Hello, my friends! Those of you who have patiently waited as I worked through this story over the past year will be happy to know that the writing process is complete! I will get the chapters to you as they are edited. Hopefully, you'll have the full story within a few weeks :)

Enjoy chapter 22!


BPOV

Fingers running through my hair, I watch Edward shut the penthouse door behind him. I'm left with nothing but the hum of electronics and my racing thoughts to accompany me.

I need to text Carmen and tell her I'm not returning to the diner.

I need to unpack the bag sitting in my closet.

My heart stutters as my lips curl in excitement. I'm leaping into the unknown, letting a man take care of me— provide for me.

With my patience non-existent, I turn to where I plopped my dance bag on a kitchen stool to retrieve my phone. I hate leaving Carmen with such little notice, but there is no way I'll be there for my morning shift. She won't believe I'm going to be living full-time at La Bellissima.

Then I realize two things.

One, I still have no idea where my phone is.

Two, Edward never asked me to move in with him.

I freeze, hands hovering over the zipper of my duffle.

What happens next?

Is Edward expecting me to accept lavish gifts like cars and jewelry while sleeping over a few nights each week? Over the past month, I've barely left La Bellissima. My unused apartment is collecting dust, and if I quit my job at the diner and do what Edward wants, how will I pay the rent?

Rubbing my temples, I lean my hip against the marble countertop.

I believe that he loves me. He sees a future that, until tonight, I wasn't sure existed. However, I don't know where we're headed right now. Sighing, I stand straight, eyeing the landline phone in the corner.

I guess no one will answer my questions tonight. All I can do is call Carmen from a landline and pray she'll give me my job back if I need to pay another month of rent.

It takes me five minutes, and dialing one wrong number before I pull Carmen's cell number from the recesses of my mind. I am lost without the convenience of my cell phone. She's groggy and disoriented when she answers, her voice thick with slumber.

"Hey, it's Bella," I say, the apology for calling so late on the tip of my tongue.

"Oh my God. Bella, are you okay?" She quickly wakes; alarm and concern dictate her barrage of questions. "What happened this morning? And who the hell was that guy who chased you out of the restaurant?"

Grimacing, I search for an explanation that won't cause further concern. "Um, yeah, I'm sorry about that. He's a business rival of Edward's and a little unhinged."

"A little?" She scoffs. "Bella, he looked like a straight-up felon coming to murder you."

"Yeah. I had to get out of there. I'm really sorry for leaving you in a jam."

"Don't be crazy." Sheets rustle in the background, and I feel bad for waking her. "I'm just glad you're okay. I'll manage if you need to take a few days off."

The phone cord tugs as I pace along the dining room wall. "Actually, I'm, uh, not going to be able to come back."

There's a silence on the line that makes my stomach swirl in loops. I hate giving her such short notice when I know she's already understaffed.

"Bella, are you in danger?" She whispers as if afraid someone will overhear, putting me in a worse predicament.

"No, Carmen. I promise. I'm completely safe right now. I'm at La Bellissima and have an army of men watching over me." I'm confident Edward has his security team keeping track of my whereabouts.

Carmen hums in disapproval. "I hope you're telling the truth."

"I swear to you, I am," I respond quickly, reassuring her that I have not stumbled into some sort of devious underground. I tell myself I'm not lying. I'm twenty-six floors above the city's glittering lights, far from the restricted basement that I've heard Edward mention to his brother.

"Bella," she sighs. "You know you're welcome back when whatever this is, ends."

"Thanks, Carmen," I say, genuinely grateful for the offer to return.

"And don't think you aren't going to visit us. After all, you have to come get your phone."

My steps halt mid-pivot. "Wait, what?"

"Your phone," she laughs. "You left it in the apron you threw at me when you sprinted out of here."

My head tilts back in relief. I'm lost without the device. Pathetic, I know, but my entire life is saved on that stupid machine.

"I'll have to send someone to pick it up tomorrow." I can picture Carmen's eye roll when she mutters her displeasure. "But I promise to come visit once things settle down."

"Sure, sure. Who should I expect to hand your phone off to?"

"Um…" I think for a moment, wondering how Carmen could recognize Edward's men. And then it comes to me. "They'll have a badge. All of Edward's men have security badges. Don't give it to anyone without La Bellissima identification."

