The alley was a trap, the headlights of three black vans blinding as Morello’s men poured out, guns drawn, faces hard. Seraphina’s pulse thundered, her stolen knife gripped tight, Rafe’s grin flashed, defiant against the odds. “Well, shit,” he muttered. “Guess we’re not getting that drink yet.”

Rafe fired first, his silenced shots dropping two goons, their bodies hitting the pavement. Seraphina lunged, her knife slicing a third man’s arm, his gun clattering as he screamed. She ducked a swing, driving her blade into his thigh, and he crumpled.

Rafe grabbed her arm, pulling her behind a dumpster as bullets sparked off the metal. “Nice moves, princess,” he panted, reloading....