Bells above diner doors were not supposed to choke, but this one did.

The guest suite on the top floor of the Moretti compound was larger than any apartment Naomi had ever stepped foot in. It had plush velvet sofas, a king-sized bed with silk sheets, and a wide balcony overlooking the private courtyard. Yet, to Naomi, the gold-trimmed doors and heavy velvet drapes felt less like luxury and more like a golden cage.

Two armed guards stood outside her door twenty-four hours a day. They were polite, bringing her hot meals on silver trays and fresh clothes from a high-end boutique downtown, but they made one thing abundantly clear: she was not permitted to leave the room without Liam or Don Moretti’s express permission.

It was Tuesday evening, three days after she arrived at the compound, when the door finally opened and Liam stepped inside.

He wore a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt, looking every bit the high-ranking mob boss he was. But under his eyes were dark shadows, and his jaw was set tight.

"How are you holding up?" Liam asked, closing the door behind him.

"I feel like a ghost," Naomi admitted, sitting on the edge of the large bed. "I watch television, I eat food I didn't pay for, and I wait for someone to tell me if I'm going to live or die."

Liam walked over to the balcony door, looking out at the rain-slicked courtyard below. "You aren't going to die, Naomi. Don Manuel gave strict orders. You are under the protection of the family now."

"And Greg?" Her voice cracked at the name. "Where is he?"

Liam turned to face her, his expression grim. "He’s desperate. And a desperate coward is easily manipulated."

He pulled a small recorder from his jacket pocket, set it on the nightstand, and pressed play.

A grainy, recorded phone conversation filled the quiet room.

“I’m telling you, Greg, I saw her!” a woman's voice rattled through the speaker—it was Sarah, one of the day waitresses from the diner. “Some rich guy in a black suit came by her apartment today. He left a note saying she left her purse at the Grandview Hotel, Room 412, and to come collect her things before they throw them out.”

Then, Greg’s harsh, frantic voice echoed through the static: “Did he mention a guy named Liam? Did he look like a mobster?”

“I don't know, Greg! He just dropped fifty bucks on the counter and left! If she’s at the Grandview, she’s probably staying with him!”

“That cheating bitch,” Greg spat through the recording, his tone thick with murderous rage. “I’m calling Miller. We’re going to that hotel tonight. If she’s there with that guy, I’m putting both of them in the ground and making it look like a drug deal gone wrong.”

The recording clicked off.

Naomi sat frozen, her breath caught in her lungs. "You set a trap for him."

"We laid the bait," Liam corrected smoothly. "Room 412 at the Grandview Hotel is owned by a dummy corporation controlled by Don Moretti. Your husband and his corrupt deputy cousin think they are walking into a quiet hotel room to execute a helpless woman and a rival."

"What are you going to do when they show up?" Naomi stood up, stepping closer to Liam, her hands trembling. "Deputy Miller is a police officer, Liam! If you shoot a cop, the entire state will come down on you!"

"Miller isn't acting as a cop tonight," Liam said, his voice flat and devoid of fear. "He’s acting as an illegal hitman for your husband. He turned off his police radio at 6:00 p.m. He’s driving his personal unmarked sedan. When they kick down the door of Room 412, there won't be any badges inside. Just men who made a very bad mistake."

Naomi looked up into Liam’s dark eyes. She saw no hesitation, no doubt, only the cold, mechanical precision that made him the Moretti family’s top enforcer. But beneath that ruthless exterior, she remembered the man who had gently thrown a fleece sweater at her in a dark cabin and offered her a hot shower.

"Why are you doing it this way?" she whispered. "Why not just make Greg disappear like you threatened at the cabin?"

Liam reached out, his large, rough hand gently resting against the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, light as a feather, sending a strange, electric warmth through her core.

"Because if I just make him disappear, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering if he’s going to crawl out of the dark," Liam said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register. "Don Manuel wants Greg broken legally and physically. He wants your husband to realize that he is nothing. And I... I want you to be free, Naomi."

Naomi pressed her cheek into his palm, closing her eyes. "Be careful tonight, Liam. Please."