Page 44 of Secrets in the Dark

"A complication," she finished.

"A revelation," I corrected. "Someone who saw through Roman King to the man beneath. Someone who recognized the masks we both wore but connected with the truth behind them anyway."

She looked away, but not before I caught the glimmer of tears. "Miles called. He says I can come back to my real life now. The firm will handle the press. Make it seem like I was on a special assignment, not hiding from a stalker."

"Is that what you want?" I asked. "To go back to being just Celia Marshall, legal assistant?"

Her eyes met mine again. "Is that what you want? For me to go back to being just another civilian you encountered during an operation?"

"No." The word came without hesitation. "What I want is to take you to dinner—no costumes, no cover stories, no earpieces. Just Roman Kane and Celia Marshall, figuring out who we are when we're not hiding."

A small smile touched her lips. "That sounds suspiciously like a date, Detective."

"It is," I confirmed. "Unless you'd prefer to file it as a witness interview."

Her laugh, though brief, was genuine. "I think I've had enough official paperwork for a while."

"Then it's a date."

She considered me for a long moment. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."

"I disagree," I said. "I know you're brilliant at spotting patterns others miss. I know you're brave enough to face down a knife-wielding mobster with nothing but flash powder and quick thinking. I know you're loyal to a fault and protective of those around you."

I stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. "I know the smell of your perfume and the sound of your laughter. I know how your breath catches when you're afraid but pushing through it anyway. I know the exact shade of pink your cheeks turn when you're embarrassed."

Her lips parted in surprise. "You noticed all that?"

"I'm a detective," I reminded her with a half-smile. "Noticing details is what I do."

"And what do those details tell you?" she asked softly.

"That there's something here worth exploring. Something that started between Roman King and Nova Sinclair but belongs to Roman Kane and Celia Marshall."

She reached up, her fingers lightly touching the cut on her neck, wincing slightly at the tenderness. "It's not going to be simple, is it? After everything that's happened."

"Simple? No," I agreed. "But maybe that's not what either of us needs."

Outside her dressing room window, the first light of dawn painted the Vegas skyline in shades of gold and pink. The neonglare that dominated the Strip at night had softened, giving way to the gentler illumination of morning. The night's darkness was receding, taking with it the shadows we'd both hidden in for so long.

"Breakfast?" I suggested, nodding toward the sunrise. "I know a place off the Strip that makes incredible waffles. A fresh start."

She smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "I'd like that. No more secrets?"

"No more secrets," I promised, extending my hand.

After a moment's hesitation, she took it. Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and real and present.

For the first time in eleven months, I wasn't Detective Kane or Roman King or any other version of myself crafted for an operation. I was simply a man standing before a woman. Both of us bruised. Both of us still standing. Both of us finally stepping into the light.

Epilogue

Celia

Six weeks after the night that had nearly cost me my life, I stood on the courthouse steps, breathing in the dry Vegas air. Inside, the grand jury had just handed down indictments against Tommy Lace, Enzo Grimaldi, Gianna Bianchi, and seven other members of the Licata network. The headline splashed across the Review-Journal in my hand was unambiguous:"LICATA CRIME SYNDICATE DISMANTLED."

My testimony had taken less than an hour—a clinical recounting of ledgers discovered, threats received, and a knife held to my throat. What the transcript couldn't capture was how it felt to reclaim my name in that witness box. Not Nova Sinclair, magician's assistant. Not the anonymous paralegal hiding in the footnotes of case files. Just Celia Marshall, speaking her truth.

Miles had offered me my old position back at Bailey & Finch, with a promotion and a corner office with a view of the Strip. "You've earned it," he'd said, pride evident in his voice. I'd promised to think about it.

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