Declan stepped out of his car, his boots splashing in the deep puddles.

He walked over to where Roman and I were standing.

He wiped rainwater and soot from his scarred cheek.

“He got away,” Declan grunted, looking toward the empty street.

“But we have his paper trail,” Roman said, pointing to the wet binder in my hands.

“And we have his men,” I added, looking at the captured militia.

Victor Salvi’s head of security, a tall man named Marcus, approached us.

Marcus had silver hair at his temples and wore a tailored, waterproof trench coat.

“The patriarch wants the girl brought back to the estate,” Marcus said to Roman.

“She needs to finish the audit under maximum security.”

Roman looked at me, his dark eyes assessing my shivering frame.

“She goes with my escort,” Roman said.

“No,” Declan countered, stepping closer.

“She stays with me.”

“My boys can protect her.”

“We agreed on neutral ground,” I said, cutting off their brewing argument.

“Victor’s estate is the only place we all agreed is safe.”

“I will finish the audit there.”

Roman nodded slowly.