It was 2:00 AM.

The heat in the apartment was stifling. The old radiator hissed and clanked, but produced no air.

Keira couldn't sleep.

She climbed out of bed, careful not to make the floorboards creak.

She needed air.

She opened the door to the fire escape. The metal was cool against her bare feet.

She climbed up to the roof.

The wind was stronger up here. It whipped her hair across her face.

She saw a silhouette standing near the edge of the roof.

Dock.

He was on the phone.

Keira froze. Who was he calling at this hour?

She crept closer. The wind carried his voice. It was low, different. It didn't sound like the gravelly voice he used with her. It sounded... educated. Sharp.

"...liquidate the assets," he was saying. "I want the Jacobson deal blocked. Yes. Every penny."

Keira's heart hammered.

Jacobson deal?

"They are selling the Long Island plot," he continued. "Kill the sale. Make sure they don't see a dime."

Keira gasped.

He spun around.

His movement was a blur. One second he was facing the city, the next he was facing her, the phone vanished into his pocket.

"Keira."

"You..." Keira stepped back. "You were talking about my family."

He walked toward her. His face was unreadable in the moonlight.

"I was talking to an old friend," he said. "From the joint."

"I heard you say 'Jacobson deal'. And 'kill'."

He didn't blink.

"You misheard," he said, his voice turning rough again, the educated tone gone. "I was talking about a rival crew. The Jacobs. They're trying to move in on some territory. I told my guy to 'kill the deal.' Street stuff. You don't want to know."

He was lying. Keira knew he was lying. The excuse was almost plausible, playing right into her assumptions about him.

But the alternative-that her husband was manipulating her family's business deals-was insane. He was a broke ex-con living in the Bronx.

"Oh," Keira said. "I thought..."

"You're hearing things," he said. "Go back to bed."

"It's too hot."

She walked to the edge of the roof, standing next to him.

Manhattan glittered in the distance. A sea of diamonds.

"It's beautiful," Keira whispered. "But it feels like another planet."

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

"I miss my mom," she said. "She's in a hospital over there. And I can't even afford to go see her every day."

The wind blew a strand of hair into her mouth.

Dock reached out.

His fingers brushed her cheek as he tucked the hair behind her ear.

His skin was rough, but his touch was incredibly gentle.

Keira looked up at him.

His eyes were searching her face. There was a hunger there. A deep, aching hunger that had nothing to do with food.

For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to.

God help her, she wanted this criminal to kiss her.

He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned.

"Get inside," he said harshly. "It's cold."

He turned his back on her.

Keira felt the rejection like a slap.

"Goodnight, Dock."

She turned and went back down the fire escape.

Jonah waited until he heard the window latch click shut.

He pulled the customized smartphone back out.

"Chad," he said.

"Still here, Boss."

"Change of plans. Don't just block the sale. I want you to make a donation. To the hospital where her mother is."

"How much?"

"Enough to cover a new ventilator. And pay for a private nurse. Anonymously. Wire it now. I want it cleared by morning."

"Done. Anything else?"

Jonah looked at the closed window. He could still feel the phantom softness of her cheek on his fingertips.

"Yeah. Pray for me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm getting too close," Jonah admitted, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. He had intended to use her as a pawn against her father, but her fragile resilience was dismantling his defenses piece by piece.

The next morning, the hospital called.

They needed a payment. Five thousand dollars. Today. Or they would move Keira's mother to a state facility.

Keira paced the small living room, chewing on her fingernail. The anonymous donation Dock had mentioned must not have cleared yet. Bureaucracy was a beast.

She had to go to her father. She had to beg.

Dock came out of the bedroom. He saw her face.

"What's wrong?"

"Money," Keira said. "I have to go to the Manor. I have to ask Edmon for the money he promised."

Dock's jaw tightened.

He went back into the bedroom. Keira heard him rummaging under the bed.

He came out holding a small, velvet box. It was faded, the blue fabric worn bald in spots.

He shoved it into her hand.

"Take this."

Keira opened it.

Inside was a heavy gold bangle and a ring with a large green stone.

The gold was dark with the tarnish of a century. The stone was dark, coated in a dull, waxy film, as if to deliberately hide its fire.

It looked old. And... well, cheap. Like costume jewelry from a thrift store.

"Dock," Keira said. "I can't take this."

"It was my grandmother's," he said. "If he won't give you the money, pawn it."

