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Her brother's on the run and she's got the man responsible tied up
...or does she?If you're catching up, use the banner at the top of the screen to navigate through the chapters.New chapters release on the first and third Wednesday of the month!Sarah Everly

Chapter 1
Rose

The fancy dining room is a blur of black jackets and cocktail gowns as I totter through the restaurant like a baby giraffe in my heels. I slam open the bathroom door, ricocheting off a wall of sinks as I careen toward a stall. Once I collapse in front of the meticulously cleaned white toilet, I throw up lobster ravioli and wine as a Muzak version of “Fly Me to the Moon” plays on the speakers.It was supposed to be a celebration.I should have known better.The touch of a cool cloth on my neck surprises me, wrenching my attention from the splattered toilet bowl.“You don’t have to do that.” I say, catching the uniform of the bathroom attendant from the corner of my eye.She shushes me, pressing the washcloth firmly against my neck before I retch into the toilet for a second time.“Honey, is it a proposal?” Her voice is low and comforting, a gentle hum under the tinny saxophone blaring in the background.I sit back, balancing on my nude heels and tugging the hem of my dress down to avoid giving her an unnecessary view of both my dinner and my underwear. But her words don’t make sense and I stay silent as I turn them over, failing to link the disaster in the dining room with her question.“You don't have any reason to be embarrassed.” She pulls the towel away and rubs my back, the heel of her palm tracing small circles down my spine. “It happens all the time. Especially in a place like this.”She gestures to the bathroom as if the bread-and-butter of her job is comforting distraught women who were moments earlier enjoying a Michelin-starred dining experience.
“If he hasn’t popped the question yet, I can ask your server to pretend to lose the ring.”I run a hand through my hair, then look down at my dress and feel sick all over again. It’s a beautiful dress, ocean blue with a sweetheart top and pockets. The exact type of dress someone wears when they’re celebrating something special: a graduation, an engagement, a sibling finally turning their life around.The department store tag scratches my back as I stand. Subconsciously, I must have known I wouldn’t keep it. I’m glad because I need money fast and this dress brings me one hundred bucks closer to the amount my brother lost.“It’s not a proposal.” My words are heavy and slightly slurred, partially from the alcohol but mostly from the tears I’m holding back. She presses a cloth into my hand and I use it to wipe my face.The bathroom attendant is an older lady, old enough to be my mother. But my mother is long gone, living with her latest boyfriend on the west coast. And even when my mom was around, she didn’t rub my back and hold back my hair when I was sick. She didn’t shush me and try to make things right. A wave of nostalgia for a mother I didn’t have punches me in the gut, amplifying my already unsteady emotional state.“Are you sure?” She tilts her head, reaching out to squeeze my elbow with a sympathetic frown. “Pretty young girl like you? It’s almost always a proposal.”“I’m here with my brother.”She grimaces. “Bad news, then.”I open my mouth to speak, but a sob catches in my throat. I nod instead.“Family is the worst.” She tuts, shaking her head.I nod again as she hands me a small cup of mouthwash. I gargle the liquid and spit it into the sink before rustling through my bag to leave a tip. The crumpled dollars in her tip jar will be the last money I spend freely for a very long while.“Thank you,” I tell her through the mirror. I don’t dare turn around and face her head on because when I step out this door, I need to be brave. Self-assured. Confident. “I really appreciate it.”She smiles wanly, clearly unsure if I should leave the bathroom just yet. I give myself one last look in the mirror, wiping my eyes and smoothing my hair.I don’t have time to fall apart.Not yet.There will be plenty of time for crying when I get home.I steel myself at the door and push it open, tempering my face with a neutral smile. Brad hasn’t budged from the table. In fact, while I was sick in the bathroom, he ordered desserts. The entrees are gone and in their place a half-dozen plates showcasing pies, cakes, and mousse. My stomach somersaults and I stall on my march back.Maybe I’ll let the bathroom attendant help me run away after all.But Brad sees me and smiles, waving me over with a fork. He dressed up for dinner in a crisp black suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top, and from the perspective of anyone else in this restaurant, he looks good: Handsome, happy, gregarious, and fun.But that’s always been Brad’s way.He has all the charm of our mother and all the terrible instincts of our father. He has no poker face and what you see is what you get.