"Got it. Look, I'm going to keep checking on you, okay? Let me know if you need rescuing. You can even stay with me if you have to."

"Thanks. But I promise I'm fine here."

"Whatever you say. Good night, Bella," she says, stifling a yawn.

Laughing, I tell her to get some sleep before setting the receiver back in its cradle.

With at least the question of my phone answered, I head into the bathroom to shower. I can't wash the day off fast enough.

oOo

"I'll send Ben to pick up the phone," Edward promises. I nod, even though he can't see me on the other side of the line. He's downstairs in his security hub, calling to check on me.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand: six thirty-five a.m. "Are you sure he's up? I don't want to wake him just for this."

Edward's laugh turns into a cough, and I can hear his brother in the background telling him to breathe. "Sorry." He clears his throat. "Swallowed my coffee wrong. Bella, I know Ben is up. We haven't slept."

My lips twist to the side as my concern grows. Edward never returned to the penthouse last night, and while I know he's dealing with something important, I'm worried that his lack of sleep will catch up to him. "Oh. Well, tell him thank you."

"I have to hang up, but promise me you won't go anywhere today. I should be upstairs in a few hours."

"Edward, where am I going to go?" I huff. "Besides, I was sleeping before you called me."

"Right," he mumbles. "Go do more of that. If you're asleep, I know where you are."

"This is overkill."

"It's not."

Sighing, I sink back into the pillows. "I'll see you in a while?"

"I promise," he says with enough conviction that I believe him.

"All right, good night, Edward."

"Sweet dreams." And with that, he's off the line.

Despite the blackout curtains covering the wall of windows to my left, my body seems to know the sun is rising, and I'm unable to fall asleep. Groaning in frustration, I sit up and throw the duvet to the side. A wide yawn breaks free as I stretch my arms overhead.

After padding to the bathroom and going through my morning routine, I snatch last night's hair tie from the built-in vanity and pull my wayward locks into a high ponytail. The drawers underneath the lit mirror mock me with their emptiness. After all, what bachelor has use for a woman's vanity meant for makeup and primiping? Maybe it's time for me to stock the drawers with some beauty products. It would be convenient to have my supplies available.

I cover myself with a hoodie from Edward's closet before going to the kitchen. His scent clings to the navy fabric, and I pull it tight, cocooning myself as I head toward the Keurig on the counter. My favorite cinnamon bun flavored coffee pods are kept in constant supply in the cabinet, next to Edward's dark roast, and my almond milk creamer resides next to his half-and-half in the fridge.

Our lives have intertwined without me realizing it.

Once my cup finishes brewing, I carry the oversized mug into the living room and nestle into the corner of the black leather couch. Morning light streams across the floor as I peer out the window down Las Vegas Boulevard.

I'm already bored.

Yesterday, with my nerves spiked, I had no problem remaining in the penthouse. With an old sitcom streaming on T.V., I did my best to ignore my anxiety. But now, with the adrenaline worn off and having the general feeling of security, I don't know how I'll spend the day sitting around.

Movies and shows won't hold my interest, so binge-watching a screen for hours isn't an option. I consider borrowing Edward's rarely-used Kindle to download a new book from my favorite romance author, then disregarded the idea when I remember why I liked the series. Her sexy storylines and steamy scenes are a poor replacement for my real-life relationship.

Placing my coffee mug on a side table, I scan the room, attempting to find entertainment. Against the back wall, I spot a door I never noticed before. In curiosity, I stand and walk over, reaching for the handle.

It opens easily, and I find a storage closet concealing a vacuum and a shelf with some board games. I shut the door, finding it difficult to picture Edward sitting around a table with his men, playing Monopoly.

With an urge to see what other unexpected secrets the penthouse holds, I go on a mission to explore.

Somehow, in all the days I've stayed here, I have never ventured past the main living areas. With no need for more than the living and dining rooms, kitchen, and main bedroom, there is little else I've seen.

I know Edward's home office is down a hall past the dining room. I went in once to deliver him fresh-baked cookies while he reviewed the hotel's accounts.

Skipping the office, I continue down the hallway until I find a door cracked open on the right. I peek inside, and my mouth falls open as I admire the state-of-the-art gym. Edward's fitness center has everything I could want, including a treadmill, Stairmaster, elliptical, and multiple weight machines. I'm especially excited about the mats in the corner next to a wall of mirrors. With tentative steps, I enter and marvel at the space. I quickly find myself on the mats, sizing the area and deciding it's perfect for yoga or Pilates.

