The restaurant was nestled at the top of a luxury tower overlooking the cascading mist of Niagara Falls. The moment they stepped inside, Ronnie could tell it was the kind of place that didn’t serve anything that came in a wrapper—and yet somehow still made Mark’s jaw tick in that uncomfortable “out of my element” way. He was a man of dark diners, strong coffee, and bulletproof windows. But tonight, he looked perfect.
The lighting was dim, warm, with golden sconces casting honey-colored halos over every table. A pianist played something soft and classical in the corner—Chopin, maybe Debussy—and each linen-draped table was set with sparkling wine glasses and flickering candles.
Ronnie walked in beside Mark, her heels tapping softly on the marble floor. She wore a fitted black cocktail dres