"No!" Keira snapped the box shut. "This is a family heirloom. I'm not selling your grandmother's jewelry for a few hundred bucks."

"It might be worth more than you think," he said dryly.

Keira looked at him. He was trying to help. He was giving her the only thing of value he owned.

Her heart swelled.

"I'll keep it safe," she promised. "But I'm not selling it. I'll get the money from Edmon."

"I'm not going with you," he said. "They won't let me in the gate."

"I know."

"Be careful."

Keira left the apartment, clutching the velvet box in her purse like it was the Crown Jewels.

Jonah watched her leave.

He waited thirty seconds.

Then he grabbed his keys and a black baseball cap.

He went down the back stairs to the garage where he kept the "beater."

It was a gray Ford sedan. Dented. Rusted.

But under the hood, it had a modified engine that could outrun a police interceptor. And the glass was bulletproof.

He followed the bus she took to the train station.

He watched her get on the Long Island Rail Road train, then pulled out onto the expressway that ran parallel to the tracks, keeping the train in sight.

He sat in the driver's seat, pulling his cap low.

Halfway to Long Island, he saw the train slow for a local stop. Through his binoculars, he spotted a guy in a hoodie eyeing Keira's purse.

Jonah saw the guy shift. He saw the glint of something in the guy's sleeve.

Jonah's hands tightened on the wheel. He couldn't do anything from here. He could only watch, his gut twisting into a knot of helpless rage.

The train doors opened. The guy in the hoodie seemed to think better of it, or maybe his stop was next. He got off the train and vanished into the crowd on the platform.

Jonah let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Keira didn't even notice. She was staring out the window, clutching her purse tight.

Protecting his grandmother's ring.

The ring was a Romanov emerald. It was worth three million dollars.

And she was protecting it because she thought it was all he had. She was a girl who had nothing, yet she was fiercely guarding a criminal's fake heirloom over her own survival.

Jonah pressed his foot on the gas**, a tight, unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest**.

"You're killing me, Keira."

Keira met Lana at a coffee shop near the train station in Great Neck.

Lana Sterling was Keira's only friend. She drove a red convertible and had zero filter.

She hugged Keira so hard her ribs cracked.

"Let me look at you," Lana said, holding Keira at arm's length. "You look... tired. Did he hit you?"

"No," Keira said. "He's... he's actually okay."

Lana rolled her eyes. "Okay? He's a felon, Keira. He's a beast."

"He gave me this," Keira said, pulling out the box. "To help with mom."

Lana opened the box. She picked up the bangle.

"Ew," she said. "This is brass. Look how tarnished it is. And this glass? It's not even cut right."

She tossed it back in the box.

"He's trying to manipulate you with garbage."

"Don't call it garbage," Keira said sharply. She snatched the box back. "It was his grandmother's. It means something to him."

Lana stared at Keira. "Oh my God. You like him."

"I don't like him. He's... he's loyal. Which is more than I can say for my family."

Across the street, in the gray Ford, Jonah adjusted the volume on his receiver.

He had slipped a bug into her purse when he gave her the box.

He heard every word.

He's loyal.

He leaned back in the seat, a strange feeling spreading through his chest. No one in his entire life of billions and boardrooms had ever called him loyal. They called him ruthless. They called him a monster. But this girl, defending him to her only friend, saw something in him that didn't even exist. And God help him, he wanted to become the man she thought he was.

Lana sighed. "Fine. But take this."

She handed Keira a small pink canister.

"Pepper spray. If he tries anything, blind him."

"Thanks, Lana."

"Now go get your money. Give Edmon hell."

Keira walked up the long driveway to Jacobson Manor.

The house was massive. A sprawling colonial mansion with white pillars and manicured lawns.

It used to be her home. Now it felt like a fortress.

She rang the bell.

The butler, Higgins, opened the door. He looked down his nose at her.

"Miss Keira. The Master is busy."

"I don't care," Keira said, pushing past him. "I have an appointment."

She stormed into the foyer.

Janie was in the living room, lounging on a silk sofa, filing her nails.

She looked up.

"Well, well," she drawled. "The beggar returns."

"Where is Dad?" Keira demanded.

"Daddy's busy," Janie smiled. It was a shark's smile. "But I can handle you."

Outside, Jonah watched the security feed on his phone. He had hacked the Jacobson security system three days ago.

He saw Keira standing in the middle of the room, small but defiant.

He saw Janie's cruel smile.

His hand gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked.

Don't make me come in there, Janie.