And right now, he’s resplendent.
He’s in his element.And it scares the shit out of me.“I didn’t know what you wanted for dessert, so I ordered them all,” he says with a grin, handing me a fork.I balance the fork on the edge of a ramekin of crème brûlée, the center of the burnt sugar marred by fork tines and the tiny chocolate balanced on the edge of the dish bitten in half.He frowns. “Come on, Rose. Don’t let good food go to waste.”“How can you eat at a time like this?” The question escapes in a single breath. It’s unnecessarily dramatic, and Brad gives me a sidelong glance before tucking into the bread pudding, daring me to make a scene.I won’t.“What else am I going to do, Rose?” He shrugs, talking between mouthfuls. His voice is calm, teasing almost. “I fucked up.”“I could come up with the money. I’ve done it before.”Brad laughs, and an icy chill runs down my spine. “Nah, Rosie. One, that’s not the point with the Legarres. Two, unless you’re planning on robbing multiple banks, you don’t have the money.”Brad never has turned down my help before. Not when a loan shark went after him with a bat. Not when Nando broke three of his fingers for welching on a debt. Not when the son of one of his con victims slashed his tires and threatened to burn down his apartment.“How much?” I ask.He flinches and the expression mirrors our father’s. The realization hits me then. Brad won’t change. I saw an invitation to a fancy restaurant and the offer to pay as a new leaf, a new life for my brother outside of crime. Instead, it was one more con.Maybe his last con.“It’s not strictly money, Rose.” He meters out his words, pain coloring his face at even saying them.The nausea comes back with a vengeance as I piece it all together. Brad isn’t talking about goods that fell off a truck. He’s talking about drugs. Or worse. And with worse people. Brad sees my face and grabs the bottle of wine, filling my glass. I take a gulp.“But maybe you can work it off. Have you talked to…”The Legarre name sounds familiar, but when your brother is a con artist, your dad is a junkie, and you run the clean set of books for a money launderer, it’s hard to keep the bad guys straight. Instead, I serve as a source of bail money and recognizance bonds. I orbit the criminal world. I don’t dip my toes in it.“Vic. Vic Junior specifically. The rumor is that Senior isn’t long for this world.” Brad's lopsided grin is another gut punch. “Guess I’m not either.”“Stop it,” I say, smacking his arm before I finish the glass of wine in a single gulp, wishing it were bourbon instead.“That’s the spirit!” Brad pours the rest of the bottle into my glass and gestures for the server to bring more. I don’t obsess over the cost since Brad thinks he won’t pay it, anyway.And if I keep him alive, I’ll happily pay off his credit card bills.“Can you talk to him?” I try to stay on topic because my head is spinning and Brad has already thrown himself head first into a hedonism spiral.It’s not the first time Brad has decided it’s all over and he’s better off spending himself into bankruptcy before the end. Although in all the previous instances, his aim was a jaunt to Mexico. Whoever Legarre is, he must have a long reach, because Brad hasn’t muttered a single word about jumping the border and waiting for things to calm down.“Vic Legarre? Fuck no. The man is a maniac.” Brad’s voice drops and his eyes dart around the restaurant, as if Vic himself might overhear us. His voice drops to a whisper. “Do you know what he does to people who lose his product?”“I don’t even know who that is,” I hiss back. “But surely he would rather have what he gave you…”I don’t press for specifics. In the past, my little brother has only pulled off confidence schemes: pig butchering, romance scams, fake charities. Taking money from people offering to lose it.
