Novels by Ann Lottimore

They transferred Lucia upstairs when the sun was still a rumor at the edge of the city. The elevator doors opened onto a quieter floor, the kind built for waiting rather than crisis — low voices, long corridors, daylight that would arrive slowly and take the edge off metal and glass. Observation Room 7 was small, rectangular, and cleared of everything that could make a mother feel in the way. A narrow bed. A recliner that pretended to be comfortable. A monitor mounted high, its screen already alive with thin lines and numbers. A rolling pole with a saline bag hung but capped — ready if needed, unnecessary if luck held. Lucia lay on her back, blanket tucked under her arms, a tiny adhesive band across the crook of her elbow where the cannula sat like a promise not yet called in. The pulse-ox clip glowed red against her finger, a little jewel that pulsed with each artifact of the heart’s work. The blow-by nozzle had been removed; the mask coiled at the base of the pole like a snake out

The hour before dawn makes every room honest. Color drains to ash; sound thins to a thread. The safe apartment breathed in long, even measures — vents whispering, pipes settling, the city outside reduced to a pulse behind glass.Siena had stopped pretending not to sleep. Somewhere between three and four she’d let her body fold into the chair by Lucia’s bed, a throw blanket slid haphazardly over her knees, her head tilted against the high back. She kept one hand free, palm resting on the mattress, two fingers lightly touching the edge of Lucia’s blanket where the rise and fall would tell her more than any clock. The bandage over her palm tugged when she flexed; it itched the way healing does when it decides to, not when you ask.Lucia lay on her side facing her, hair looped into soft curls against the pillow, breath a quiet tide. A line of stuffed animals kept sentinel at the foot of the bed — fox, rabbit, a soft bear whose ear had been loved thin. The nightlight in the corner had surr

Night settled over the safe apartment like a heavy curtain, muting the city to a distant murmur. The lamps were turned low — one pool of amber on the sideboard, another a thin halo over the corner of the living room where Siena sat with her legs tucked under her, a blanket thrown across her knees as if warmth could argue with dread.The place was engineered for quiet. The HVAC hummed at a regulated whisper. In the corridor outside, guards rotated in soft-soled shoes that never quite made a sound. Somewhere below, the elevator locks cycled, checking and rechecking their own certainty. The windows, double-laminated and polarized, showed nothing of Milan except a suggestion of light, like the city had been reduced to a pulse.On the coffee table lay the black card with the golden serpent and, beside it, the photograph from the morning’s package. Siena had left them there deliberately, a boundary line in plain view. She refused to keep them out of sight. She also refused to touch them aga

The apartment didn’t feel safe anymore. It felt measured.Siena sat on the edge of the low sofa in the living room, elbows on her knees, the photograph from the black package balanced between her fingers like a blade. Lucia’s small face stared back up at her from the glossy paper — lashes lowered, mouth parted in concentration over a children’s book. The closer she looked, the more the image refused to stay still; it kept pulling her inward to the single fact she could not make smaller: someone had been that close.The room breathed around her in slow, careful sounds — the distant hum of the building’s ventilation, the soft tick of the wall clock, footsteps muted in the corridor where the guards rotated posts every fifteen minutes. From down the hall came the low murmur of two voices — Marco briefing another man; the rustle of a tablet case being unzipped; the scrape of a chair as someone sat. Efficient noise. Loyal noise. None of it changed the picture in her hands.Adriano stood at

Morning in Milan arrived like a careful intruder — slipping through the blinds in narrow shafts of pale gold, brushing across the dark oak floors of Adriano’s safe apartment without disturbing the silence. The air inside was still, untouched, holding onto the faint scent of last night’s rain.Beyond the reinforced windows, the city was waking up. A tram’s low rumble passed somewhere in the distance. Car horns flared and died away. Somewhere down on the street, the metallic clink of a shopkeeper rolling open his shutters carried faintly upward.Inside, the building was locked down as always — guards posted in the corridor outside, two more at the main entrance, cameras running in a continuous loop. This was Adriano’s stronghold in Milan, a place built for shadows and safety.From the bedroom, Siena stirred. Her eyes opened to the muted light pressing through the curtains, the sound of Lucia’s laughter filtering in from the next room — a soft, high melody, the kind only a child could ma

The rooftop was quiet.Too quiet for a city that never slept.Milan, in all its splendor, stretched beneath them — a glimmering mosaic of power and decay. The rooftop of the Castello Rosso Hotel offered a view few ever earned: a city split between gods in suits and ghosts in leather jackets.Siena stood near the edge, the wind brushing against her like a whispered warning. Her hair fluttered behind her, raven-black and wild against the silver sky. Her heels clicked once against the stone, then stilled. She didn’t move again.Adriano stood a few feet behind her, suit jacket undone, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He wasn't looking at the skyline. He was watching her. Always her.Below, sirens wailed in muffled cycles — in and out like tides. Red and blue lights ricocheted across car windows, alleyways, statues older than the republic. Shadows moved fast between buildings, motorcycles weaving through the dark like sharks sensing blood. The city was breathing differently tonight.And the

