Married To My Mysterious Ex-Con Husband

It was 2:00 AM.

The heat in the apartment was stifling. The old radiator hissed and clanked, but produced no air.

Keira couldn't sleep.

She climbed out of bed, careful not to make the floorboards creak.

She needed air.

She opened the door to the fire escape. The metal was cool against her bare feet.

She climbed up to the roof.

The wind was stronger up here. It whipped her hair across her face.

She saw a silhouette standing near the edge of the roof.

Dock.

He was on the phone.

Keira froze. Who was he calling at this hour?

She crept closer. The wind carried his voice. It was low, different. It didn't sound like the gravelly voice he used with her. It sounded... educated. Sharp.

"...liquidate the assets," he was saying. "I want the Jacobson deal blocked. Yes. Every penny."

Keira's heart hammered.

Jacobson deal?

"They are selling the Long Island plot," he continued. "Kill the sale. Make sure they don't see a dime."

Keira gasped.

He spun around.

His movement was a blur. One second he was facing the city, the next he was facing her, the phone vanished into his pocket.

"Keira."

"You..." Keira stepped back. "You were talking about my family."

He walked toward her. His face was unreadable in the moonlight.

"I was talking to an old friend," he said. "From the joint."

"I heard you say 'Jacobson deal'. And 'kill'."

He didn't blink.

"You misheard," he said, his voice turning rough again, the educated tone gone. "I was talking about a rival crew. The Jacobs. They're trying to move in on some territory. I told my guy to 'kill the deal.' Street stuff. You don't want to know."

He was lying. Keira knew he was lying. The excuse was almost plausible, playing right into her assumptions about him.

But the alternative-that her husband was manipulating her family's business deals-was insane. He was a broke ex-con living in the Bronx.

"Oh," Keira said. "I thought..."

"You're hearing things," he said. "Go back to bed."

"It's too hot."

She walked to the edge of the roof, standing next to him.

Manhattan glittered in the distance. A sea of diamonds.

"It's beautiful," Keira whispered. "But it feels like another planet."

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

"I miss my mom," she said. "She's in a hospital over there. And I can't even afford to go see her every day."

The wind blew a strand of hair into her mouth.

Dock reached out.

His fingers brushed her cheek as he tucked the hair behind her ear.

His skin was rough, but his touch was incredibly gentle.

Keira looked up at him.

His eyes were searching her face. There was a hunger there. A deep, aching hunger that had nothing to do with food.

For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to.

God help her, she wanted this criminal to kiss her.

He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned.

"Get inside," he said harshly. "It's cold."

He turned his back on her.

Keira felt the rejection like a slap.

"Goodnight, Dock."

She turned and went back down the fire escape.

Jonah waited until he heard the window latch click shut.

He pulled the customized smartphone back out.

"Chad," he said.

"Still here, Boss."

"Change of plans. Don't just block the sale. I want you to make a donation. To the hospital where her mother is."

"How much?"

"Enough to cover a new ventilator. And pay for a private nurse. Anonymously. Wire it now. I want it cleared by morning."

"Done. Anything else?"

Jonah looked at the closed window. He could still feel the phantom softness of her cheek on his fingertips.

"Yeah. Pray for me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm getting too close," Jonah admitted, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. He had intended to use her as a pawn against her father, but her fragile resilience was dismantling his defenses piece by piece.