From Brad’s tone, Vic Legarre doesn't fall into that camp of criminals.“It’s not about the product, Rose, it’s about his reputation.”The server interrupts the conversation with another bottle of wine. He uncorks it with a flourish, tossing the cork into the air and catching it in his apron. He waves the bottle back and forth on a gentle descent toward Brad’s glass and I interrupt the show, grabbing the bottle and filling my glass to the top. While I’m at it, I fill up Brad’s glass, too.I’m going to find a way out of this mess, and Brad is more amenable when he’s tipsy.“It’s always about money,” I snap. “The world revolves around money.”“It’s the mafia, Rose!” His bright blue eyes meet mine and my body turns to ice at the word. “It’s about reputation and power. I’ve got neither. I had a shot, and I fucked it up.”I rip my eyes away from his, rubbing my temples. “So, fix it.”But I already know he can’t. I don’t know what happened and I probably never will. But I can guess, because Brad is always running two scams. He took whatever the Legarres offered and turned it over to someone else, hoping to double his profits. And when the second scam fell apart, Brad was left holding the bag. I’d seen it play out countless times before.“You know what?” I drain my glass and push myself up. “Never mind. I’ll deal with it.”And I mean it because Brad is all I’ve got.

Chapter Two
Nick

I rub my temple, ducking my head to mask the movement. Between my mom’s friends in the dining room and my brothers and father yelling over a football game in the living room, I haven’t had a moment of peace since I walked in the door. And sitting on my parent’s worn leather couch for the entire afternoon has my legs itching to walk somewhere. Anywhere. Back.But regardless of how much I want to leave, this is home. And asking anyone to quiet down will only earn me a smack in the back of the head. I stand up and pace the living room instead.“Nicky, sit down,” dad says from his recliner, voice booming.He watches a college kid bobble the ball on-screen and doesn’t bother glancing in my direction. His voice sounds the same: loud and commanding. But when my eyes wander over to his recliner, he looks so frail. His cheeks are sallow, skin white, bordering on yellow, his shoulders swim in a polo shirt that once tailor-fit him.When did he get old? Had he looked this old before the heart attack? Or had two weeks in the hospital done this to him?“Sorry, Dad.” I murmur and sit back down on the couch, wedged between my brothers.My knee bounces and I grab a handful of pretzels off the coffee table to give my hands something to do. As I’m chewing, my phone lights up, buzzing loudly. I raise it triumphantly.A distraction. Only a handful of people have my phone number, and most of them are in this house. It’s an unexpected reprieve and I’m happy to take it.“Work call. I’ll take it outside.”“Is it the bears?” Vic’s face crumbles into a sneer. Time and distance haven’t improved my older brother’s disdain for my presence. “Are they lonely, Nicky?”Thomas, my younger brother, releases a low chortle. He’s still in high school, too young to pose much of a threat to Vic’s stronghold as our family’s favorite son. And I don’t blame Thomas for siding with his older brother. He’s enjoying a temporary break from being Vic’s punching bag.I ignore them both, escaping the living room and pressing a kiss to my mom’s head as I head toward the door. Her friends titter about what a good boy I am as I walk outside. How mom must be so proud. How nice it is to have all her boys under one roof again. I shut the door behind me before I can hear her reply.The brisk winter wind smacks me in the face, and I regret not grabbing a coat. I’m used to cold mornings, but this isn’t a gentle chill coming off the mountains. It’s an icy coastal freeze that settles in my bones and burns my throat. I walk away from the house, hoping the movement will make up for a lack of layers as I answer the phone.“Nick! How’s home?” Charlotte’s cheerful voice belies her age. She’s nearly seventy, but she sounds like an excitable girl on the phone. And I know why she’s happy. The steady roar of the creek and sharp chirps of the birds in the background lets me know she’s settled into my ranger station.“Awful,” I answer bluntly, eager to change the subject. “How’s the trail?”“Beautiful. I forget how much I miss these remote cabins. You’ve got a gorgeous setup here. I’m sorry you had to leave it.”After ten years with the park service, I finally got an assignment on the Appalachian Trail and I hate that I’m missing a week of the season. Missing my cozy cabin, the warm fires, and the silence.
