27. Echoes of the Past #2
“Hey!” I throw a chip at her. “My love life is not a soap opera.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You married a reformed mafia prince-turned-vigilante who now runs a nightclub while secretly fighting crime. Pretty sure that qualifies as soap opera material.”
I can’t help but laugh because, well, she’s not wrong. “When you put it that way.”
“Exactly.” Her expression softens. “But for what it’s worth? I’m happy for you. You and Zeke. It works, somehow. In a crazy, probably-shouldn’t-but-does kind of way.”
“Thanks.” I mean it more than I can express. Her acceptance of my relationship with Zeke, despite all the complications and danger it brings, means everything. “That means a lot.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, but she’s fighting emotion too. “Someone has to support your questionable life choices.”
The rest of lunch passes too quickly. Soon we’re walking back to the precinct, shoulders bumping occasionally as we dodge other pedestrians. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, a perfect early spring day that feels too bright for such a bittersweet occasion.
We stop just outside the precinct, and I turn to face her.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
“Right back at you, partner.” Her voice wavers slightly. “Take care of yourself, okay? And keep an eye on that vigilante husband of yours.”
I laugh through tears. “I will if you promise to send me pictures of Skylar’s new room once it’s done.”
“Deal.” She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “God, we’re a mess.”
“Speak for yourself.” I dab at my own tears. “I look fabulous.”
She snorts, then sobers. “I mean it though—call me if you need anything. Anytime.”
“I know.” I pull her in for a tight hug. “You too.”
We stand there for a moment longer, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Finally, Rissa clears her throat.
“Okay, I should …” She gestures vaguely toward the entrance.
“Yeah.” I step back, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “Just a few more hours.”
She nods, taking the steps slowly until she disappears inside for the last time.
I pull up to the house, frowning at the line of unfamiliar black sedans in our driveway.
A few men in dark suits stand near the vehicles—not Zeke's usual security detail. Their posture is too rigid, their expressions too controlled. One of Zeke’s most trusted guards stands by the front door.
That’s not unusual considering the events as of late.
Any other day, I’d be on high alert. But today, my mind is still back at the precinct, in the empty desk across from mine where Rissa’s nameplate has already been removed. The finality of it hits me again, leaving a hollow ache in my chest.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, suddenly exhausted. All I want is to kick off my shoes, pour a gin martini, and curl up with Leo and Zeke on the couch. Maybe order takeout so I don’t have to think about cooking.
Ignoring the guards, I head inside.
The front door shuts behind me with a soft click that echoes through the foyer.
My boots thump against the marble floor as I make my way inside, the sound bouncing off high ceilings and pristine walls.
The mansion still feels too big, too grand—like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
But it’s home now, has been for months since that night Gio tried to kill me.
Home . The word sits strangely in my mind, weighted with so much meaning.
This isn’t the life I had pictured for myself, but I have everything I ever truly wanted.
My marriage is unconventional but it’s real and loving.
Leo may not be my son by birth, but I’m still experiencing all the best parts of parenting.
I feel blessed despite the tragedies that brought me to this place in life.
I pause to kick off my boots, wiggling my toes in relief. Today was brutal—a mountain of paperwork, clearing old case files, a tearful goodbye to my partner and friend, followed by the captain informing me that my new partner starts on Monday.
God, I don’t want a new partner. All I want is a hot bath, a stiff drink, and maybe …
The murmur of voices from Zeke’s office stops me mid-thought. One is definitely my husband—I’d know that deep rumble anywhere—but the other …
My spine stiffens as recognition hits. Nicolo Moretti . That explains the unfamiliar guards and line of black sedans.
He was at our wedding, though I was too drunk and nervous then to really process his presence. All I remember is Zeke’s tension, the way his jaw clenched from the moment Nicolo appeared.
I consider my options. I could slip upstairs unnoticed, pretend I didn’t hear anything. Let Zeke handle whatever business brought the head of the New York mafia to our home.
But curiosity—or maybe stupidity—wins out. I find myself moving toward the office, drawn by some inexplicable need to understand this part of Zeke’s world that he tries so hard to keep separate from our life together.
The door is cracked open, spilling warm lamplight into the hallway. I pause just outside, listening.
“… not what we agreed to.” Nicolo’s voice is as smooth as aged whiskey, cultured in a way that makes the underlying threat more menacing. “The Columbus families were under my protection.”
