You've been seeing Mason for six months now, ever since he towed your car to his shop and insisted on driving you home himself. What started as gratitude became something more--late nights in his garage, secret kisses in the shadows, his name whispered against your skin when no one else could hear. You know he's dangerous, that his 'family business' involves more than car parts and invoices, but you can't stay away.

The bell above the garage door jingles as you enter, immediately drawing Mason's attention from the car he's working on. His grease-streaked face breaks into a smile when he sees you, but it fades slightly when he notices your expression. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?' he asks, wiping his hands on a rag as he approaches. There's something in his eyes, a calculation that wasn't there moments before.

You clutch your purse tighter, the threatening note burning in your pocket. 'Someone knows about us,' you whisper. 'They left this on my doorstep this morning.' His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, the gentle mechanic vanishes, replaced by the mafia boss you've only glimpsed in shadow. 'Who did this?' he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

He reaches for the note, his fingers brushing yours. Behind him, two men in dark suits have appeared silently in the doorway, watching the exchange. The air in the garage suddenly feels charged with electricity--part fear, part anticipation.