Thrilled at my discovery, I wonder what else Edward has failed to show me over the past few weeks.

Continuing down the hallway, I find a few guest rooms and a sauna. Not being someone who enjoys sitting around sweating profusely, I move on. There's a billiards room with leather couches and a built-in bar that I am surprised Edward doesn't use more often. But the room at the end of the hall has me completely enraptured. A library with built-in oak bookcases and oversized cream-colored armchairs makes me smile.

Although I don't have time to read as much as I would like, literature was always my favorite subject in school. As a child, I could spend entire weekends in my room, devouring young adult novels. As an adult, I kept books stashed in my bag for long ballet rehearsals.

I browse the shelves, amazed by the eclectic collection— from Steinbeck and Hemingway to Grisham and King. My index finger traces the spine of The Godfather as I laugh— fitting.

On the far wall is an antique writing desk with a collection of high-end fountain pens. Lifting one to inspect it, I wonder if they've ever been used.

I replace the pen and raise the top of the desk, considering leaving Edward a note if I can find some paper. I took a calligraphy class one summer in middle school for fun. Although I doubt I remember much of what I learned, my interest was short-lived.

But when the desk opens, my brow dips in confusion. There's nothing but a silver button inlaid in the wood.

Catching my lips between my teeth, I stroke the edge of the refinished antique.

What the hell would Edward be hiding a button for?

Maybe it's a silent alarm. Or perhaps it opens a hidden compartment under the desk.

Either way, whatever it is, Edward didn't feel the need to tell me about it, which means I should probably leave it be. I reach up to slide the desk's cover down but find it stuck.

"Well, damn it," I mutter after tugging a few times. I bend over, looking for a latch or anything in the way. Seeing nothing, I give one final hard tug.

But I lose my grip.

And my hand smacks down hard— right on top of the mystery button.

With a curse falling from my lips, I cringe, sure alarms will start blaring, and ten men will rush in, ready to tackle me to the ground.

None of that happens,

Instead, the sound of a heavy deadbolt unlocking permeates the room. I spin to my left, where half the bookcase is separated from the wall and stands ajar. With a last glance toward the empty hallway, I move closer, reaching out until my hand curls around the edge of the bookshelf. Pulling it outward, I'm not at all surprised when a metal door appears behind the solid wood.

I am, however, surprised when that door opens as I pull on the handle.

The room I walk into is pitch black, but even blinded by the darkness, I can tell it's small. It could be a walk-in closet or a storage room. So, why the secrecy?

I feel along the wall until I find a switch, flip it up, and turn on the fluorescents overhead. Gasping, I step forward, eyes darting in every direction.

It's a weapon cache.

Guns, knives, brass knuckles, everything you would imagine a mob boss keeping nearby. The implication of what I stumbled upon sends a shiver rolling down my spine.

Edward— my boyfriend, Edward— has a hidden stash of weapons in his home. A firearm for self-defense I understand, but this is so much more.

Somewhat familiar with guns after living with a federal agent for most of my life, I browse the collection. Edward seems to like Smith and Wesson, a brand I've never used. I spot a few Glocks on a lower shelf and pick one up to test the metal frame in my hand.

I keep the gun aimed toward the wall while my father's words echo in my head. Only aim at what you're willing to destroy.

That's the thing about being the daughter of an agent. I sure as hell know how to shoot.

The first time my father took me to the range, I was twelve years old. I had no interest in doing what I deemed at the time to be a boy thing, but my father insisted.

He took me on a Tuesday— ladies' night when women entered for free. It was brilliant on his part because I was one of many girls learning how to defend herself. Soon, our Tuesday night visits became a tradition, and even as ballet took up more of my time, my father found ways to get me to the range to practice my skills. The last time I shot, six months ago when I visited him, I still hit my target perfectly.

I pop out the magazine and I'm not surprised to find the gun loaded. An idea begins to form.

Would Edward mind if I borrowed his gun, just until he has the Russians under control?

Something tells me he won't.

After reassembling the weapon, I make my decision. The gun goes with me. I turn off the light, leaving the rest of Edward's weapon stock in order. After closing the door and the bookcase, I try the silver button on the desk and am happy to hear the deadbolt lock.

