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Chapter 13

Whispers of Hope

Evelyn

Two weeks of marriage, and I’ve barely seen my husband. The thought still feels foreign—husband. Zeke. The ghost who haunts his own house.

I take a sip of my now-cold coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. The precinct bustles around me, a familiar comfort of ringing phones and shuffling papers, but my mind drifts to the emptiness of mornings at the mansion. Each day, I wake to find his side of the bed untouched, the sheets cool and pristine. He’s always gone before dawn, leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne in the hallways.

My fingers trace the edge of a particularly gruesome case file, but I can’t focus on the details. Instead, I remember the heat of his mouth between my thighs on our wedding night, the way he made me beg, then left me wanting more. The memory sends an unwelcome flush across my skin.

“Dammit,” I mutter, shifting in my chair. This is exactly what I wanted, isn’t it? Space. Freedom. A marriage in name only. So why does disappointment sit heavy in my chest each night when I hear his car in the driveway, knowing he won’t come to my room?

I stare at my ring finger where my wedding ring should be. It’s safely tucked into a pocket in my purse. I can’t wear it in public. No one outside my close circle of friends even knows I got married. Soon, I’ll have to tell Narissa. I can’t keep this a secret from her forever.

When I’m wearing my ring, it’s a constant reminder of our arrangement. Protection, he’d said. But protection doesn’t explain the way his eyes darken when he looks at me during our brief encounters, or how my body responds to his presence like a compass finding north.

My phone buzzes—another text from Eli confirming he’s still watching the building. Always watching, always reporting back to Zeke. The pretense of freedom wrapped in a gilded cage. Yet part of me wonders if the cage is really keeping me in or keeping something else out.

I close the case file with more force than necessary. This is better, I tell myself. Safer. The distance between us is a blessing, not a curse. But as I stare at the mountain of work before me, I can’t convince my heart to believe it.

I rub my hands down my face before turning to the board behind me. This new string of cases paint a grim picture—three sexual assaults in the past month, all following the same pattern. Young women, all attacked while walking home alone at night. The suspect description is vague—tall, dark clothing, face obscured. So frustrating. I’ve been staring at these reports for hours, trying to find connections, something we missed.

“Focus, dammit,” I mutter, forcing my attention back to the reports. The latest victim’s statement swims before my eyes.“He came out of nowhere. I couldn’t see his face…”The words blur together, and suddenly I’m thinking about Zeke’s face instead, the way his eyes darken when he catches me watching him, how he deliberately avoids being alone with me.

I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. This is ridiculous. I’m supposed to be working, not obsessing over my …husband. The word still feels foreign, even in my thoughts.

Why am I obsessing over him? This is exactly what I wanted—a marriage of convenience, nothing more.

So why do I keep remembering the heat of his mouth on my skin? Why does my body tingle every time he walks past? Why do I lie awake at night, listening for his footsteps in the hallway, hoping.

The victim’s photos stare at me. These women need justice, not my pathetic pining over a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me. I straighten in my chair, determined to focus. The details are here somewhere, hidden in these pages. I just need to find them.

I stare at the victim photos pinned to my desk, something niggling at the back of my mind. There’s a pattern here I’m missing. The new attacks started shortly after Gio’s body was found, each one more violent than the last. But why? What changed?

Gio raped but he didn’t brutally beat his victims.

My fingers trace the timeline I’ve sketched out. The first assault happened just two days after Alessandro showed up at the crime scene, his threat still ringing in my ears. The second occurred near one of the Costa family’s known territories. And the third …

“Shit,” I say, grabbing for the latest victim’s statement. She was attacked close to Club Velvet Petal—Zeke’s club. My pulse quickens as I scan her description again—tall man, dark clothes, face hidden. Something about it feels deliberate, like the attacker knew exactly what details to obscure.

I pull up the Costa family’s file on my computer, scanning through known associates. Alessandro has been expanding his territory lately, pushing boundaries that were previouslyrespected. These attacks—they’re not random. They’re messages.

My hands shake as I connect the dots. The timing, the locations, the escalating violence. It’s all tied to Gio’s death. I know it.

Alessandro knows Zeke was involved somehow, and this is his retaliation. He’s sending a message, marking his territory, showing what happens when someone crosses the Costa family. All while trying to cover up Gio’s crimes.

But he’s being careful, using expendable men to do his dirty work, keeping everything just vague enough that nothing can be traced back to him. Classic mafia tactics. I’ve seen it before in countless cases. The victims aren’t the point. They’re just collateral damage in a larger power play.

I lean back in my chair. How many more women will be hurt while these men wage their private war? And where do I fit in all this—a cop married to one side but investigating the other?

The lines between personal and professional have never been so blurred.

The rich aroma of fresh coffee cuts through my dark thoughts, and I look up to find Narissa standing by my desk, holding two steaming cups from the coffee shop down the street. Her smile is warm, a welcome contrast to the grim photos spread across my desk.

“You looked like you could use this,” she says, setting one cup in front of me. “Three shots of espresso, splash of cream, just how you like it.”

I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into my cold fingers. “You’re a lifesaver, Rissa. Seriously.”