The silence in the grand ballroom of the Morello Foundation was total, heavy, and suffocating. The soft, classical violin quartet that had been playing near the champagne fountain trailed off into an awkward, dying note as the musicians lowered their bows, wide-eyed.

The ride back from the Morello estate was quiet.

Frank had insisted that two armored vehicles escort Emily back to her apartment, with four armed guards taking up position in the alleyway behind Rose & Rye and on the landing outside her front door.

It was nearly midnight when Emily stepped into her small living room. She took off her heels, unzipped her emerald dress, and wrapped herself in a soft, oversized cotton robe.

She couldn't sleep.

The image of Adrian’s face when he checked his phone kept repeating in her mind. The sudden transition from loving partner to cold killer had terrified her—not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid for him.

Her phone chimed on the kitchen counter.

She rushed over, hoping it was Adrian. Instead, it was an unknown number.

A text message with an attached image.

Emily clicked on the message. The image was dark, taken from a distance, showing a burning warehouse near the Chicago River. Flames were shooting into the night sky, and fire trucks were parked down the block.

Below the image was a short message:

“He brought you into a fire, baker. This is just the first building to burn. Leave Chicago before you end up inside the next one.”

Emily’s hands shook as she held the phone.

Before she could process the threat, heavy footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs outside her apartment door.

Emily froze, grabbing a heavy brass candle holder from the side table. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice trembling slightly.

"It's me, Emily," Adrian’s deep voice answered through the thick oak door.

Emily immediately unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Adrian stood in the hallway. He looked exhausted. His dark suit coat was gone, his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong wrists covered in faint dark smudges that smelled distinctly of smoke and gasoline.

"Adrian!" Emily gasped, pulling him inside and locking the door behind him. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

Adrian didn't answer immediately. He looked at her—taking in her soft robe, her worried eyes, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

"I'm fine," he growled softly, his voice thick with tension and exhaustion. "I'm fine now that I'm here."

Emily wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She felt the heavy, ragged rise and fall of his chest. "The downtown warehouse... it was burned, wasn't it? Someone sent me a photo."

Adrian went completely still in her arms. He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "Someone sent you a photo? Show me."

Emily picked up her phone from the counter and handed it to him.

Adrian read the text message, his face growing darker by the second. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone so hard Emily thought the glass screen would shatter.

"Richard Hale," Adrian muttered, his voice cold enough to freeze water. "The bastard is desperate. He thinks attacking my distribution centers and threatening you will force me to come to the negotiating table."

"Adrian... is he going to attack the bakery?" Emily asked softly, the reality of the threat hitting her. "My shop... my workers..."

Adrian placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down until his eyes were level with hers.

"No," Adrian said with absolute authority. "I am moving you out of this apartment tonight, Emily."

Emily blinked. "What? Move out? Adrian, my home is here! My bakery is downstairs!"

"Your bakery will be guarded twenty-four hours a day by six of my best men," Adrian commanded, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "My head baker and staff can run the day-to-day production under heavy security. But you are not staying here. Hale knows where you live. He knows you're my weakness."

Weakness.

The word echoed in Emily’s mind.

"I'm your weakness?" Emily asked softly, her eyes searching his face.

Adrian’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over her soft lower lip. "You're the only thing in this city I can't afford to lose, Emily. If anything happened to you because of me... because I claimed you... I would burn this entire city to the ground."

He took her face in both of his large, warm hands, his gaze fierce and burning.

"Pack a bag, dolcezza," Adrian murmured. "You're coming to live with me in my penthouse. Where nobody can touch you."

Emily looked into his eyes. A month ago, she would have fought him. She would have called him bossy, arrogant, and controlling. But looking at the smoke smudges on his arms, feeling the desperate tremor in his hands, she realized this wasn't about control.