The morning sun spilled through the glass walls of Mason Equity’s temporary offices, throwing long stripes of light across the floor. Katherine stepped in, heels clicking a little too sharply against the polished surface, her bag tucked tightly under one arm. She had rehearsed her expression all the way here: neutral, focused, untouchable. The kind of face that told people she had not, in fact, nearly been caught kissing her CEO against the door of her office less than twenty-four hours ago.It lasted about thirty seconds.Sebastian was already there, leaning casually against the corner of her desk, flipping through the morning’s reports as though he had been waiting all along. Perfectly composed, cufflinks in place, shirt collar crisp, not a single trace of the chaos from yesterday clung to him. He looked like he had slept eight uninterrupted hours and woken up immune to scandal.Katherine dropped her bag a little harder than necessary onto the desk. “If Sophie tells anyone —”He did

The morning sun had just begun to slant through the tall glass walls of the office floor when Katherine pushed open her door, balancing her coffee in one hand and scrolling absently through her phone with the other. She was already running through the day’s agenda in her head — client calls, a board update, that endless supply chain briefing she wasn’t looking forward to — when she finally looked up.And stopped.Sebastian Mason was in her chair.Not across from her desk in one of the visitor seats. Not standing casually at the window. He was behind her desk, leaning back with the relaxed arrogance of someone who had already claimed the territory as his own. Her laptop was open, his papers spread across her blotter, and a Montblanc pen tapped lazily against the edge of her notebook — her notebook.Katherine blinked once, set her coffee down a little too sharply, and arched a brow. “Excuse me?”Sebastian didn’t immediately look up. He finished a line in his notes, then glanced at her o

The rooftop had fallen into that rare kind of silence — not empty, not heavy, but warm, steady. Katherine stood against the railing, wrapped in his jacket, her body melting into the solid line of his chest behind her. His lips had just brushed her temple, the faintest kiss, enough to unravel the last knot of tension she had carried all day.For a moment she thought that was it — the quiet ending to a long, bruising day. But then he didn’t move away. His mouth lingered against her skin, the warmth of his breath soft against the shell of her ear.Sebastian shifted, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from her temple down the curve of her cheek. The touch was unhurried but filled with intent, a steady pressure that left her breath catching. When he found the corner of her jaw, the kiss lingered, heavier now, and something in the air shifted.Her lungs betrayed her, pulling in sharp, uneven breaths. She turned in his arms, her eyes finding his in the dim rooftop light. For one suspen

The elevator doors slid open with a low chime, spilling them into the still-silent top floor.The space was nothing like the polished Mason Equity offices she knew — no sleek conference tables, no glass partitions, no polished chrome nameplates. Just bare concrete underfoot, the faint echo of their steps, and walls still stripped down to white primer. Morning light streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the open expanse with gold, catching in the dust that hung in the air like glitter.Katherine took it in slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of her navy dress, her heels clicking against the floor. “Feels… unfinished,” she said with a little smirk.“Because it is.” Sebastian stepped out behind her, the click of his shoes more deliberate. He was in a dark charcoal suit with no tie, sleeves rolled just enough to give him an edge of informality — the only sign that this wasn’t a boardroom visit. In one hand, he carried a sleek leather folder, the kind she’d seen during h

The office was quiet. Too quiet.The kind of silence that seeps into your bones, heavy and still, like the world had exhaled and forgot to breathe again.Los Angeles glimmered beyond the tall windows — the lights blurred through the glass, like a city trying to dance its way into her line of sight. But inside, the room was frozen. Just her. And a desk lamp that flickered like it, too, was tired.Katherine stood by the window with her phone in hand. She wasn’t pacing. Not this time. Her heels were off, tossed beside the chair. Her blazer lay across the armrest, forgotten hours ago. The blue light of the screen made her look pale, and far too vulnerable for someone who had closed five major deals this week alone.But none of that mattered now.She stared at the screen, thumb hovering above his name.Sebastian MasonShe hadn’t texted him since landing. Not even a check-in. It was stupid, maybe. Immature even. But something about stepping into this office again, alone, after the weekend t

The first thing Katherine noticed was the light.Soft, golden, and filtered through linen curtains, it spilled across the bed like a whispered invitation to wake up gently. Her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, her body still wrapped in the warmth of cotton sheets — and him. Or rather, the absence of him.She reached across the mattress, but the other side was cool.Empty.Then came the second thing — silence. Not the kind that felt lonely, but the kind that held the aftertaste of laughter, music, clinking glasses, and echoing footsteps. Her birthday. Her friends. Her people. Her noise.She sat up slowly. The sheets slipped from her shoulder as she exhaled, eyes drifting across the room.On the floor — her heels, tipped over like they’d danced too long.On the chair — the sleek dress she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry in.On the nightstand — a glass, faintly kissed with her signature red lipstick.And on the edge of the bed — a ribbon from one of the gifts.Still curled. Still glowing.She