Chapter 1

We watched Leo lead Vanessa into the office, then collectively remembered how to breathe.

“What did she do?” someone whispered.

“Whatever it was, I hope she has tissues.”

“Someone should have warned her.”

That wasn't an exaggeration.

The Romano family owned half the waterfront—or enough of it that nobody was eager to argue about the exact percentage.

Dante Romano was the new Don. He had inherited the title and the family's less public obligations, but the legitimate businesses were another matter. His father still controlled the holding company, and the board expected results before it handed Dante the rest of the empire.

Our logistics and development firm had been underperforming. Dante had left the main office to take direct control.

The first impression was excellent.

Tall. Beautifully dressed. Educated. The kind of face that made otherwise sensible women forget their own passwords.

For about twenty-four hours, everyone had a crush on him.

Then he laid down his rules.

No arriving late. No office relationships. No personal phones during work hours.

And annual revenue had to reach two hundred million dollars.

We had barely managed one hundred million the year before.

He was relentless. If a report wasn't right, you stayed until it was. If you made a promise, he expected delivery. No charm, no jokes, no soft landing.

People went into his office smiling and came out blinking hard.

A good result earned another assignment. A bad one earned a cold, precise dismantling of every decision you'd made.

Working for the Don was like having a storm cloud on the payroll.

So, naturally, I found myself a boyfriend on the internet.

We hadn't met through a dating app. We'd met in an online community for people who restored fountain pens.

I'd posted a photograph of a flea-market find and asked whether the nib was salvageable. A user called Atlas replied with a detailed explanation that actually made sense.

I fixed the pen. Then I sent him a picture of the ink stain covering half my kitchen table.

His response was, The table may be beyond saving. The pen looks good.

I laughed harder than the joke deserved.

We kept talking. Pens turned into books, bad days, terrible bosses, and everything we didn't say to the people around us.

He knew me as Starling. I knew him as Atlas.

At first, keeping our real names and photographs off the forum was ordinary online caution. Later, it became a strange little shelter neither of us wanted to break open. We were in the same city and had talked about meeting. Work kept swallowing the plans, and I liked him enough to give us time.

We chose to keep talking. Eventually, we chose each other.

After a few months, he asked if we could stop pretending we were only friends.

I said yes.

He was attentive, generous, and far too good at remembering small things.

He could also be sulky.

A slow reply or a missed goodnight sometimes turned into a disagreement. I'd snap back, he'd go quiet—and the next morning, Dante Romano would announce another late shift.

Once or twice could have been coincidence.

Every time was starting to feel like a curse.

Then came the breakup text, followed by the bonus announcement.

Clearly, the universe was trying to save me from myself.

Now poor Vanessa had been hauled into Dante's office over the pen Atlas had sent me.

He'd arranged delivery through the forum's gift service to a collection locker near work. I'd told him I worked for a logistics firm by the waterfront, but never named it. He hadn't asked for my home address, and I'd appreciated that.

Use it at work, he'd said. I like imagining you carrying something I gave you.

I'd lent it to Vanessa yesterday when hers ran dry.

Apparently, dating this man was hazardous to everyone in my immediate vicinity.