She Wanted One Boring Blind Date Until the Mafia Boss She Escaped Walked In and Told Her She Was Marrying Him Instead

Part 2: “Across the street.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“You smiled at him.”

“He told me a story about generic toilet paper. It was not a declaration of love.”

“It was a date.”

“Yes. Adults sometimes go on them.”

His jaw tightened. For the first time, a crack appeared in the cold mask. She saw jealousy beneath it, raw and irrational.

Then it disappeared.

“Get up.”

“No.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Do not make this difficult.”

“You shattered a restaurant door in front of thirty witnesses.”

“I paid for the door.”

“It was still attached to the building when you arrived.”

“Not securely.”

Owen looked as if he wanted to disappear beneath the table.

Naomi folded her arms. “I have a life here.”

“Your employer believes you left for Seattle because of a family emergency. Your landlord has been paid six months’ rent for the inconvenience of ending your lease. Your belongings are being packed.”

The blood drained from her face.

“You had no right.”

“I ran out of time.”

“You don’t get to erase my life because you’re jealous.”

“No,” Lachlan said. “I get to erase it because it is already over.”

His hand closed around her wrist. The grip was not bruising, but it was absolute.

Naomi pulled once and realized he would not release her.

“Lachlan.”

Something in her voice made his expression shift, although his grip remained firm.

“Please,” she said quietly. “Do not hurt anyone because I refuse to go with you.”

His gaze held hers. “Then don’t refuse.”

“You’re threatening innocent people.”

“I am telling you that innocence will not protect them.”

The distinction meant nothing to her in that moment.

She looked at Owen, who sat frozen beneath the guard’s hand, then at the waiters and frightened couples watching from across the room. She knew what happened when powerful men turned public spaces into battlefields.

She rose.

Her hip struck the table. The wineglass toppled, spilling pale liquid across the white cloth in a widening stain.

Lachlan’s hand moved from her wrist to the small of her back.

“Good,” he murmured.

Naomi stopped beside him. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

“I don’t have a home in New York.”

His eyes darkened.

“You do now.”

He guided her toward the broken doors.

Owen finally found his voice. “Naomi?”

She looked over her shoulder. He seemed frightened, humiliated, and utterly bewildered.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Lachlan’s hand pressed more firmly against her back.

“Keep walking.”

Outside, cold rain silvered the Chicago sidewalk. A black sedan waited at the curb, flanked by two SUVs positioned at sharp angles across the street. Horns blared from blocked traffic, but no driver approached the convoy.

Lachlan’s men formed a wall around them.

Naomi climbed into the sedan because resistance on a crowded sidewalk would place strangers in danger. Lachlan followed and closed the door, sealing them inside a cocoon of leather, tinted glass, and suffocating silence.

As the car pulled away, she watched the restaurant shrink through the rain-streaked window.

Owen stood beneath the awning, staring after her.

“You ruined my date,” she said.

Lachlan unbuttoned his jacket and leaned against the headrest. Only then did she notice the exhaustion beneath his eyes. He looked as if sleep had become an enemy he could no longer defeat.

“I saved you from a lifetime of discount vacations and freight seminars.”

“It was my choice.”

“Yes.”