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“His wife,” I say. “Maria. The kids. They need to disappear before Nicolo’s men show up on their doorstep.” I’ve seen itbefore—entire families wiped out as messages or bargaining chips. “Get them new identities, new lives. Somewhere far from New York. Somewhere safe. Take care of them.”

Micah nods, already pulling out his phone. “I know a guy in Arizona. Owes me. He can set them up with everything they need—house, jobs, school records for the kids.”

“Good.” My throat tightens as I remember Salvador’s youngest daughter, barely five years old. “Tell him Sal was family. We take care of our own.”

Responsibility settles heavy on my shoulders. How many more? How many more bodies will Nicolo leave in his wake before this ends? The familiar guilt eats at my conscience—every death, every broken family, they’re all because I dared to defy him. Because I chose freedom over loyalty.

“Boss?” Micah’s voice pulls me back. “There’s something else. Maria … she’s pregnant. Found out last week.”

Another innocent life caught in this web of violence and revenge. Another child who’ll grow up without a father because of this life we chose.

“Double the money,” I order. “Set them up for life. And make sure she has the best medical care. Whatever she needs. Salvador died protecting us—protecting me. The least I can do is make sure his family survives.”

The house isdark and quiet when I walk in, every step heavier than the last. My shoulders tense fromt the stress of the day, of the choices and consequences that never seem to end in this life.

I move through the shadows to my home office, not bothering with the lights. The darkness fits my mood. The familiar burn in my chest hasn’t eased since Micah deliveredthe news. Another good man gone. Another family destroyed because of this endless cycle of violence and revenge.

My hands shake as I reach for the crystal decanter. The sound of liquid hitting glass breaks the silence as I pour a generous measure of whiskey. The amber liquid catches what little light filters through the windows. I down half in one swallow, welcoming the familiar burn.

I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back. The whiskey isn’t doing enough to dull the edges of this pain. Nothing ever does.

I can throw money at the problem—set Maria and the kids up somewhere safe, make sure they want for nothing. But it won’t bring Sal back. Won’t give those children their father back. Won’t erase the fact that my choices, my war with Nicolo, led to this.

“Fuck,” I whisper, then down the rest of my whiskey before calling it a night.

After leaving the office, I pause in the kitchen, taking in the lingering evidence of dinner—a few dirty dishes in the sink, Leo’s math homework spread across the counter, Eve’s martini glass still half-full beside it. These small signs of life, of family, make my chest ache even more. This is what Sal’s kids have lost—these simple, precious moments that we take for granted.

The stairs creak under my feet as I head up, each step an effort. The whiskey’s doing its job, dulling the sharp edges of my thoughts, but not enough to quiet the guilt completely. Light spills from our bedroom doorway, a warm glow against the darkness of the hallway.

Eve’s cross-legged on our bed, her dark curls pulled up in a messy bun, case files spread out around her like a paper fortress. The sight of her—so focused, so determined—usually brings me peace. Tonight, it just reminds me of how much I have to lose.

“Hi,” she says without looking up, pen moving steadily across her notepad.

I grunt in response, unable to summon anything more. The weight of the day, of Sal’s death, of all the lies I’m telling her, presses down on my shoulders like a physical burden.

Eve’s pen stills. She looks up at me, her emerald eyes searching my face. “Bad day at work?”

“You could say that.” The words come out clipped, shorter than I intended. I turn away from her concerned gaze and head for the walk-in closet that’s larger than most people’s bedrooms. I need space. The familiar scent of cedar and leather wraps around me as I step inside. My hands move automatically to unbutton my shirt, but they’re still unsteady. Fuck.

I hear her soft footsteps behind me, following me into this space that suddenly feels too small. Too intimate. The whiskey hasn’t dulled my senses enough to ignore her presence, the way she fills every room she enters with an energy that pulls at something deep in my chest.

When I turn, the sight of her nearly brings me to my knees. In my emotional state, I hadn’t noticed she’s wearing one of my old t-shirts, the black fabric worn soft with age, hanging loose on her frame and barely skimming the tops of her thighs.

Mine.

The possessive thought crashes through me with unexpected force, tangling with the grief and guilt. I want to touch her, to lose myself in her warmth, to forget about Sal and Maria and all the fucking consequences of the choices I’ve made. The need burns through my veins, hot and demanding, even as I try to hold myself back.

I turn my back to her and rest my hand on the wall. My emotions are too intense, too scattered to maintain any sense of control.

She slips between me and the wall like a shadow, her body heat radiating against me. My breath catches as her fingers trail up my chest, ghosting over my shirt before reaching for my tie. The silk slides free with a whisper that seems deafening in the closet’s intimate space.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Her voice is low, husky with invitation. The sound shoots straight to my groin. “Let me make you feel better.”

I can’t form words, can barely breathe as she presses closer. Her breasts brush against me. The scent of her—something uniquely Eve—fills my lungs, and my head spins. Or maybe that’s the whiskey. Either way, I’m losing control fast.

Before I can respond, she drops to her knees before me. Her hands slide up my hips, working my belt free with practiced ease. The metallic clink of the buckle echoes off the walls as she yanks it loose. My zipper follows, and then her warm hand wraps around my cock, freeing me from my boxers.

“Fuck.” I groan as her hot mouth engulfs me. My hands slam against the wall, bracing myself as she takes me deeper. Her tongue swirls around my head before she slides down my length, sucking hard enough to make my vision blur.