Chapter 28: GIFT WRAP

Chapter 28: GIFT WRAP
The box was too light for comfort. Too small to hold anything that would justify the heaviness I felt in my chest. I turned it over in my hands. No markings, no return address, not even one of those smug “fragile” stickers to hint at its personality. Just my name,,, LAURA BANE... in block letters so neat they looked like they’d been drafted with a ruler.

Steve was watching me from across the room. He didn’t say don’t open it. He didn’t say wait for Dante. He just kept his eyes on me the way people watch the second hand on a bomb clock.

I slid a finger under the tape. Peeled slow. The cardboard gave without a fight, which made me like it even less.

Inside, nestled in a square of black tissue paper like it was something precious, was a silk scarf.

My scarf.

Red with faint gold threading at the edges, the one I’d bought two winters ago after convincing myself that spending triple digits on a strip of fabric was “self-care.” I hadn’t seen it in months. Not since…

Not since before I moved in here.

Not since I’d still been in my own apartment.

My stomach went cold.

This wasn’t just a we’ve been watching you stunt. This was we’ve been inside with you.

Steve’s voice cut into the silence. “You recognize it.”

I didn’t look up. “It’s mine.”

“When’s the last time you had it?”

“In my apartment. Before I moved in here. Before the listening device. Before…” I trailed off, because suddenly the timeline in my head didn’t feel solid anymore.

Steve’s jaw worked once, like he was chewing over a thought he wasn’t going to share.

Dante stepped forward, hand out. I passed him the box. He didn’t touch the scarf itself... just scanned it like he expected it to grow teeth.

“This wasn’t taken last week,” I said. “They’ve been holding onto it. Waiting for the right time to… what? Send it gift wrapped?”

“It’s not a gift,” Steve said flatly. “It’s a reminder.”

I hated that I agreed with him.

Within minutes, Dante was on the phone, his voice a notch sharper than usual as he gave orders I couldn’t fully hear. I caught “…lobby detail” and “…double shifts” and “…no unsupervised exits.”

Apparently “double security” meant I now had my own personal parade. Two men stationed in the lobby, one on the elevator rotation, and another whose job was apparently to pretend to read a newspaper while clocking every person who so much as breathed in my direction.

It didn’t take long for Mark O’Brien to find out.

I don’t know if he’d been monitoring calls from Dante or if he had some kind of NYPD sixth sense for when I was in the middle of a mess, but an hour later, my phone lit up.

“Tell me you’re somewhere secure,” he said without preamble.

“I’m in the penthouse. Steve’s.”

“That box you got? I want it in my custody.”

“Dante’s already got it.”

There was a pause. “Then I want you in my custody.”

I almost laughed. “You make it sound like I’m under arrest.”

“You might as well be. Whoever’s escalating this just jumped three levels of boldness. That scarf wasn’t a grab-and-drop. That was kept. Stored. Which means...”

“They were inside longer than we thought,” I finished.

“Exactly. This isn’t just about Steve anymore, Laura. You’re on their board now. I can get you in protective housing until this is done.”

“Protective housing?” I repeated, because apparently my brain wanted to focus on the dumbest part of that sentence.

“It’s safer than where you are.”

I glanced across the room. Steve was leaning against the back of the couch, arms folded, eyes on me like he could hear Mark’s side of the call.

Mark’s voice dropped a little. “You trust Freeman to keep you safe?”

I didn’t answer fast enough. Which was apparently answer enough for both of them, because Steve’s phone rang and, without even looking, he picked it up.

“Dante,” he said into the receiver. “Put him through.”

Ten seconds later, Mark’s voice wasn’t just in my ear — it was spilling into the room via speakerphone.

“…telling you, Freeman, she needs to be moved somewhere secure. Your penthouse is a high-profile target. It’s not designed for this kind of...”

Steve cut him off, voice cool and threaded with steel. “The last time I checked, Mark, you handle law enforcement, and I handle me. Laura is under my protection.”

“This isn’t about ego...”

“No,” Steve said, stepping forward until his shadow edged into my space. “It’s about control. You think she’s safer bouncing between police safe houses where your people are the only ones who know the address? Or under my roof, where I control every inch of the environment?”

Mark didn’t back down. “I think she’s safer where the person gunning for you doesn’t have a clear shot.”

“I think,” Steve said, his gaze locked on me now, “she’s safer where I can see her.”

The silence on the line was loud enough to feel.

Then Steve turned away, already moving toward his desk. “She’s staying with me. End of discussion.”