It’s only been a few days, and god, do I miss the silence.“Don’t get too comfortable,” I warn her because I’m already making plans to come back.For all Mom’s pleading on the phone as Dad laid in a hospital bed, she’s the only one who wants me here. I make dad uncomfortable ever since I chose to live in the woods rather than join the family business. Vincent doesn’t trust me, and Tommy has to share his room with me. We’re four guys chafing against each other, united by a mother who wishes we all would get along. Everyone gets along just fine without me.“Nick,” Charlotte’s tone changes, the girlish lilt falling away and turning serious. “I looked over your timesheets. You’ve got more banked vacation than anyone. Even me. You can’t even roll it over after this year.”I sigh, tipping my head back and sucking in a breath that freezes my lungs. This isn’t news, I just don’t have any way to use my vacation. Nowhere to go. No one to go with. No reason to be anywhere other than at work.“I promise I won’t take your cabin,” she says softly. “But take another week off.”It’s the last thing I want, but I hesitate before saying as much. Because she was the one who took the call from my mom, pleading for me to come home. She knows my dad narrowly survived his heart attack.What she doesn’t know is that had mom gotten ahold of me first, I wouldn’t have come back home.“I’ll put it on the schedule,” she says, deciding for me. “And until you’re back, I’m going to enjoy this view. Beautiful, simply beautiful.”“Fine,” I relent. “But you’re getting the better end of this deal.”“Have a good time with your folks, Nick.”She hangs up, and I immediately want to call her back and tell her I’ve changed my mind.Another week at home is not something anyone can handle. I haven’t been here for seventy-two hours and I’m chafing to flee. I haven’t had a moment of peace since I walked in the door. It’s been a constant torrent of people and food, with dad holding court on the couch and mom playing hostess.It’s exhausting and depressing because they’re not coming out of sympathy. They’re coming to visit out of curiosity.Is this how Vincent Legarre loses his stronghold? How long can he hold on to his empire? Will anyone try to overthrow him?I have no intention of sticking around to find out.I round the block, mulling over Charlotte’s decree. She’s partially right. I need a vacation, but by the end of the week, everyone except Mom will want me gone. Dad is out of the hospital, and Vic’s temporary indifference to my presence is fading. No one needs to know whether I’ve gone back to my ranger’s cabin or on a holiday.
From an early age, I’d been trained to keep secrets. What’s one more?When I open the front door of my childhood home, I have a smile on my face and a mental list of twenty places I’d love to visit. A ski trip to Colorado. A visit to the Grand Canyon. A road trip down the California coast.“Who was that?” my mom asks from the dining room table.The house isn’t silent, but it’s quieter than when I left. Her friends are gone, but my father and brothers haven’t moved from the couch. A yell over a botched play rises from the living room.“Just my boss.” I shut the door behind me, rubbing my arms to bring some feeling back from the cold.Mom doesn’t respond right away, but her mouth morphs into a straight line and her brow furrows. That look means we’re about to have a talk and preempt her by sitting down at the dining room table.“I was hoping it was a girl.” Mom splays a manicured hand over her phone and her fake nails click against the table. She sighs lightly, barely even perceptible unless you grew up with her and understand that sigh conveys a world of disappointment.I shake my head. “Just Charlotte.”“She sounded nice,” Mom says hopefully.“She’s older than Nonna.”Mom’s face drops, and my stomach twists over disappointing her. Again. All the time.“Vic is dating someone, right?”My brother is so absorbed in the game that he’s not listening and I hope it’s the truth. Vic and I don’t keep up much when I’m not home. But his dating life, or lack thereof, is a convenient distraction.“Remy. They broke up. I was a little disappointed, but truth be told, she wasn’t right for Vincent.” Mom says with a sigh. Then she drops her voice and leans closer to me. “Bad family.”I nod. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of ways a woman isn’t good enough for her favorite son. I don’t need them detailed right now.“Guess you need to pin your hopes of a grandkid on Tommy then,” I say with a shrug.Mom bats at my hand in mock reproach. “Don’t joke about my baby like that.”Thomas is still in high school and the ten-year gap might as well be thirty for all I know about the kid. Fussed over by our Mom, he still felt like a baby when I left the house for good.“I would have thought by now you or your brother would have settled down.” Mom sighs again, her fingernails breaking the silence before she reaches for her wine glass.