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“We’ve got connections with some of the smaller families,” Seb continues, his voice steady and deliberate as he plots out our options. “If we can undermine Costa’s operations before they get too powerful … well, we might have a chance.”

I nod slowly, piecing together a plan in my mind while scanning the club for any sign of trouble. Really, I’m looking forher.

Every muscle in me tightens at the thought of getting dragged back into that life—the one filled with shadows and violence. It’s exactly what Nicolo wants.

“What about Giovanni Costa? He’s reckless. We could use that to our advantage,” Seb suggests. “Turn him against his father.”

“Reckless could also bite us in the ass.” My hands clench into fists on the bar top as memories flood back—betrayals and bloodshed interwoven with loyalty and survival.

“So we keep our distance from him but monitor their movements? Keep them guessing?”

“Yes.” I meet his gaze, resolve hardening within me like steel. “We slow their progress however we can. This is our city, and I intend to keep it that way.”

The soft,clinical scent of lavender clashes with the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. I lean back in the cushioned chair, its upholstery almost too pristine for my taste. Dr. Stone’s office feels too bright, too open—like a glaring spotlight on everything I’d rather keep buried. My fingers drum restlessly against the armrest as I fight to compose myself.

“Zeke, how are you feeling today?” Dr. Stone’s voice breaks through the haze of my thoughts, smooth and calm.

I force a nod, swallowing hard. “Fine.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly, and I can almost hear her internal sigh. She’s seen through my facade before, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give her the satisfaction of knowing she still can.

“Let’s talk about what’s been on your mind,” she suggests gently.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and avoiding her gaze. “Just … work stuff.” My words come out clipped, emphasizing the tension brewing just beneath the surface.

Dr. Stone knows about my personal life, my work activities, and how I function on the outskirts of the law. I don’t have to hold back with her, but I still do.

“Work stuff?” she repeats, her tone inviting, yet firm. “Or is it more than that? You’ve been hesitant to dive into your feelings lately.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration creeping up my spine like an unwelcome chill. The memory of Eve’s anger when I saw her at the club floods back—the fire in her eyes was enough to remind me why a relationship with her is so dangerous. But that wasn’t just anger—it was hurt layered over betrayal. She thought I ghosted her without reason, and that gnaws at me more than I care to admit.

“I mean …” I hesitate, brushing off the deeper issues lurking in my mind. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Damn it all—she’s not letting this go easy. Eve’s presence lingers like smoke in a closed room, threatening to suffocate me if I fixate too long on those thoughts.

“Just seeing someone from my past again.” I deflect the confession with a wave of my hand, hoping she’ll take the bait and let me off easy.

Her eyes narrow, sensing I’m holding back, but she says nothing further on it—just jots something down in that notebook of hers.

“Is it just seeing them, or is there more at stake here?”

The question sits between us like a lead weight, urging me to dig deeper into feelings I’d rather shove aside for good measure.

Dr. Stone leans back in her chair, arms crossed, that infuriatingly perceptive gaze locked on me. “You’re avoiding the question, Zeke. Why does seeing this person again shake you up so much? You’ve built walls for a reason. What are you afraid of?”

I grind my teeth, the tension building like a ticking time bomb inside me. “It’s not about her,” I shoot back, but even as the words leave my mouth, they sound weak.

“So it’s a she?” Dr. Stone raises a brow. I’ve never discussed a woman with her outside the loss of Clara.

I nod and sink back in the chair. “Like I said, it’s not about her.”

“Isn’t it?” she counters, undeterred. “You can’t pretend her presence doesn’t affect you. She brings back feelings—maybe ones you’d rather keep buried.”

Feelings? That’s rich. I don’t do feelings. My life has been a relentless parade of cold calculations and harsh realities, all shaped by decisions that lead to more chaos than clarity.

“What do you want me to say?” I mutter, the irritation rising in my throat like bile. “That I regret something? That I should have stayed away? Because that’s not how it works.”