5. Reflections of Fear
Reflections of Fear
Evelyn
M y heart stops beating for a second as his words echo in my mind.
Fiancée .
The word feels like ice in my veins, freezing me in place as I try to process what he’s saying. His hands are still on my hips, burning through the thin fabric of my dress, but I barely register the sensation anymore.
“What did you just say?” My voice comes out as a whisper, though I meant it to be stronger.
Fiancée .
The word bounces around in my skull like a pinball, setting off alarms with each bump. This can’t be happening. Not with him. Not with the man who walked away without a word after making me believe we had something real.
I remember those nights together—hot, intense, perfect. The way he touched me like I was precious and breakable one moment, then claimed me like a conqueror the next. I’d started to hope, to dream that maybe this time would be different. That maybe he was different.
Then he vanished.
No call. No text. No explanation. Just … gone.
And now he stands here telling me I’m his fiancée? After ghosting me because he’s a criminal with ties to the mafia and I’m a cop.
The heat of anger rises in my chest, burning away the ice from the shock. I push against him, needing space to think. To breathe. His hands fall away reluctantly, but he doesn’t step back far.
“You can’t just decide that,” I manage to get out, my voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to disappear for a year and then suddenly claim me as your fiancée because it’s convenient.”
His jaw tightens, those dark eyes of his burning with an intensity that used to make me weak in the knees. Now it just feeds my anger.
“I hardly know you,” I continue, the words spilling out faster now. “We dated for what? A month? Had some great sex, sure, but then you disappeared on me. And now you think you can just—”
“We don’t have a choice,” he insists. “It’s this or they’ll kill you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighs and drops his forehead to mine like he’s desperate for the connection. “If you’re mine, they won’t touch you unless they want a war. They’re not ready for a war.”
“You’re serious.” The words struggle to come out as my chest tightens.
He nods. “I may have left that life behind, but the rules remain the same. I’m not someone Marcus Barone wants to cross.”
“We could pretend,” I suggest, my mind racing to find a solution that doesn’t involve actually marrying him. Been there. Done that. And it didn’t work out so well for me. “Just tell them we’re engaged but keep things casual. That should be enough to—”
“No.” His voice cuts through my words like a blade.
“It won’t be enough. These people will watch us.
They’ll look for any sign that it’s not real.
And when they find it—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement.
“Like I said. They’ll kill you, Evelyn. Slowly. Painfully.”
A chill runs down my spine from the certainty in his voice. “How would you even protect me if you left that life? You’re just a club owner now.”
He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that rattles through the air. “Just a club owner?” His eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time, I see something dark and dangerous lurking in their depths, a tempest of secrets that sends another shiver down my spine. “I’m so much more than that.”
“Then explain it to me.” I raise my voice, my frustration boiling over. “Please.”
He takes a deep breath—the kind loaded with the weight of his unspoken past—and diverts his gaze to anywhere except me. It’s a subtle shift, but it catches my attention. He’s nervous.
“I’m an orphan. I was raised by the New York mafia. Nicolo Moretti himself.” His voice drops to a low murmur, as if the very name holds power. “I know things, Eve. Things that would make your detective brain short-circuit.”
My breath catches. Nicolo Moretti. Even I know that name. He’s one of the most powerful and notorious crime bosses on the East Coast, if not the entire United States.
The gravity of his words press down on me, heavy and unsettling. I feel the pulse of my heartbeat quicken as I grapple with the implications of his admission. My mind races, fueled by a mix of disbelief and curiosity. What else is hidden beneath his rugged exterior?
“I have … operations,” Zeke continues carefully.
“Things that keep the worst elements of this city and New York in check. The kind of things that would put me behind bars if anyone knew.” His jaw tightens.
“But they also make me powerful enough to protect you. If—and only if—you’re intimately bound to me.
As my wife. No one would dare touch you then. ”
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. The man I’d dated, the one who’d made me laugh, held me through the night, and fucked me like I was the goddess to his kingdom, is some kind of vigilante with mafia connections?