“Don’t get sad, mom,” Vic calls from the living room. “I’m taking Nicky out on the town and we’ll see if we can’t find him a nice local girl.”Vic shoots me a shit-eating grin that tells me we’re about to meet some decidedly not nice girls, some girls from bad families.“Thanks, but I’m pretty tired. I was thinking of just heading to bed early tonight,” I beg off because the only thing worse than sitting in the living room watching football is going out with Vic and his asshole friends.The last time I agreed to go out with my older brother, our night ended in the downtown hospital after one of Vic’s goons got into a bar fight over a girl and took a whiskey bottle to the head.Vic grabs a slice of pizza off the coffee table before sauntering over. He places a meaty hand on my shoulder, squeezing it painfully hard in a way that reminds me of when we were kids and he’d prove how much older he was with his fists. I immediately know I’m not getting out of this one.“Fine. I’ll go,” I grit out.“Great. Go get dressed. That is, if you own anything that’s not plaid.” Vic’s idea of an insult even though I like plaid.“I’d borrow a suit, but I don’t think it would fit,” I say under my breath, immediately regretting the knee-jerk insult.Vic has always been sensitive about his height. It’s a low blow and Vic gives me one in return. The quick jab under the ribs steals my breath, but I’m up in an instant, punching him back. Not as hard though, because Vincent doesn’t back down from a challenge and he doesn’t respect someone who doesn’t challenge. It’s an impossible standard and the best I can do is hold my ground.“Fucking asshole.” Vincent says, his fist hitting my shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Don’t forget who’s the older brother here.”I resist the urge to knead out the pain. I shouldn’t have baited him. It’s just another thing Vic will never forgive me for, starting with being born and ending with leaving the family to start a career that’s as close to law enforcement as anyone in my family would dare get.“You boys behave,” Mom tuts. “And have fun tonight. Stay out of trouble.”Vic kisses the top of her head. I glance at my dad as I head up the stairs to change and wonder what this family looks like when he’s gone. Because even if Mom is the one that invites me over, Dad is the one who keeps my brother in line. And once that leash is gone…well, no matter what my mom says, I’m not welcome here.

Chapter Three
Rose

I nod at the security guard stationed outside the front door before ducking into The Silk Rose. It’s early and other than a few hungover businessmen at the bar, the strip club is dead. I wave to the dancer onstage and exchange a brief good morning with the bartender before making my way to the tiny closet-turned-office in the back.When Nando offered me a job, I didn’t know the full extent of his business empire. The convenience stores and laundromats, sure, but not the strip clubs. But after six months of job searching, I would have happily worked on the stage if it meant I’d have enough money to cover rent. I had an accounting degree but no fancy internships, no relatives to open doors for me. I had a single business suit bought at a thrift shop and a pair of kitten heels found at a garage sale.Then again, the strip club wasn’t technically owned by Nando. It was owned by his cousin. Or maybe a nephew. Regardless, all the money went to the same place and Nando didn’t care where I worked, as long as I made sure the statements and bills matched the clean books.While a work-from-home situation sounded nice, between my father and my brother, I couldn’t trust a work laptop wouldn’t disappear, even with Nando’s name stamped on the case. The strip club offered all-hours security, fun coworkers, and the best wing bar in the town.“Good morning!” Nevaeh sits at her booth, eyes fixed on the mirror in front of her. Her wide smile and sparkling baby blue eyes are a sharp contrast to my dour expression. The air around her shimmers as she paints silver body glitter onto her arms. The errant powder settles in her warm honey-colored hair, making her glow.“Good morning,” I say, beelining toward my office before she can ask me about dinner. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Nev. In fact, she’s one of the few friends I have, but I’m still reeling from Brad’s news.“Wait!” she calls, forcing me to stay in the room. “I wanted to show you something. Why are you so quiet this morning?”She stands up from her chair. In silver platform heels, she towers over me, but whatever she meant to show me, she forgets about when she studies my face.I should have slipped in the back door. Nev has a sixth sense for trouble. Her eyes search my body, slowly scanning up and down as if pinpointing the exact area I’m hurting. Her eyes lock with mine and her irises widen. “What did that fuck up do?”“Which one?” I joke, tears crowding the corners of my eyes.“Well, your dad is a lost cause, so I’m talking about the fuck up who you still hold out some hope for. I thought he got a job. Wasn’t that why he took you out to dinner?”
