For several seconds, Beatrice forgot about forty million dollars.
She forgot about Elias.
Serrano.
Dominic.
The warehouse.
The armed men surrounding them.
Everything vanished beneath six quiet words.
I think I broke it.
She stared at Bastion.
He did not look away.
There was no charm in his expression.
No game.
No calculated seduction.
That was what made it dangerous.
“Take it back,” she whispered.
“No.”
“Bastion.”
“You told me not to fall in love with you.”
“Yes.”
“I tried.”
“You tried for three days?”
“Very unsuccessfully.”
Despite everything, Beatrice almost smiled.
Almost.
Then reality returned.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s not how love works.”
“How does it work?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent. Neither do I.”
She removed her hands from his chest.
“You’re impossible.”
“So are you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Beatrice turned away.
“This is adrenaline.”
“No.”
“You almost died last night.”
“So did you.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t explain why I noticed you before the attack.”
She looked back.
His voice lowered.
“I noticed you when you crossed your arms in my office and told me to enjoy being robbed.”
“That was not romantic.”
“It was to me.”
She laughed despite herself.
Bastion stepped closer.
“Beatrice.”
“No.”
He stopped.
She pressed her fingers against her temples.
“We have a hostage problem. We have a criminal conspiracy. We have millions of dollars being used to dismantle your organization, and somehow you have decided this is the appropriate time for emotional honesty.”
“You prefer scheduling?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have my assistant send an invitation.”
She laughed again.
Damn him.
Bastion smiled.
Then Beatrice became serious.
“You are not going to Pier 19 alone.”
His smile disappeared.
“I am.”
“Then everything you just said was nonsense.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
“If I matter, you don’t get to decide my life for me.”
“This is about keeping you alive.”
“No. It’s about controlling your fear.”
The words hit.
“You don’t get to put me in a locked room and call it love.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You already moved me into a fortified hotel.”
“You were attacked.”
“And I agreed because the danger was real. That is different from removing my choices.”
Bastion studied her.
She softened slightly.
“I understand why you want to protect me.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me.”
“Protect me. Don’t own me.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Perhaps nobody had ever explained the distinction to him.
Beatrice held out Elias’s flash drive.
“We analyze this together.”
“No.”
“Bastion.”
“The pier is in four hours.”
“Then stop wasting time arguing.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Finally, he muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said you are exhausting.”
“Good.”
They returned to the hotel.
For two hours, Beatrice worked through Elias’s files.
The drive contained everything he promised.
Emails between Dominic and Serrano.
Payment instructions.
Employee lists.
Internal weaknesses.
Plans to interrupt operations at three ports simultaneously.
And one document labeled MERCER TRANSITION.
Beatrice opened it.
Her stomach sank.
It outlined Bastion’s assassination.
Not metaphorically.
Not vaguely.
Date.
Location.
Security weaknesses.
A charity dinner scheduled for the following week.
Dominic planned to murder Bastion publicly and blame an outside rival.
During the resulting chaos, Serrano would seize port operations.
Elias would become the apparent successor.
Except—
Beatrice opened another document.
Elias was scheduled to die forty-eight hours later.
She looked at Bastion.
“Serrano never intended to keep him alive.”
Bastion read the page.
His face changed.
“What else?”
Beatrice searched.
“Wait.”
A payment appeared.
Seven million dollars to a numbered account.
Scheduled for release tonight.
Trigger condition: biometric confirmation.
“Pier 19 isn’t only a hostage exchange,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Serrano needs you.”
“For what?”
She rotated the screen.
“One of the stolen accounts requires executive biometric authorization to release the final seven million.”
“He expects me to approve it?”
“He expects to force you.”
Bastion’s expression darkened.
“Then we know what he wants.”
“And we can use that.”
“No.”
She sighed.
“Are we starting this again?”
“You aren’t going to the pier.”
“I never said I was.”
That surprised him.
“I’m staying here.”
“Good.”
“And remotely controlling the account.”
His expression became suspicious.
“Explain.”
“The authorization requires your biometric confirmation. But the transaction routing is vulnerable.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
She smiled.
Bastion looked at her for a long moment.
“That smile concerns me.”
“It should.”
At 11:35 p.m., Bastion prepared to leave.
He wore black.
No tie.
Concealed weapon.
A communications device no larger than a shirt button.
His team would follow at a distance, violating Serrano’s demand while technically keeping Bastion visually alone.
Beatrice sat at the computer.
“Can you hear me?”
His voice came through her earpiece.
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He appeared at the library door.
For a second, neither spoke.
The humor disappeared.
Beatrice stood.
Bastion walked toward her.
“If something goes wrong—”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
“You are not giving me dramatic final instructions.”
“You may need them.”
“I refuse.”
His jaw tightened.
“You can’t refuse reality.”
“I can refuse you speaking like you already expect to die.”
He reached for her hand.
Beatrice let him take it.
“Then what am I allowed to say?”
“Come back.”
He held her gaze.
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
His thumb moved over her knuckles.
“And if I don’t?”
Her throat tightened.
“Then I’ll personally drag you out of hell and audit whoever runs it.”
A quiet laugh left him.
“There she is.”
He leaned closer.
Slowly.
Giving her every opportunity to move away.
She did not.
Their foreheads touched.
Not a kiss.
Somehow more intimate.
“Come back,” she whispered again.
“I will.”
He left.
Beatrice watched the private elevator close.
Then she sat down and became what she understood best.
Dangerous with numbers.
At 11:58, Bastion reached Pier 19.
