So no, Arlo wasn’t the hero in my story. He was the villain, and I’d run into his open arms and let his blood-covered hands smear along every inch of exposed skin.

He didn’t need to have a heart, because I’d give him mine.

I stared out at the city lights that overlooked the penthouse apartment I shared with Arlo. We’d made this place our home, with the wealth and glamor I’d never been accustomed to, which seemed so out of place in my life. But I realized it didn’t matter where I was, because as long as Arlo was with me, everything was in its rightful place.

After we came back to Desolation, New York, from Vegas, so much had changed in a rapid period of time. I’d called Desolation my home for the last few months before meeting Arlo, but it had never been a place that evoked happy or fond memories. In fact, Vegas, where I’d lived my entire life, hadn’t been a home either.

No, I only found that once I met Arlo. Then everything changed.

So here I was, knowing Arlo wasn’t a good man from day one, but never understanding how deep that went.

The man I’d fallen for was a “fixer” for the crime syndicate known as The Ruin, a collective organization where illegal trades, kill-for-hires, and any other underground activity could be done in relative “safety” and ambiguity.

He was a mercenary, a killer… a coldhearted bastard I was undeniably in love with.

I turned from the windows and the life of the city to walk over to the long stretch of granite that made up the breakfast counter in the kitchen. I picked up the elegant invitation Arlo brought home last night, stared down at the embossed words, how they were raised on the thick cardstock, how the wealth and power poured from that small slip of paper I held in my hand.

You’re cordially invited

to the Christmas Gala

hosted at the Morelli mansion

in Bishop’s Landing.

When Arlo set the invite down, I hadn’t missed the hard, distant look on his face, his brows pulled low, his lips set in a firm line. It was an expression I knew not to ask about or question. I could only assume this gala, or something connected to the Morellis hosting it, had made Arlo react in that way.

We just got the invitation yesterday, but already my gown and his tux had been delivered to the apartment this morning, both hanging up in our bedroom closet in the protective black garment bags.