My ex thought he could humiliate me in front of the whole ballroom until the mafia boss stood up.

The ride to Rogers Park was conducted in absolute, suffocating silence.

Dante Caruso’s car was a massive, armored black sedan that felt less like a vehicle and more like a rolling fortress. Emma sat in the leather back seat, pressed as far against the door as possible. Dante sat on the opposite side, staring out the tinted window, his long legs crossed elegantly.

Emma looked down at her hands, which were tightly gripping her purse. The envelope of money Mr. Vance had given her sat on her lap. It felt heavy, like a bribe, though she knew she had earned every penny of it by enduring Marcus’s tirade.

"Why?" she asked quietly, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

Dante didn't turn his head. "Why what, Miss Hart?"

"Why did you stop him? You don't know me. People like you don't do things out of the goodness of their hearts. Especially not for a catering waitress."

Dante remained silent for so long that Emma thought he was going to ignore her entirely. Then, he turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto hers in the dim light of the cabin.

"I despise men who use an audience to fight their battles," Dante said, his voice flat. "Your ex-husband is a dog who barks loudest when he thinks the chain is short enough to keep him safe. He chose my gala to stage his little theater. That displeased me."

"So it was just about your gala?" Emma felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. "It wasn't about... helping me?"

"I am not a savior, Emma," Dante said, using her first name for the first time. It sent a shiver down her spine. "But I am a businessman. And Marcus Whitman owes a substantial amount of money to people who answer to me."

Emma’s breath hitched. "What?"

"Your ex-husband has a gambling problem," Dante explained, pulling a sleek silver cigarette case from his breast pocket, though he didn't light one. "He used your marital assets to cover his debts before the divorce. When those ran out, he took out loans. From the wrong people."

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. The sudden missing funds from their joint accounts, the furious, hushed phone calls Marcus used to take in the middle of the night, the way he had desperately fought for every single penny during the asset division, leaving her completely broke.

"He told the judge I was unstable," Emma whispered, tears of anger stinging her eyes. "He said I blew the money on shopping. He had receipts... forged receipts."

"Marcus is clever with paper," Dante agreed. "But paper doesn't hold up well against concrete. He owes the Caruso syndicate two million dollars. He was supposed to make a payment tonight. Instead, he spent his evening drinking eighty-dollar whiskey and screaming at his ex-wife."

The car smoothly pulled up to the curb of her apartment building. It looked incredibly shabby compared to the luxury vehicle parked outside it. The brick was peeling, and the neon light over the front door flickered fitfully.

"Why are you telling me this?" Emma asked, her hand on the door handle.

Dante leaned across the seat. He didn't touch her, but his proximity was overwhelming. "Because tomorrow, Marcus will realize he lost his dignity tonight. He will look for someone to blame. He cannot touch me, so he will look for you."