The security camera feed came through a miniature device carried by one of his men positioned on a nearby rooftop.
Serrano waited inside an abandoned shipping terminal.
Dominic stood beside him.
Elias was tied to a chair.
Blood marked one side of his face.
Beatrice’s hands curled into fists.
Bastion entered alone.
Serrano spread his arms.
“Mercer.”
“Release him.”
“Business first.”
A laptop sat on a metal table.
The transaction screen was already open.
Seven million dollars.
Authorization pending.
Dominic searched Bastion for weapons.
He found one.
Then another.
Bastion looked almost bored.
“Done?”
Dominic hit him across the mouth.
Beatrice flinched.
Bastion remained standing.
“Apparently not.”
Dominic hit him again.
“Stop,” Serrano said.
He pointed toward the laptop.
“Authorize the payment.”
“And Elias walks?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice whispered into Bastion’s hidden earpiece.
“He’s lying.”
Bastion gave no visible reaction.
“What guarantee?” he asked Serrano.
“My word.”
Bastion laughed.
“Then I have none.”
Serrano pulled a gun and pointed it at Elias.
“Perhaps this helps.”
Beatrice’s pulse thundered.
“Buy me two minutes,” she whispered.
Bastion walked toward the laptop.
“What happens after you get the money?”
“I leave.”
“With Dominic?”
Serrano smiled.
“Dominic has served his purpose.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
There.
Division.
Bastion noticed.
“So did Elias,” he said.
Serrano shrugged.
“Sentiment makes men stupid.”
Dominic looked toward him.
“You said—”
“I said you’d be rewarded.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
Beatrice worked faster.
Routing table.
Transaction layer.
Authentication.
She could not stop the biometric request.
But she could change the destination.
“One minute,” she whispered.
Serrano grabbed Bastion’s hand and forced his thumb toward a scanner.
Bastion resisted.
Dominic stepped forward.
“What happens to me after tonight?”
Serrano glared.
“Not now.”
“You said I’d run security.”
“And you will.”
“You just said I served my purpose.”
“Dominic,” Bastion said calmly.
“Shut up.”
Bastion looked at him.
“He’s going to kill you.”
Dominic’s gun shifted.
Serrano raised his own.
“Enough.”
Beatrice found the vulnerability.
Thirty seconds.
She redirected the receiving account.
Not to Bastion.
Not to Serrano.
To a federal forfeiture holding account listed in an old compliance database.
She almost laughed.
“Ready,” she whispered.
Bastion stopped resisting.
His thumb pressed the scanner.
TRANSACTION APPROVED.
Serrano smiled.
Seven million dollars moved.
For approximately four seconds.
Then his screen flashed.
DESTINATION ERROR.
He frowned.
“What?”
Beatrice initiated the second command.
Every account connected to Elias’s drive froze simultaneously.
Thirty-eight million dollars.
Locked.
Transaction history duplicated.
Records transmitted to three independent legal repositories Bastion’s attorneys had established earlier that evening.
Serrano stared at the screen.
“What did you do?”
Bastion smiled.
“Me?”
Serrano understood.
“The accountant.”
Beatrice heard hatred in his voice.
Then the lights inside the terminal went out.
This time, darkness belonged to Bastion.
His men entered.
Gunfire erupted.
Beatrice could hear shouting.
Metal crashing.
Someone screamed.
Then silence.
“Bastion?”
No answer.
“Bastion.”
Static.
Her stomach dropped.
She stood.
“Bastion!”
Still nothing.
One of the guards outside entered.
“Ms. Abbott?”
“Take me there.”
“We have orders—”
“I don’t care.”
“Mr. Mercer specifically said—”
Beatrice pointed toward the door.
“Either take me to Pier 19 or explain to your employer, assuming he survives, why you allowed me to steal one of his cars.”
The guard stared at her.
Ten minutes later, they were speeding toward Brooklyn.
When Beatrice arrived, police sirens were approaching in the distance.
Serrano was gone.
Dominic had been captured.
Elias was alive.
And Bastion—
“Where is he?”
No one answered quickly enough.
Beatrice ran through the terminal.
She found him behind a stack of shipping containers.
Sitting against the wall.
Blood covered his white shirt.
Her heart stopped.
“Bastion.”
His eyes opened.
“Why are you here?”
The irritation in his voice nearly made her cry.
She dropped beside him.
“You’re shot.”
“Grazed.”
“There is an obscene amount of blood for a graze.”
“Head wounds bleed.”
“That is your shoulder.”
“Shoulders also bleed.”
Beatrice laughed once.
Then unexpectedly, tears came.
Bastion stared.
“Oh.”
“Do not say anything.”
“I’ve never seen you cry.”
“Enjoy it. It won’t happen again.”
His uninjured hand touched her cheek.
“You came.”
“You told me people you love become targets.”
“I did.”
“Well.”
She took a shaky breath.
“You forgot the other possibility.”
“What?”
“They become the people who come back for you.”
Something in Bastion’s face broke open.
Not weakness.
Something gentler.
He pulled her closer.
Beatrice hesitated only a second.
Then she kissed him.
Not because the danger was over.
It wasn’t.
Not because they had solved everything.
They hadn’t.
But because sometimes the most honest moments came before life was neat enough to deserve them.
When they separated, Bastion touched his forehead to hers.
“You broke your rule.”
“So did you.”
Behind them, Elias groaned.
“If you two are finished…”
Beatrice laughed.
Bastion closed his eyes.
And for the first time since forty million dollars disappeared, the impossible felt slightly less impossible.