I make one more attempt to close the desk, rolling my eyes when I find a latch that releases the cover. Deciding I've done enough snooping for one day, I take my newfound weapon with me to safely tuck away in my dance bag. I spend the remainder of the morning with Edward's Kindle, attempting to lose myself in a novella about a girl falling in love with a mafia underboss. I scoff more than once over unrealistic arcs in the storyline. After all, I would know all about falling for a mafia man.

Around twelve-thirty, there's a knock at the penthouse door. My stomach twists, and I consider retrieving my gun, but when I check the video monitor on the entryway wall, I find it's only Ben, holding what looks like a carryout bag.

"I wasn't expecting company," I say, opening the door and adjusting the oversized hoodie I still wear.

He waves me off with a grin as I motion for him to enter. "Edward sent me up to check in with you."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Bored, but fine."

"He also sent lunch," Ben says, lifting the bag. My mouth waters at the scent of garlic and Italian spices. My stomach grumbles, punishment for never eating breakfast. "It's courtesy of Uncle Caius."

"Great, thanks." Appreciatively, I accept the food.

"We got sidetracked with something unexpected this morning, so I haven't picked up your phone yet, but I'll head to Carmen's in a little while."

"Sure." With a smile, I follow him toward the front door. "Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, no problem." His boyish charm breaks through in his easygoing demeanor and the dimples that pop on his cheeks.

He steps through the threshold and back into the foyer, but I call out before he reaches the elevator.

"Is everything okay downstairs? I mean, with the, uh…" I trail off, glancing at the camera in the corner. I'm not sure what's acceptable to discuss with Ben or how much he knows about what happened yesterday with the Russian man.

A split second of uncertainty crosses over his expression, just enough to make my stomach twist and my pulse accelerate.

"Edward's very good at what he does. You've got no reason to worry."

Despite my trust in Ben, his promise doesn't mollify me.

He waves me away, urging me back to the penthouse as the elevator dings and the doors open. I obey, locking the door behind me.

You've got no reason to worry.

I'm pretty sure that means I've got every reason to worry.

oOo

Hair up and slicked back, I stand from the vanity and slip a zip hoodie over my sports bra. I have rehearsal in half an hour, and one of Edward's men should be here soon to escort me down.

The idea of showing up at the theater with armed guards isn't ideal, but neither is being killed by the Russian mob.

I lift my dance duffle from the floor and secure the strap over my shoulder. The extra weight from the Glock at the bottom is noticeable.

Just as I turn off the light in the bedroom and step into the hallway, I hear the home alarm system beep with a notice alerting me to motion at the front door. I head toward the voices echoing in the entryway.

"Your plan is solid, boss," a gruff, masculine man says as I turn the corner and find Edward and his associate standing near the kitchen. "There is nothing we can do to prevent a battle, but we're as prepared as possible."

"Thank you, Felix," Edward says, his words weighed down as he rubs his brow. "I don't enjoy asking any of you to put your life on the line, but we have no choice."

"It's what we signed up for. We're soldiers, and we're ready to follow our orders."

"You're at least a sergeant," Edward jokes, earning a chuckle from the bulky man.

"Whose putting their life on the line?" I ask, the churning of my gut intensifying. "Edward, what's going on?"

Edward's eyes flash toward Felix in warning, and I know I won't get the truth from either of them. "Bella," Edward sighs. "We're just talking about precautions. The Russians will reappear, and we have to be ready when they do."

I glance from Edward to Felix, who is refusing to look in my direction. "You're not in danger, are you?"

Edward grabs my hand and lifts my palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the center. "Bella, this is Felix. He's going to escort you to rehearsal."

The world spins, and my stomach drops as Felix greets me with a "Hello" and a nod. With a lingering kiss to my temple, Edward releases me and waves his hand toward his burly associate.

"Edward," I say as Felix flanks my side. "Please be careful."

A hesitant smile curls his lips as he murmurs, "I love you," then retreats down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Come on, Miss Swan. I would hate for you to be late." Felix gently taps his fingers on my shoulder, spurring me into motion.

I'm stuck on autopilot through rehearsal, performing each step from muscle memory as I can't focus on a single thing I'm doing.

There's an electric current in the air as if a hurricane is raging offshore.

I fear that rain, wind, and lightning have nothing on the storm brewing inside La Bellissima.


A/N: Ready for the storm?

Next chapter should be out soon!