His words, her line

The kiss was a fuse.

Slow. Controlled. But the moment their lips touched, something ignited—low in her stomach, high in her chest. Amara didn't know who moved first, but she found herself pressed against her door, Roman's hands cradling her face like she was breakable and dangerous all at once.

He kissed like he'd been starving.

And she let him—because she was starving too.

But just as fast as it started, it stopped.

Roman pulled away like something inside him snapped. His breathing was ragged, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said.

Amara stared at him, chest rising. "But you did."

He stepped back, hand running through his hair. "I'm not what you think I am."

"Then tell me what you are."

Roman's jaw clenched. "I run things people pretend don't exist. I move money no one sees. I protect what can't be spoken of. My world is fire, Amara. You step into it, and you don't walk out clean."

She swallowed hard. "I'm not asking for fairy tales."

"You should," he said, voice low. "You deserve that."

"Maybe I don't want it."

That made him pause.

"I don't care how dangerous you are, Roman," she added. "But I *do* care if this is just a game."

His eyes flicked to her mouth. Then her eyes.

"This isn't a game."

A long silence.

Then: "Come with me tomorrow."

"Where?"

"My world."

Amara hesitated. "What does that mean?"

"I want you to see it. Not the part in the papers. The truth."

"Why?"

"Because if I keep seeing you…" He stopped. Started again. "If this becomes more, I need you to understand what that really means."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Tomorrow."

Roman stared at her like she'd just offered him something no one else ever had.

And then he left.

---

The next morning, a black car pulled up to her apartment. Same driver from the gala—silent, well-dressed, alert.

"Miss Blake," he said with a nod. "Mr. Casso is expecting you."

Amara slid into the back seat, heart pounding.

This wasn't a dinner. Or a kiss. Or some secret rendezvous.

This was Roman Casso showing her *his world.*

---

They drove for nearly an hour, far beyond Manhattan. The buildings changed—glass and luxury turning into old warehouses, shipping docks, and fences with more cameras than signs.

Finally, they pulled into a private gate, guarded by men with earpieces and steel eyes.

The car stopped. Roman was already waiting.

No suit today. Dark slacks. Rolled sleeves. A gun holstered at his side like it was normal.

"You came," he said, offering his hand.

She took it.

They walked past steel doors and into what looked like a control center—computers, monitors, maps, security feeds. Men typing. Phones ringing. Money being moved with the stroke of a key.

"This is what I run," Roman said quietly. "Every shipment. Every deal. Every person we move or protect—it all flows through here."

"It looks… official."

He smirked. "We make it look that way. My father believed in chaos. I believe in structure."

She followed him through corridors lined with records, vaults, rooms locked with retinal scanners.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked.

"Because if I ever bring you in deeper… you'll already know what you're choosing."

"And what am I choosing, Roman?"

He looked at her then—really looked.

"You're choosing to be mine."

Her breath caught.

"Not as a game," he added. "Not as a secret. If you stay… there's no halfway."

Amara stared at him, heart pounding.

He was asking without asking.

She didn't know if it was love.

But it was something.

And it was real.