The sun had set by the time I left the office, sliding into one of Alex's sleek black SUVs.
He had lingered long enough to declare himself bored, muttering something about some business that required his attention. He left me with a swift kiss, then making sure that the perimeter of my office were guarded by his best guards, stationed exactly where he wanted them before actually leaving.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
I buried myself in my work, dismantling and restructuring every deal Dante had negotiated in my stead. He may have the brute resilience to survive the life he had been handed, but business was never his battlefield. That had always been Dario's domain.
I couldn't fault him for it. Dante had never wanted this life to begin with, either.
I tossed my workout bag into the backseat as Alex drove the SUV out of the underground garage and into the Manhattan streets. Spring was threatening to arrive, but winter still clung to the air, sharp and restless. At least the evening traffic had thinned, so we were spared from sitting in the car for hours, at least.
I glanced at Alex. He was already dressed in his workout clothes. One hand casually on the steering wheel while the other was resting on my thigh.
"So where exactly is this training place of yours?"
He had asked earlier if I wanted to see it, the facility he used in the city. Where his men trained. Where new recruits were broken in, tested and sharpened.
His hand squeezed my thigh, like he was reminding me that it was there. His thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles through the fabric of my trousers. The gesture almost tender despite the quiet authority behind it.
"You'll see," he murmured, his voice low, threaded with something that sounded dangerously close to amusement. "It's not what you imagined it to be, that's for sure."
I hated how that only made my curiosity burn hotter.
His gaze swept over me with unhurried precision before drifting back to the road. The city lights reflected in his eyes, turning the green into something darker, richer. Something that gleamed with quiet mischief. Especially with the way his lips curved, like he knew something I didn't.
"You're still dressed for the office," he said softly, almost to himself.
I looked down at my sweater, at the tailored trousers and the coat still clinging to me like armor I hadn't realized I was still wearing. Then I closed my fingers around his hand, stopping his thumb from drawing those slow, deliberate circles on my thigh, because it was starting to feel like more than a touch.
It felt like a promise. Like the ghost of his hands were already tracing paths over the most intimate parts of my body. And it was really distracting.
If we weren't in this car, buried beneath layers of winter fabric and restraint, I would've climbed onto his lap by now and taken what he had been so carefully withholding.
"It's not like I had time to change," I said, my voice quieter now, softer. I traced idle circles over his palm instead, watching the faint shiver that followed in their wake. "I figured I'd just change when I get there."
It was almost absurd how little it took. Just this, literally. His hand in mine. The weight of his attention. The way his body seemed to recognize mine without permission.
But then again, it had always been like this with him.
He was the only one who could unravel me so easily. The only one who could make me forget where I ended and he began.
And if I were honest, that kind of power terrified me as much as it thrilled me.
"The thing is," he said, making another sharp turn into a narrower road. We had already made our way out of Manhattan, the streets giving way to the rougher edges of the Bronx. "I'm not sure if there's a proper changing room. Especially not for women."
"Well," I said lightly, unable to keep the amusement from slipping into my voice, "that sounds like a you problem, not a me problem."
I loved doing this, pushing at the edges of his control, testing the limits of a man who so rarely let anything slip. It was rare, to see him lose control. And when he did, it thrilled me because he trusted me enough to loose it. The only one allowed to see the man beneath the power.
I had changed in worse places before. Dim back rooms, locked offices, the backseats of armored cars with men standing guard outside. Privacy had never been a luxury I depended on, given my line of work.
And besides, I knew my husband. I knew the possessive streak that lived beneath his skin like a second pulse. He would carve out privacy for me with bare hands if he had to.
"If I didn't love you this much," he said, his voice quieter now, roughened at the edges, "I probably wouldn't care if you'd change in front of my men."
"But you do," I pressed, turning my hand so my fingers threaded more securely around his fingers.
His grip tightened instantly, instinctively.
"Damn it," he muttered, jaw flexing, "yes, I do."
His thumb began moving again, slow and absentminded against my skin. Not a calculated touch. But tender. Much more dangerous than that.
And if I were honest, that kind of power terrified me as much as it thrilled me. Because it meant that I could ruin him. And rose, it meant he could ruin me too.
By the time we arrived in front of the 'training facility', I realized it was a strip club in the Bronx. Club Bonita. The neon sign flickered faintly against the block, the building itself seedy and unassuming, the kind of place people entered with their collars turned up and their secrets tucked close.
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight, but Alex simply drove past it, toward the warehouse next door. The garage door rolling open before we even stopped, granting us entry into a private parking lot hidden from the street.
"I told you," he said, cutting the engine as the door slid shut behind us, sealing us in, "it wasn't like what you'd imagine it to be."
"I thought we were going to train," I said, glancing toward the connecting wall, realizing how carefully everything had been concealed. "Not walk into a strip club."
"If it's any consolation," he murmured, leaning over to press a warm kiss to my temple, his hand settling possessively on my thigh, "I bought this place long before I met you. The women here are protected. Taken care of."
I turned my head slightly, studying him. There was no shame in his voice, no apology. Only strategy.
"And besides," he continued, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles against me, "there's nothing that loosens a man's tongue faster than—"
"A stripper?" I finished for him.
His mouth curved faintly, neither confirming or denying it. "Mine certainly did, whenever you'd strip for me, Princess," he winked.
I huffed, shaking my head, unable to suppress my amusement. "Men are so easy."
His hand tightened, just slightly, enough to remind me that he wasn't most men.
"Yes," he said quietly. "They are."
He unbuckled his seatbelt, the quiet click echoing in the enclosed space before stepping out of the car. I watched him as he walk around the hood with that same unhurried confidence like he owned the world.
Which, in a way, he did.
My door opened, and he held out his hand.
"Come," he said simply.
I placed my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet. The air inside the private garage was cooler, carrying the faint scent of oil and concrete, different from the polished sterility of my office. His hand lingering at the small of my back as he guided me toward a steel door at the far end.
"I'll have Crystal help you change," he added casually. "Before you head downstairs."
I stopped walking.
Crystal? Who the fuck is—
"One of the girls," he clarified, glancing down at me, expression perfectly neutral. Innocent, almost. But that was all an act.
His lips twitched.
"You're going to have a stripped help me change," I repeated.
His eyes flicked over me then, deliberate and unashamed, slinging my workout bag on his shoulder. "She'll make sure you're comfortable. And that no one disturbs you. Can't say the same for my men. Or me, for that matter."
I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head as a reluctant smile pulled at my lips.
This man.
"You're unbelievable."
His hand returned to my waist, his mouth brushing just beside my ear as he opened the door. "And yet," he murmured softly, "you married me."
Then he led me inside, toward whatever waited for me.