Vanessa Moretti slipped her champagne glass onto a passing tray without taking her eyes off the man near the ballroom doors.

The elevator ride back up to the penthouse suite of the Grand Ashford felt like an eternity.

Vanessa stood in the center of the brass-and-mirror cabin, watching her reflection. Rainwater dripped from her soaked hair onto the carpet. Her dress was torn at the knee, stained with soot and blood. She wiped the streak of crimson from her cheek with the back of her hand, her eyes cold and distant.

When the doors slid open, the corridor was eerie in its silence. The fight from twenty minutes ago had left its mark—bullet holes peppered the wallpaper, and the scent of gunpowder hung thick in the air.

Vanessa moved with quiet efficiency, stepping over the unconscious bodies of the fake guards she had left in her wake. She held the black case in one hand and her heavy pistol in the other.

She pushed open the heavy oak door to the private lounge.

Damien was still there.

He hadn't moved far. He was sitting on the floor, slumped against the base of a heavy mahogany desk, his right hand still clutching the gun she had given him. His left hand was clamped over his bloody shoulder, his white dress shirt completely ruined, soaked in dark, heavy red. His breathing was shallow and ragged.

When the door opened, his arm flinched, raising the gun automatically.

"It's me," Vanessa said softly.

Damien’s eyes—clouded with pain and shock—focused on her. The gun lowered an inch, his knuckles stark white against the grip. He stared at her bare, bloody feet, her ruined dress, and finally, the black case she held in her left hand.

"You... you got it back," he rasped, his voice a dry whisper.

"Of course I did," Vanessa replied. She walked over, set the case on the desk, and knelt beside him. Without a word, she ripped a thick strip of silk from the hem of her gown and wrapped it tightly around his shoulder, applying pressure directly to the wound.

Damien hissed through his teeth, his hand instinctively gripping her wrist. His touch was burning hot, his fingers trembling.

"You're hurting me," he muttered, though there was no anger in it. Only absolute, paralyzing confusion.

"You're bleeding to death, Damien. Hurt is good. Hurt means you're still breathing." She pulled the knot tight, her eyes locked onto his.

"Luca..." Damien choked out. "Where is he?"

"He's unconscious in a wrecked car three blocks away. He won't be talking to anyone for a while."

Damien stared at her. Really stared at her. The woman who, for three years, had asked him to explain the rules of poker. The woman who pretended to faint when a horse bolted at the country club. The woman who always wore soft pastels and let him order her meals.

"Who are you, Vanessa?" Damien asked, his dark eyes searching her face with an intensity that made the room feel suffocating. "You didn't just fight those men. You disassembled them. You disarmed a trained Mercenary with a shoe."

Vanessa didn't flinch under his gaze. She leaned in closer, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with her thumb.

"My name is Vanessa," she said quietly. "And I am the woman who chose to love you. Anything else you need to know can wait until the doctor gets here."

"I don't have a doctor I can trust right now," Damien grunted, his eyes heavy as the blood loss took its toll. "Luca controlled our medical log. If I call our usual surgeon... the Syndicate will know I survived."

Vanessa reached into her pocket, pulled out her personal phone—the one Damien thought she only used for ordering flowers and texting her sister—and dialed a number from memory.

She put the phone to her ear. "It's Sparrow," she said in a tone Damien had never heard before—flat, authoritative, devoid of any warmth. "I need an extraction team and a clean surgeon at the Ashford, Suite 302. Ten minutes. Bring two units of O-negative."

She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Damien’s jaw tightened. "Sparrow?" he whispered. "That's... that's a ghost story from the Eastern European Syndicate. An assassin who disappeared four years ago."