ログインAlina’s POV
I stared at the tracker in my palm, its tiny red light blinking like a malevolent eye, and felt the world tilt sideways.
Someone on the inside had been tracking me. Someone we trusted, someone with access to my belongings, someone who’d walked beside us through this nightmare while secretly feeding information to people who wanted me dead.
“Ronan,” I called out, my voice surprisingly steady despite the panic clawing at my throat. &ldquo
Dominic’s POVChloe had been staying at my loft for two days, and I was losing my mind.Not because she was difficult or demanding. Because she was there—in my space, wearing my clothes when she ran out of clean ones, curled up on my couch reading while I painted, making coffee in my kitchen like she belonged there.And God, I wanted her to belong there.It was past midnight on her second night. She sat on the floor near my easel, watching me work on a new piece. I’d offered her the couch, but she preferred being close.“Can you teach me?” she asked suddenly.I looked down at her. “To paint?”“Yeah. I want to try.”I shouldn’t have said yes. Painting was intimate for me—putting my trauma on canvas, processing emotions through art. Teaching someone meant sharing that vulnerability.But I grabbed a fresh canvas anyway.“Come here.”She stood, and I positioned her in front of the blank space. Handed her a brush.“What do I paint?” she asked.“Whatever you feel.”“I feel scared.”“Then pa
Marcus’s POVRonan called me back forty-eight hours after our last conversation.“Got your intel,” he said without preamble. “You’re not going to like it.”I was in my apartment, monitoring security feeds from Chloe’s location. Currently at Dominic’s loft, safe, sleeping based on the lack of movement.“Tell me.”“Three Vulture remnants operating in Seattle. Orion Kozlov, Dorian Volkov, and Nikolai Petrov. All former enforcers, all loyal to Iron Mike Morrison even after his imprisonment.”“Morrison. The one who killed Alina’s mother.”“The same. He blamed Alina for his life sentence, and by extension, anyone close to her. These three are looking for revenge through proxy.”“Their plan?”“From what my sources gathered, they want to grab Chloe, use her as bait to lure Alina to Seattle, then kill both of th
Chloe’s POVOne week of rotating between three apartments, and I was losing my mind.Not from the fear—though that was constant, a low hum of anxiety I couldn’t shake. But from the weirdness of living out of a suitcase, never settling, always moving.Two nights at Dominic’s loft, painting into the early hours and falling asleep on his couch.Two nights at Marcus’s apartment, learning self-defense and feeling safe in his quiet, controlled space.Two nights at Lucian’s condo, talking until dawn about everything and nothing.Each place felt like home and felt like exile simultaneously.Thursday night I was at Lucian’s, and something inside me finally cracked.I’d been holding it together all week—going through motions, pretending I was fine, forcing smiles when the men asked how I was doing. But that night, staring at Lucian’s guest room ceiling, I felt the weight of ever
Dominic’s POVThe next morning, I met Marcus and Lucian at a coffee shop two blocks from my studio.Chloe was still asleep in my loft, exhausted from days of fear and stress. I’d left her a note: *Went to get breakfast. Back soon. Doors locked. You’re safe.*Now I sat across from two men who technically were my competition, feeling territorial and aggressive and trying very hard to be professional.“Thanks for meeting,” Marcus said, pulling out a tablet. “We need to establish protocols.”“Protocols?” I repeated. “For what?”“For protecting Chloe. Coordinating our efforts. Making sure we’re not creating gaps in security.”“Or fighting over her like dogs over a bone,” Lucian added dryly.I bristled. “I’m not fighting over anyone.”“Aren’t you?” Marcus looked at me. “You offered her your
Chloe’s POVMarcus didn’t waste time.The morning after the threatening phone call, he showed up at my apartment at seven AM with coffee and a grim expression.“Pack a bag,” he said without preamble. “You’re not staying here.”I stared at him from my doorway, still in pajamas, hair a mess. “Excuse me?”“Your apartment is compromised. Ground floor, windows facing the street, no security system. You might as well hang a sign that says ‘easy target.’”“This is my home.”“This is a death trap.” He pushed past me into the apartment, already assessing. “How fast can you pack?”“Marcus, you can’t just…”“I can and I am. We talked about this last night. The threat is real and immediate. You need to be somewhere secure.”“Where? A bunker?”“Funny.&rd
Marcus’s POVAfter the parking garage conversation, I did what I should have done weeks ago: I called Ronan directly.“Marcus.” His voice was calm, measured. “Twice in one month. I’m flattered.”“We have a problem. Chloe Martinez is being actively threatened by someone connected to Hart’s old network.”Silence. Then: “Explain.”I filled him in on everything—the surveillance, the photos, the threatening note. Ronan listened without interrupting, which meant he was processing tactically.“Hart’s associates scattered after his conviction,” he said finally. “But there were a few who blamed Alina for bringing him down. If they can’t get to her directly, going after Chloe makes sense.”“How do I identify them?”“You don’t. I do.” I heard typing in the background. “Give me forty-eight hours. I
Alina’s POV - Three Days LaterThe courtroom was overflowing—every seat was taken, and people filled the back, while others watched on screens in nearby rooms. This wasn’t just any trial; it felt like a dramatic show. The fall of Commissioner Marcus Hart, brought down by his own daughter, played o
Maddox’s POV - Two Days LaterThe trial had stopped for the weekend, giving everyone time to process the bombshell that was David Reeves’ testimony. Hart’s defense team was scrambling, public opinion had turned completely against him, and legal experts were predicting a q
Alina’s POV - Trial Day FiveI wasn’t scheduled to testify again, so I could sit in the audience and watch. The courtroom had become familiar over the past week—the same wooden benches, the same quiet conversations, the same feeling of anticipation every time a new witnes
Alina’s POVDocuments appeared on screens, the original license plate registration, showing the car belonged to a known Vulture member. Police reports from that night showing Reeves’ original statement before it was “corrected.” Financial records showing large payments from Vulture accounts to Hart







