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Eli shakes his head sharply. “By keeping them safe, even when it costs him. You think he wanted to walk away from you last year? Christ, Eve, he was different after you. Darker. But he believed staying away was protecting you from his world.”

The intensity in his voice catches my attention. Gone is the stoic observer—this is a man defending someone he respects deeply.

“You don’t know what it did to him.” Eli’s voice drops lower, rougher. “Watching you from afar, making sure you were safe, but never letting himself get close. And now? Now his world has crashed into yours anyway, and he’s terrified he won’t be able to protect you this time.”

My throat is tight. “He could have told me all this himself.”

“Zeke’s not good at vulnerability,” Eli says, a hint of frustrated affection in his tone. “Never has been. But I’ve watched him build something out of nothing, create a family from broken pieces, and always put everyone else first. The man’s got demons, sure, but his heart?” Eli taps his chest. “That’s solid gold. Even if he shows it in ways that make you want to strangle him sometimes.”

“That’s quite a story,” I say, studying Eli’s earnest expression. “The tragic orphan who built an empire to protect others.” My fingers tap restlessly against my thigh. “But it doesn’t explain why he operates outside the law. Why he chose that path when there are legal ways to help people.”

Eli’s jaw tightens. “Sometimes the law fails those who need it most.”

“And that justifies whatever illegal activities he’s involved in?” I think of the way violence seems to follow in Zeke’s wake. “The mysterious meetings, the shady dealings at the club?”

“You’re a cop,” Eli says, his voice taking on an edge. “You’ve seen how the system works—or doesn’t work. How many times have you watched someone slip through the cracks? How manyvictims have you failed to protect because your hands were tied by red tape?”

His words hit too close to home, reminding me of countless cases where I couldn’t help, couldn’t save someone in time. I push the memories away. “That doesn’t give us the right to take the law into our own hands.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eli’s dark eyes flash. “When the system fails, someone has to step up.”

“And Zeke appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner?” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “Is that why he ghosted me? Because I represent everything he stands against?”

“He ghosted you because he couldn’t bear to watch you get dragged into his darkness.” Eli counters. “He saw how bright you burned despite your own troubled past, how much good you do within the system, and he couldn’t be the one to taint that.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Well, that worked out great, didn’t it? Now I’m being forced to marry him anyway.”

“Forced?” Eli’s voice softens. “Is that really how you see it? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s trying to protect you the only way he knows how.”

The gentleness in his tone makes my chest ache. “Protection shouldn’t feel like a prison,” I whisper, but even as I say the words, doubt creeps in.

Am I being fair? Or am I letting my hurt from the past color everything he does now?

The familiar soundsof the SVU bullpen wash over me—phones ringing, detectives talking, keyboards clicking. Everything is normal. Routine.

Except nothing is normal anymore.

My fingers trace the edge of a manila folder as I sort through cold cases, looking for any connections to the Costa family. The precinct buzzes with its usual energy, but there’s an undercurrent of tension I can’t shake. Or maybe that’s just me, hyper-aware of Eli’s presence outside, my new reality pressing down.

“Detective Martin, line two!” Someone calls out across the bullpen.

I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness from sitting too long.Coffee. I need more coffee. And maybe some aspirin for this building headache.

The door to the unit bursts open, making me jump. My partner Narissa rushes in, her dark hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed. Her eyes lock onto mine intensity and my stomach drops.

“Eve,” she says, breathless as she reaches my desk. “We just got a tip. They found a body in the Scioto River.”

The pen slips from my fingers, clattering against the desk. “Who?”

“Giovanni Costa.” Rissa’s voice drops lower, meant only for me. “Multiple gunshot wounds, bruises, stab marks. They’re saying it looks like a mob hit.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Gio. Dead by Zeke’s hands. The same man who tried to kill me, who invaded my home. My fingers curl into fists under my desk as memories of that night flood back—the terror, the violence, Zeke’s intervention.

“When?” I manage to ask, proud that my voice remains steady despite the chaos in my head.

“They think he’s been in the water for at least twenty-four hours.” Rissa leans closer, her pale blue eyes intense behind her glasses. “Eve, this is big. The Costa family isn’t going to let this go quietly.”

No, I think grimly. They won’t.