MasukThey left the safe house before dawn.The old woman who had let them in handed Dawson a set of keys. "The car is in the garage down the street. Black. Unmarked." She looked at Brianna. "Your hands?""Healed enough."The woman nodded. She did not ask questions. She had been doing this for a long time.Dawson took Brianna's arm. They walked down the narrow stairs, through the bakery, out the back door. The alley was dark, the cobblestones wet. The air smelled like bread and rain.The garage was a metal door set into the wall of a building that had been empty for years. Dawson unlocked it. Inside, a black sedan. No plates. No markings. He opened the passenger door for her.They drove through empty streets. The lake was black, the mountains invisible. Geneva was still sleeping."Where are we going?" she asked."The airport. There's a private jet. Francesca arranged it.""Eric will be watching the airport.""Francesca's people will be watching Eric."She looked out the window. The sky was
The stairwell swallowed them.Dawson pulled her through the door and it slammed behind them, the echo bouncing off concrete walls. The lights were off. The only glow came from a single bulb somewhere above, flickering, dying.Brianna's lungs burned. Her legs screamed. She had not stopped running since the warehouse, since the men with guns, since the shot that had hit the railing inches from her hand.Dawson was ahead of her, his hand gripping hers, pulling her up. Not down. Up."Why are we going up?" she gasped."Because they expect us to go down."The stairs were metal, rusted, each step groaning under their weight. She could hear the door below crash open. Voices. Shouts. Feet on the stairs.They were coming.Dawson pulled her faster. Her shoes slipped on the metal. He caught her, his arm around her waist, lifting her, pushing her."Almost there.""Almost where?"He did not answer.The stairs ended at a door. Red. Steel. A push bar across the middle. Dawson threw his weight against
The rain had stopped by afternoon.Dawson made calls. Brianna sat on the couch, watching him pace, listening to fragments of conversation. Viktor. Payment. Tonight. She picked up the folder Marco had given them, read the names again. Her mother's name. Carlo's name. Men she did not know. Women. Lawyers. Bankers. A priest.Dawson ended a call. He stood by the window, his back to her."Viktor will meet us. Tonight. Nine o'clock. At the asset transfer."She looked up. "What asset transfer?"He turned. His face was tight."The files. The ones Marco has been holding. We're moving them to a secure location. Viktor will be there. He'll bring what he has on Eric."She stood. "And if he doesn't show?""Then we walk away with the files and figure out the next step."She walked toward him. "You're using the asset transfer as bait.""I'm using it as cover. Viktor won't come to a meeting about the list. But he'll come to a meeting about money."She stopped in front of him. "Where?""A warehouse. N
The alarm on Dawson's phone pulled her from sleep.Brianna opened her eyes to pale light and the smell of coffee. The couch was empty. The blanket was folded. His pillow was gone. She sat up slowly, her body remembering the night before in flashes. His hands. His mouth. The way he had said her name.He was in the kitchenette, his back to her, pouring coffee into two cups. He was dressed. Black pants, black shirt, hair combed. He looked like he had been awake for hours.She stood. The gray dress was on the chair where she had left it. She pulled it over her head, smoothed the fabric, walked toward him.He handed her a cup without looking at her."Marco sent a message. The meeting is at nine. He has the names."She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic. "All of them?""Enough to start."He walked past her, toward the window. The rain had stopped. The lake was gray, the mountains hidden in clouds. He stood with his back to her, his coffee untouched.She wanted to ask. About last nigh
The rain had not stopped.Brianna stood at the window with Dawson's arm around her, the gray light soft on their faces. His chest was warm against her back. His chin rested on her head. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, matching her own.For a moment, she let herself believe this could last.His phone rang.The sound was sharp, violent, a blade through the quiet. Dawson tensed. His arm fell from her waist. He walked to the table where the phone lay buzzing, picked it up, looked at the screen.His face changed.She watched it happen. The softness drained away. The mask slid back into place. His jaw tightened. His eyes went cold."I have to take this."He walked into the bedroom. Closed the door.Brianna stood at the window, alone, the rain still falling, the warmth of him already fading.He was in there for ten minutes. Fifteen. She counted the seconds by the water sliding down the glass.When he came out, he was dressed. Black pants. Black shirt. His hair was combed, his
The lamp flickered once, then held steady.Brianna felt the shift before she understood it. The weight of his head against hers. The warmth of his hand still holding hers. The way the silence between them had changed from something tired into something else. Something awake.She lifted her head.He was looking at her. Not the way he looked at her across a table, or through a window, or past a crowd. He was looking at her like she was the only light in a room that had been dark for years.Her breath caught.He moved slowly. His hand left hers, came up to her face. His fingers traced her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Like he was memorizing her. Like he was afraid she would disappear."Dawson."His name came out soft, barely a whisper. She had not meant to say it. It had just come.He pulled her closer.The space between them vanished. His chest against hers. His breath on her lips. His eyes, gray and open, holding hers.The air was thick. She could taste him, the coffee from
The kitchen was too quiet after Dawson left.Brianna sat at the table, her fingers still tingling where his hand had been, her coffee cold and forgotten in front of her. She listened to the front door close. Listened to his car start. Listened to the sound of him driving away.She should go upstair
Eloise stood in the doorway of Brianna's room, her gown still rustling from the drive back from the gala, her makeup smudged beneath her eyes. She looked smaller than Brianna remembered. Smaller than she had looked at the wedding, smaller than she had looked in the kitchen of their old apartment wh
The hallway was quiet again.Brianna's heart was still pounding, her lips still tingling from the kiss, her body still pressed against the wall where Dawson had backed her. She could feel his hands on her waist, his breath on her cheek, the weight of everything that had just happened settling betwe
The dress hung on the back of her door like a ghost.Brianna had found it in the back of her closet that morning, buried under clothes she never wore. Simple. Navy blue. Long sleeves. A neckline that didn't invite attention. It belonged to Dawson's mother, left behind in a room that had been untouc







