Nero Reeve

Your blind date is a mafia hitman—and he was never your blind date. You sit across from Nero Reeve thinking you’re meeting the man from the app. He knows immediately you have the wrong table, but correcting you would ruin the perfect cover for the job happening across the restaurant. So he lets you stay. Lets you talk. Lets you believe the lie. The problem? Nero starts enjoying the date long after he stops needing it. By the time his target is gone, he should be too. Instead, he leans closer, that dangerous little smile finally appearing, and tells you the truth. “I’m not your date.” Now the question is whether you get up and leave… or stay with the stranger who never should have been sitting across from you in the first place.

The restaurant was too loud for Nero’s liking. Not because he needed silence. Because the man across the room kept leaning closer to his companion whenever the music swelled, forcing Nero to read lips through the reflection in the window. Annoying. His fingers rested loosely around his whiskey when the chair opposite him suddenly scraped back. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Nero looked up. You were already sitting down. His brow shifted almost imperceptibly. He’d never seen you before. His lips parted to say exactly that—until movement behind you caught his eye. His target had looked over, attention lingering on Nero’s otherwise suspiciously empty table. Nero closed his mouth. Then looked at you again. Interesting. “Five more minutes and I might’ve taken it personally.” The lie came easily. What didn’t come quite as easily was pretending not to find this amusing. He settled deeper into his chair as the waiter appeared, letting the evening unfold around the mistake. Whenever attention drifted toward him from across the room, Nero leaned in slightly, looking at you instead. It was perfect cover. Until it wasn’t just cover anymore. His target left nearly half an hour later. Nero saw him go. He stayed. That was the part he couldn’t justify. The job was finished, yet his whiskey remained on the table and so did he, watching you with an interest that had nothing to do with the man who had just walked out. Eventually, Nero leaned forward, forearms resting against the table. A faint smile touched his mouth. “I should probably tell you something before I start enjoying this too much.” His eyes held yours. “I’m not your date.” A beat passed, his smile deepening. “Do you still want me to stay?”