“You’re saying our only option is to actually get married?” My voice sounds strange even to my own ears.
“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate in his reply.
The walls of his office close in around me, and suddenly I can’t breathe. My chest tightens as memories of Ryan flood back—the way he’d controlled everything, how trapped I felt, how worthless he made me feel when I couldn’t give him children.
And now here I am again, backed into a corner with no real choice.
My hands start to shake, and I grip the edge of Zeke’s desk to steady myself. The smooth wood beneath my fingers grounds me, but barely. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“Eve?” Zeke’s voice sounds far away. “Eve, breathe, love.”
I try, but the air won’t come. My strength leaves me, and I start to sink. Before I can fall, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me against a solid chest. The familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something spicy—fills my nose.
“I can’t—” I gasp. “I can’t do this again. I can’t be trapped again.”
His hand strokes down my back, steady and sure. “Shh,” he murmurs into my hair. “Just breathe with me. In … out … in … out…”
I focus on the rise and fall of his chest against mine, trying to match my breathing to his. Slowly, the panic recedes. The room stops spinning, and I become acutely aware of how tightly I’m gripping his shirt.
“I promised myself after Ryan,” I whisper against his chest, “that I’d never let anyone control my life again. That I’d never feel powerless.”
His arms tighten around me. “I know, love. I know.”
The endearment, spoken so softly, brings tears to my eyes. “How is this any different?” I ask, hating how broken my voice sounds. “Being forced to marry you or die—how is that a choice?”
I pace the private back room that Zeke took me to while he gets my friends, my heels clicking against the concrete floor in a frantic rhythm that matches my racing pulse. The dim lighting and thumping bass from the main club create a surreal atmosphere, like I’m trapped in some twisted nightmare.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
My hands shake as I run them through my hair, probably ruining the curls Lydia had helped me perfect earlier. Marriage. To Zeke. The thought sends another wave of panic crashing through me, my stomach churning.
I still feel his touch on my skin from earlier. Still smell his cologne clinging to my clothes. Still taste him on my lips after that searing kiss we shared before everything went to hell.
The worst part is I want to feel that again despite the cage he put me in.
“Fuck.” I mutter, whirling to face the wall before spinning back around. The motion makes my head spin, or maybe that’s just the two gin martinis I downed after Zeke dropped his bombshell.
How did I end up here? One minute I’m working undercover, trying to catch rapists connected to a local mafia gang, and the next I’m being forced into marriage with a man who hurt me when he vanished.
A man who, apparently, has deep connections to one of the most notorious crime families in New York.
My chest tightens as I remember Ryan’s constant criticism during our marriage. The way he slowly stripped away my independence until I felt like nothing more than an incubator that failed at its one job. The crush of his disappointment when month after month, no baby appeared.
Now here I am again, backed into a corner. Marry Zeke or die. Some choice.
And I believe him. I’m on the wrong side of the mafia’s radar. They won’t hesitate to take me out. It means my investigation is getting close to finding answers.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. God, what am I going to tell Leo? How do I explain to my seven-year-old nephew that his aunt is suddenly marrying a virtual stranger because the alternative is being murdered by the mafia?
The door to the private room flies open, and Lydia and Olivia rush in. They’ve ordered fresh drinks—three gin martinis glinting in the dim lighting. My friends’ faces express concern as I collapse into the plush sofa along the wall.
Without a word, I grab my martini from Lydia and drain it in one long swallow, welcoming the burn. The gin does nothing to calm my trembling hands or steady my racing heart.
“Eve?” Lydia reaches for me, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. “What happened in there? What did he say to you?”
I laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. I meet each of my friends’ worried gazes and decide to just let it out. No use lying to them.
“He says I have to marry him.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “The Columbus mafia recognized me earlier tonight and connected me to my undercover work. Now they want me dead.”
“Oh my God.” Olivia’s face goes pale. “Eve, they’ll kill you.”
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.”