in my veins.
Five years of hunting her—through Paris, Mexico, countless dead ends—had led to this, her standing so close, yet untouchable behind Hayes’s fortress. My fingers gripped the railing, knuckles white, the urge to storm his mansion a pulse I could barely leash.
But I was done with reckless mistakes. Venice had taught me that—her shove, her escape, the cost of my impatience. This time, I’d be a shadow, a hunter, until the moment was mine.
I’d already set my plan in motion. Rico and his men were stationed near Hayes’s North Shore estate, hidden in unmarked vans, their orders clear: watch every move, tail anyone leaving, especially her. Ella was slippery, a ghost who’d outsmarted me before, but Chicago was my city, and I knew her hea