“They threatened what’s mine.” Zeke’s reply is cold, controlled. “You taught me that. Never tolerate a threat to the family.”
“Ah, yes, the famous mafia family code.” A soft chuckle leaves him and it raises the hair on my neck. “Tell me, how is married life treating you? Your bride seems … spirited.”
Something crashes—probably Zeke’s fist hitting his desk. “Leave her out of this.”
“Now how can I do that when she’s standing right outside?”
Shit . I freeze, caught between fight and flight as Nicolo calls out, “Please, join us Mrs. King. We were just discussing you.”
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step into the office. The familiar space feels different tonight, charged with an undercurrent of danger that makes my pulse quicken.
Zeke sits behind his massive desk, expression carefully blank though there’s tension in his shoulders. Nicolo occupies one of the leather chairs across from him, looking for all the world like he’s at a casual business meeting rather than delivering what I suspect are threats.
Nicolo rises smoothly as I enter, and I get my first proper look at the man who holds so much power over my husband’s past. He’s not much older than Zeke, with dark hair gone silver at the temples.
His suit probably costs more than my yearly salary, and he wears it with the easy confidence of someone who’s never questioned their place in the world.
“Mrs. King.” He steps forward, hand extended. “We weren’t properly introduced at the wedding. Your husband was quite possessive that day.”
I ignore his offered hand. “Cut the bullshit. Why are you here?”
A delighted laugh bursts from him as he turns to Zeke. “I see why you married her. Such fire.” His dark eyes glitter with amusement—and something darker—as they rake over me. “Though I must say, it’s a waste to cage such a magnificent creature in domestic bliss.”
“Nicolo.” Zeke’s voice carries a clear warning.
“Peace, old friend.” Nicolo holds up his hands in mock surrender, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I merely came to discuss recent events in Columbus. The sudden demise of certain business associates has caused quite a stir.”
I move to perch on the edge of Zeke’s desk, deliberately placing myself between them. “You mean the mafia families who kidnapped my nephew? Who tried to have me killed?”
“Unfortunate misunderstandings, I’m sure.” Nicolo’s casual dismissal of Leo’s trauma makes my blood boil. “Though perhaps if someone hadn’t been playing vigilante, things wouldn’t have escalated so dramatically.”
Zeke’s hand finds my lower back, a steadying touch. “They made their choice. They chose wrong.”
“They chose to expand their territory, as is their right.” Nicolo’s pleasant mask slips, revealing steel underneath. “Territory that falls under my protection.”
“Your protection?” I can’t help the scoff that escapes me. “Where was that protection when Giovanni Costa broke into my home? When they took Leo?”
“Eve.” Zeke’s warning is soft but clear.
But Nicolo waves him off. “No, let her speak. I find her perspective refreshing.” He fixes me with that unsettling stare again. “Tell me, Mrs. King, what would you have done in my position? When a former associate goes rogue, dismantling carefully cultivated alliances?”
“Former associate?” The words taste bitter. “Is that what you call him?”
“Among other things.” Nicolo’s smile turns predatory. “Your husband was quite valuable to our organization once. Before he decided to play hero.”
I feel Zeke tense behind me but keep my focus on Nicolo. “And now?”
“Now?” He spreads his hands in an elegant shrug. “Now he sits in this lovely house, with his lovely wife, pretending to be something he’s not. Tell me, does he let you see the darkness in him? Or does he save that for his midnight activities?”
“That’s enough.” Zeke’s voice could freeze hell.
But Nicolo isn’t finished. He leans forward, nearly close enough to touch. “You should have seen him in his prime, cara . The things he was capable of, the power he commanded—it was glorious.”
“The past is dead.” Zeke stands abruptly, his chair scraping across the hardwood. “You should leave.”
“The past is never dead.” Nicolo’s eyes never leave my face. “It merely sleeps. Waiting for the right moment to wake.”
I resist the urge to slink back, to show any sign of the fear curling in my gut.
“While you’re here playing house,” Nicolo continues, finally turning his attention to Zeke, “I will rebuild what was lost. The Columbus families may be gone or broken, but others will take their place. The cycle continues.”
“Then I’ll take them down too.” Zeke’s words are quiet but carry absolute conviction.