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My heart stops beating for a second as his words echo in my mind.

Fiancée.

The word feels like ice in my veins, freezing me in place as I try to process what he’s saying. His hands are still on my hips, burning through the thin fabric of my dress, but I barely register the sensation anymore.

“What did you just say?” My voice comes out as a whisper, though I meant it to be stronger.

Fiancée.

The word bounces around in my skull like a pinball, setting off alarms with each bump. This can’t be happening. Not with him. Not with the man who walked away without a word after making me believe we had something real.

I remember those nights together—hot, intense, perfect. The way he touched me like I was precious and breakable one moment, then claimed me like a conqueror the next. I’d started to hope, to dream that maybe this time would be different. That maybe he was different.

Then he vanished.

No call. No text. No explanation. Just … gone.

And now he stands here telling me I’m his fiancée? After ghosting me because he’s a criminal with ties to the mafia and I’m a cop.

The heat of anger rises in my chest, burning away the ice from the shock. I push against him, needing space to think. To breathe. His hands fall away reluctantly, but he doesn’t step back far.

“You can’t just decide that,” I manage to get out, my voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to disappear for a year and then suddenly claim me as your fiancée because it’s convenient.”

His jaw tightens, those dark eyes of his burning with an intensity that used to make me weak in the knees. Now it just feeds my anger.

“I hardly know you,” I continue, the words spilling out faster now. “We dated for what? A month? Had some great sex, sure, but then you disappeared on me. And now you think you can just—”

“We don’t have a choice,” he insists. “It’s this or they’ll kill you.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighs and drops his forehead to mine like he’s desperate for the connection. “If you’re mine, they won’t touch you unless they want a war. They’re not ready for a war.”

“You’re serious.” The words struggle to come out as my chest tightens.

He nods. “I may have left that life behind, but the rules remain the same. I’m not someone Marcus Barone wants to cross.”

“We could pretend,” I suggest, my mind racing to find a solution that doesn’t involve actually marrying him. Been there. Done that. And it didn’t work out so well for me. “Just tell them we’re engaged but keep things casual. That should be enough to—”

“No.” His voice cuts through my words like a blade. “It won’t be enough. These people will watch us. They’ll look for any sign that it’s not real. And when they find it—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. “Like I said. They’ll kill you, Evelyn. Slowly. Painfully.”

A chill runs down my spine from the certainty in his voice. “How would you even protect me if you left that life? You’re just a club owner now.”

He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that rattles through the air. “Just a club owner?” His eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time, I see something dark and dangerous lurking in their depths, a tempest of secrets that sends another shiver down my spine. “I’m so much more than that.”

“Then explain it to me.” I raise my voice, my frustration boiling over. “Please.”

He takes a deep breath—the kind loaded with the weight of his unspoken past—and diverts his gaze to anywhere except me. It’s a subtle shift, but it catches my attention. He’s nervous.

“I’m an orphan. I was raised by the New York mafia. Nicolo Moretti himself.” His voice drops to a low murmur, as if the very name holds power. “I know things, Eve. Things that would make your detective brain short-circuit.”

My breath catches. Nicolo Moretti. Even I know that name. He’s one of the most powerful and notorious crime bosses on the East Coast, if not the entire United States.

The gravity of his words press down on me, heavy and unsettling. I feel the pulse of my heartbeat quicken as I grapple with the implications of his admission. My mind races, fueled by a mix of disbelief and curiosity. What else is hidden beneath his rugged exterior?

“I have … operations,” Zeke continues carefully. “Things that keep the worst elements of this city and New York in check. The kind of things that would put me behind bars if anyone knew.”His jaw tightens. “But they also make me powerful enough to protect you. If—and only if—you’re intimately bound to me. As my wife. No one would dare touch you then.”

I stare at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. The man I’d dated, the one who’d made me laugh, held me through the night, and fucked me like I was the goddess to his kingdom, is some kind of vigilante with mafia connections?