Page 8

EVA

One week later…

I ’m pretty sure the barista thinks Halsey and I are taking up permanent residency.

We’ve been hogging the corner table at our favorite café for nearly two hours, flipping through newspapers and chattering nonstop about everything from world affairs to designer knockoffs.

The glossy black surface is littered with empty cups and wadded napkins, souvenirs of our caffeine-fueled morning.

I fold the newspaper carefully, my stomach twisting as the front page headline stares back at me: WEDDING SHOOTOUT AT MIDTOWN HOTEL—POLICE SUSPECT MOB CONNECTIONS.

Halsey lifts a brow as she notices my grimace. “Hey, it’s not every day half of the city’s mafia elite gets robbed at a wedding.” She takes a sip of her latte, then scowls. “Ugh, cold.”

I set the paper aside, exhaling slowly. Every time I read about the events of that night, my mind strays to Dante—where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s even okay. I tell myself it’s just curiosity, but deep down, I know better.

He’s probably fine . The papers would have reported otherwise.

“Hey,” Halsey nudges me. “Stop overthinking. You look like you’re trying to do advanced calculus in your head.”

I force a laugh. “Maybe I should be. It’d be easier than reading about that night again.”

Halsey chuckles. “You sure you don’t want to stay updated about that fiasco? I mean, it was your exes wedding, and your new person of interest was right in the thick of it.”

“Person of interest,” I repeat, wrinkling my nose. “Makes it sound like I want him for questioning.”

She shrugs. “Don’t you? Don’t you want to find out if you could have another night like that one? Just without the shooting and robbing.”

Rolling my eyes, I tap my phone’s screen to check the time. “Let’s talk about something else. Like why we’re still sitting here when you promised me brunch at least an hour ago.”

Halsey sets her empty cup aside, arching a brow. “You know, you’ve always been kinda cagey about your family. And now that a certain mafia someone is in your life, I have questions.”

“First of all, he’s not in my life . That was a one-time thing.” I narrow my eyes at her. “What kind of questions?”

“I know the broad strokes—War of the Black Roses, Russian versus Italian, all that dramatic mafia history. And the little bit about your parents you’ve been willing to share.

But you never really go into detail. Look, I get it, you keep things locked up tight and I respect that.

But Eva,” she tilts her head, voice softening just a bit, “this has to bring up certain feelings, no?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, staring at my coffee like it holds the answers. It’s not that I don’t trust Halsey—she’s been my ride-or-die since college. But dragging up the past always brings something unpleasant back with it.

The mention of my parents makes my heart clench. I haven’t talked about them in months, maybe longer. It’s easier that way.

“There’s not much to tell,” I begin, forcing a casual shrug.

“Dad was Russian, Mom was from upstate New York, and they met each other in the city. From what I gather, Dad wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law.

The War of the Black Roses was this huge skirmish between the Italian and Russian mobs about eight or nine years ago.

I’m sure you remember hearing about it on the news. ”

Halsey nods, expression sobering. “Of course. Bombings, shootings, random hits. A lot of people died.”

“Yeah,” I say, my throat tightening. “They were two of them. Don’t know who pulled the trigger. It could’ve been anybody out of the families who were there fighting. I just know there was a shootout, and they didn’t survive.”

She reaches across the table, resting her hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Eva. I know it still hurts.”

“Sometimes,” I admit softly. “I was barely a teenager. Got bounced around in foster care until I aged out, then hustled my way through scholarship programs and side gigs to pay for college, where I learned about computers and cybersecurity, then picked up hacking. I wanted a career that would keep me far away from all that criminal stuff. I know, the irony, right?” A dry laugh escapes me.

“And yet I ended up indirectly dealing with criminals anyway.”

Halsey squeezes my hand. “You’re not dealing with them, you’re just helping them patch holes in their security sometimes. It’s legit work.”

“Right,” I mumble, my mind drifting back to the night of the wedding.

The lines between legit and not-so-legit feel awfully blurry these days.

“Anyway, my plan has always been to build a real future, maybe open my own consulting firm someday, be a boss.” I flash a grin.

“You know, wear power suits, glare at incompetent employees, the whole nine yards.”

“I’d pay to see that. ‘Evil Eva, Queen of the Cyber World.’” We laugh together, then she asks, ‘Speaking of, have you gotten any calls back about those cybersecurity gigs you’ve been applying for?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, my phone buzzes on the table. We exchange a startled look.

“Whoa. That’s some weird psychic timing.” I pick up the phone, my heart skipping a beat at the unfamiliar number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Ms. Smith,” a brisk female voice replies. “I’m calling from BK maybe it’s mine for the taking.

The sales associate beams. “May I pin the hem? A quick alteration will give it the perfect fit.”

I nod, stepping onto the small platform. As she works, I reflect on how far I’ve come. From a scared teenager in foster care, hacking to survive, to standing in an upscale boutique, about to land the career of my dreams.

Halsey’s voice softens. “If your parents could see you now, they’d be so proud.”

My throat tightens. I rarely let myself think about them, about what I lost. But she’s right. I’ve fought hard for this moment, and I won’t let anything—not even a dangerously tempting mafia don—derail it.

Once the alterations are set, we schedule a pickup for early morning. Excitement takes over as I realize a door is opening, and I’m ready to walk through it.

We step outside, Halsey swinging a bag carrying the sleek leather portfolio and other accessories she insisted I needed. The sun is warm, the city alive, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I belong here.

I loop my arm through hers. “Let’s celebrate. Ice cream or cocktails? Your pick.”

She grins. “Ice cream. And then we’ll get you so prepped, BK&C won’t know what hit them.”