Nev’s face falls as she recalls our conversation yesterday afternoon.I had been so excited. I needed to share the news with someone, but the optimism I brimmed with yesterday turns my stomach now.“Not that kind of job. It was a big job.” I emphasize the word, and she knows immediately what I’m referring to. Everyone who lives on this side of the city does.“And he botched it?” Her eyes widen and tone is incredulous.My eyes sting and I nod. She wraps me in a fierce, protective hug and even though body glitter is impossible to remove, I melt into her.“I can talk to Nando about lending you some money,” she whispers.
It wouldn’t be the first time Nando bailed me out, but he won’t do it for free. Last time, Nando gave me a small pay raise, a large check, a steep interest rate, and the promise that if I missed a payment, he wouldn’t go easy on me.I can barely afford my apartment as it is.“Brad says it’s not about the money.”Nev pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. “Who did Brad get involved with?”I shrug. “It’s some big guy. Vic Legarre.”She pales at the name. Brad’s in trouble. Nevaeh, despite her innocent as a lamb look, is as hard as a diamond and no one’s making sure she keeps her name clean. I hear names in passing, but she knows these people.“So, Brad fucked up good this time.”The words hit me, and I cry. Worse than cry, bawl because unlike Brad, Nev shoots straight. When she tells you something, there’s not an angle. It just is that way. She pulls me back into a hug, and shushes me, telling me not to worry, that they won’t come after me. But I don’t care. I can’t lose my brother.“Is Vic really that bad?” I ask between sobs.“At the club? No. I mean, he flirts with the girls. Who doesn’t? But he’s got muscle and the stories I’ve heard aren’t pretty.”Despite the dire warning at the end, I stop crying long enough to process what she said. “He comes to The Silk Rose?”“Yeah. Most Thursdays.” Her nose wrinkles. “Sometimes on Saturdays, but I think he normally spends that night at the Show N’Tail.”“So, he’ll be here tonight?” My tears clear as my mind races. He comes here. Vic Legarre isn’t some shadowy figure. I don’t have to search the streets for him. He comes here.Nevaeh’s shoulders bunch and her spine straightens. “Yeah, why?”“I could talk to him.”“No,” she says, her voice iron. She turns back to her dresser and hurriedly re-applies the makeup I’ve smeared off. “Absolutely not, Rose. He’s dangerous and your brother deserves whatever’s coming to him. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I won’t be responsible for you getting hurt. Especially for a degenerate like your brother.”The words sting, but I don’t blame her. Brad is charming to most people, but not Nevaeh. She saw through him the moment they met. He’s a hustler and a player and a con artist.But he’s also my baby brother.“I just want to plead my case,” I say, and don’t mention that I’m already mapping a half-dozen ways I can get Brad out of trouble if that doesn’t work.“He won’t care.” Nevaeh picks up the jar of body glitter off the vanity and dabs onto her arms. The golden glow is back.“I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try,” I say, metering my words and steadying my breath.She sets down the glitter and stares at me through the mirror. Her eyes search mine and I let her because I want her to see that I’m not lying.“I’d do the same for you,” I whisper, my voice catching on the words. “You don’t give up on the people you love.”Nevaeh’s cool reserve melts. Her cherry red lips flatten. “I would never put you in that position.”“I know, but…” I shrug, palms flashing upwards. “What else can I do?”She rakes her hand over her face, exhaling with her eyes aimed upward. Her fake lashes flutter against her cheeks before she squares her eyes at mine.“You won’t do anything stupid?” Her narrowed eyes stop a smile from creeping onto my lips. “I’m not kidding. Do you want me to tell you some rumors about Vic Legarre? About his father? They’re terrifying. So unless you want to end up in the river, you’re going to be real polite and think extra hard if you want to meet this man.”I nod, but I’m not listening to her threats. I’ve already made up my mind.I briefly consider hanging out at the club on the off chance Nevaeh doesn’t call me when Vic shows up, but Nando comes in during shift change and sends me home.It’s just as well. I'm not getting any work done. The spreadsheets and numbers blue in front of me while my mind races to come up with a plan convincing enough to get Brad out of trouble.I’m not a criminal mastermind, but