""I THREATENED MY DRIVER WITH A 1-STAR REVIEW... THEN GAVE HIM THE ADDRESS TO HIS OWN MAFIA HEADQUARTERS"

Bee eyed the leather folder with deep suspicion. ""What is that?""

""The Cavali family's global financial portfolio,"" Roman answered without blinking. ""Real estate holdings across three continents. Shipping logistics in Panama and Rotterdam. Hospitality chains in Vegas and Macau. And approximately four hundred million dollars in secondary transit funds that require... restructuring.""

Bee stared at him in disbelief. ""You want me to launder your mafia money?""

""I want you to legitimize it,"" Roman corrected, his voice dropping into an earnest, low timbre that vibrated with absolute sincerity. ""My father built this empire with knuckle dusters and sawed-off shotguns. Blood was the only currency he understood. But the modern world does not tolerate warlords, Beatrice. If we do not transition entirely into legitimate enterprise, the Department of Justice will eventually dismantle everything my ancestors bled for. I don't need a thug. I don't need an accountant who cooks the books and tells me what I want to hear. I need someone incorruptible. Someone who isn't afraid to look me in the eye and tell me my climate control is broken.""

A soft, genuine laugh escaped Bee’s lips before she could suppress it. She looked at the fire crackling in the hearth, feeling the dangerous, magnetic pull of this man. In forty-eight hours, he had protected her, treated her with more respect than any boss she had ever known, and looked at her not as a pawn, but as an equal.

""And if I say no?"" she asked, testing the waters. ""Do I get a one-way ticket on an ore freighter to South America like Tommy?""

Roman reached across the table, covering her small, delicate hand with his large, warm palm. The calluses of his skin sent a delicious shiver racing up her spine. ""If you say no, a town car will take you to O’Hare tonight. You will have a first-class ticket to any city in the world, a clean identity if you desire it, and enough money to never look at a ledger again. You are not my prisoner, Beatrice. You never were.""

Bee looked down at their joined hands, feeling the heat passing between them. The wild, untamable danger of his world called to something deep within her—a dormant fire that years of beige cubicles and corporate spreadsheets had nearly suffocated.

""I have conditions,"" Bee said, tilting her chin up, her hazel eyes gleaming with newfound authority.

Roman’s lips curled into that devastating, breathtaking smile. ""Name them.""

""First, no blood on the books. If an enterprise involves trafficking, narcotics, or violence against civilians, I liquidate it immediately. Second, Dante doesn't get to glare at me every time I demand an expense receipt.""