"My boss invited me to the most dangerous mafia gala in New York to humiliate his painfully ordinary secretary. He had no idea I had spent three years hiding my true self—until I walked through those doors."

Three men stepped into the room. Leading them was Viktor’s primary enforcer, a hulking brute named Yuri with a jagged scar running from his left ear to his collarbone, followed by two armed guards whose coats bulged suspiciously around their ribs.

Yuri didn't even look at Larkin. His small, dark eyes locked immediately onto me, standing calmly beside the mahogany desk.

"What is this?" Yuri barked, his thick Russian accent grating against the quiet elegance of the office. "Who is the girl? Where is the accountant?"

Larkin moved with blinding speed. Before Yuri could take another step toward me, Larkin stepped into his path, his posture rigid, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper.

"You are standing in my office, Yuri. You are raising your voice in my building. And you are looking at the person who holds every single banking password, offshore account number, and tax shelter your boss relies on to keep his money clean." Larkin gestured smoothly toward me. "Meet Penelope. She is the accountant."

Yuri blinked, his heavy brow furrowing in confusion. He looked from Larkin to me, taking in my sharp espresso bob and the unbothered expression on my face.

"This?" Yuri scoffed, spitting on the polished hardwood floor. "A little girl in a white blouse? Larke, you are playing games. The shipment on Pier 42 was short two million dollars in diamond-cutting equipment. Either we get our merchandise, or we take a piece of your operation as collateral."

I stepped around Larkin.

The movement was so calm, so deliberate, that Yuri instinctively hesitated, his hand hovering near his shoulder holster.

I walked over to Larkin’s desk, picked up a heavy, leather-bound master ledger, and flipped it open to page 412. I didn't look up as I spoke.

"Pier 42," I recited smoothly. "Container number 88-B. Logged last Thursday at 2:14 AM. You're claiming two million in diamond-cutting machinery. However, Yuri, if you check subsection four of your own syndicate’s import tariffs—which I filed with the port authority on your behalf last month to help you evade federal customs duties—you would know that industrial diamond cutters require a specialized federal permit that your boss forgot to renew."

Yuri’s face drained of color.

"I didn't clear the manifest for export," I continued, finally looking up, meeting his terrified eyes with a cool, deadpan stare. "Because if I had, homeland security would have seized the entire shipment at the dock and tracked the serial numbers straight back to your warehouse in Brighton Beach. The equipment is sitting safely in a bonded federal holding facility downtown. I saved your boss from a RICO indictment, and all you had to do was say thank you."

The office fell into absolute, deafening silence.

The two armed guards behind Yuri looked at each other nervously, their hands dropping away from their weapons. Yuri swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.

"You... you put it in federal holding?" Yuri stammered, his bravado entirely evaporated.

"As a temporary measure," I said, snapping the ledger shut with a sharp thwack. "Now, you can either call your boss, tell him his accountant is a genius who just kept him out of federal prison, and leave my office before I decide to audit your personal offshore accounts... or we can discuss the surcharge for extra paperwork."

Yuri stared at me as if I were Satan wearing a retail blouse.

He looked at Larkin, who was standing beside me with his arms crossed, watching the entire exchange with a look of undisguised, terrifying adoration.

Yuri slowly raised his hands, backed away toward the double doors, and muttered, "We... we will call you," before he and his men practically tripped over themselves fleeing the office.

The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind them.

For a long moment, neither Larkin nor I spoke.

Then Larkin let out a long, shuddering breath, buried his face in his hands, and burst out laughing.

It wasn't a cold, calculating laugh. It was deep, unrestrained, and entirely genuine. He looked up at me, shaking his head, his dark eyes shining with a mixture of disbelief and fierce, burning passion.