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I stare at my friend, wondering what she’s not telling me. She knew Zeke—and about his connection to the mafia. The question is how.

“What aren’t you telling us?” I ask point blank.

Her eyes widen. “Nothing.”

“How do you really know Zeke?”

She shifts on her feet. “I told you. My family knows his family.”

“Zeke’s an orphan.”

Panic fills her expression before she stumbles over her next words. “I didn’t know that. He must have been taken in by them as a child then. All I know is that the mafia won’t mess around. They will kill you if you aren’t protected.”

I want to press her further, but I let it go. She looks like these memories are a strain on her emotional state.

“I know.” My voice cracks. “That’s what Zeke said too. Says marriage is the only way he can protect me. His connections to the New York mafia will stop them from taking action.” I press my fingers against my temples, trying to ward off the building headache. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t understand,” Lydia says softly. Her confusion only deepens. “Are you saying Zeke is a part of the mafia?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Or at least used to be.” I pick up my glass, but am met with disappointment when it’s empty. I need another drink. Maybe five or six more to numb my emotions and make me forget about this nightmare.

“Eve, you can’t,” Lydia whispers, leaning forward. Her hazel eyes shine with concern behind her red cat-eye glasses. “This is insane. You barely know him.”

Her words echo my own spiraling thoughts, making my chest tighten further. The gin isn’t helping anymore—if anything, the alcohol is amplifying my anxiety, making the room spin.

“What choice do I have?” My voice cracks again. “They know I’m a cop.” I reach for my empty glass with trembling fingers. “I don’t like it, but I believe him when he says he can protect me—keep me alive.”

“We’ll figure something else out,” Lydia interrupts. “You can go into witness protection. Transfer to another precinct. Something—anything—besides marrying a man connected to the fucking mafia!”

“I have Leo,” I whisper, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “I can’t just disappear into witness protection with him. He’s already lost both his parents—I can’t uproot his entire life again.”

Lydia’s face crumples at the mention of Leo. She reaches across the table to grab my hand, squeezing it tight. “There has to be another way. We’ll think of something. You cannot marry him, Eve. You just can’t.”

“You don’t understand.” I pull my hand free. “These people, they’re not going to just let this go. They connected me to the investigation—”

“Then let your department handle it!” Lydia’s voice rises with desperation. “They have protocols for this, right?”

“It’s not that simple.” Olivia’s quiet voice cuts through Lydia’s protests. “If they want her dead, they’ll find her. Trust me, I know how these families operate.”

“What do you mean?” Lydia asks, her brow furrowed in confusion. She looks between us, clearly struggling to grasp the gravity of the situation.

Olivia’s hand trembles as she takes a long sip of her drink. “Growing up in New York, I saw things.” She swallows hard. “People who betrayedthe familydidn’t just disappear. They’d find their loved ones first—parents, siblings, children. They’d send messages, pieces…” She breaks off, shuddering.

The gin sloshing in my stomach threatens to make a reappearance. I think of Leo, innocent and vulnerable, already orphaned once. The thought of him being caught in the crossfire of mafia vengeance makes my blood run cold.

“Once you’re in, you’re in for life,” Olivia continues. “Nobody leavesthe familyunless they allow it. Nobody.” Her blue eyes meet mine, a mix of sympathy and fear. “If they’ve marked you as a threat, Eve, your only options are protection or death. And in their world, protection only comes through loyalty—through family.”

I reach for Olivia’s hand. I have so many questions. I want to ask her how she knows all of this, but I let it go. That’s a conversation for another time.

Lydia’s face is pale, her earlier protests dying on her lips as she finally begins to understand what we’re up against. She reaches for her drink with shaking hands, no longer arguing against my impossible choice.

“Aunt Evie, I’m hungry!”Leo whines from the living room couch. He’s sprawled out playing his Nintendo Switch.

I glance at the clock—7:47 PM. “You just had dinner an hour ago.”

“But I’m still hungry!” He rolls onto his stomach, those big blue eyes pleading with me. “Can I have some ice cream?”

Normally, I’d say no. It’s late, and sugar before bed is asking for trouble. But after the weekend I’ve had, I could use some ice cream myself. “Fine. One scoop.”