growing up in the bad parts of a dozen different cities, I picked up some things. Mostly, I learned how to keep Brad and me safe. I can jam up a seedy motel room door so no one can get in and lift food from a convenience store better than most. I dodge drug dealers and users with ease. But this is going to require more than just a flirtatious look and a stony exterior.This is a real criminal. Someone who likes it. Not a friendly neighborhood street pharmacist who’s just doing illegal shit to survive.Guys like Vic Legarre get off on it.So when I unpack the bag of supplies I borrowed from the strip club, I don’t flinch because it’s all just part of the back-up plan. The plan that could, if I need it, buy me more time. The worst case scenario plan I won’t need to use because I have a million other ideas.But just in case, I have this one too.The first part of this plan was already complete when I walked into my apartment. All it took was a gentle nudge against my neighbor’s security camera so that rather than face the UPS guy, it’s facing my door. I install another security camera in my living room, following the directions from the bouncer, who said I could borrow it from the pile of extras at the club for a week or two.Gina provided me with the rest of the gear. While Nevaeh keeps her shows strictly on-stage, most of the other dancers have side hustles: private parties, web cams, even selling dirty socks and underwear.Gina is a financial dominatrix which largely involves buying stuff with her client’s credit cards, but also has a traditional BDSM component. She had plenty of cuffs tucked away. I picked a pair long enough to rope under the bed and hide under my pillows. I sit on the bed experimentally, ensuring they don’t clink.I feel ridiculous because this is an off-the-wall back-up plan and I’ve watched enough mystery shows to know temporarily kidnapping Vic Legarre is a bad idea. I also know that if I need to use this back-up plan, Brad and I can’t stay here. But eight hours will buy us enough time to get away.My phone rings and I jump off the bed with a start.Nevaeh’s name lights up on the screen.I answer it. “Is he there?”“You still want to do this?” Nevaeh’s voice is low and steely. She’s telling me in every way the answer should be no.“Yes.”She sighs, a barely audible hum on the other end of the line. “He’s here. Last chance to change your mind.”It’s already too late, I’m committed. I’ve been committed since I was six and left in charge of my baby brother for two days while dad got his fix. I’ve been committed since I learned to change his diapers on the floor of our dirty trailer and begged food off the old lady next door so we’d have something to eat. I never had a choice.“I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Four
ROSE

I make my first error before I step into the club: the bouncer doesn’t know who I am.
The line for the strip club wraps around the corner and he sizes up my sundress and flats with a mild look of disgust and a guttural “no.”
I glance down at my dress, which is admittedly more than a little faded, and my flats, which don’t exactly scream, “girl’s night out.” But the outfit would have passed muster this morning.
“But—”
He cuts me off with a sharp look that’s code for “you look like you’re here to yell at a boyfriend.”
I take a different tack. “I work here.”
He gestures for me to stand aside while he checks the IDs of a bunch of college kids.
“There’s no way you work here,” he scoffs.
I take offense to that, considering I’ve seen how the dancers dress first thing on Monday morning.
“I swear. I work for Nando,” I say, annoyance tinging my voice.
“You don’t work for Nando, honey,” he laughs and then steadfastly ignores while he checks the next group’s IDs.
“I do actually work for —”
The bouncer turns his head, eyes blazing. “I said no. Now, do you want to leave this line or do you want me to throw you out of it?”
The look on his face is deadly serious. I duck under the faded velvet rope dividing the line for the club from the street and text Nevaeh.
Nevaeh pokes her head out of the door with a dish towel over her chest and a glare. She spots me, beckoning me with a crooked finger. “She’s with me.”
“She doesn’t meet the dress code.” The bouncer glares as I slip under the rope, back into his workspace.
Nevaeh wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Fuck off, Phil. I said she’s with me.”
Nevaeh grabs my arm and pulls me into the club before the bouncer can reply. Once inside, she slowly looks at me up and down. “I don’t know what your plan is, but I’m unimpressed.”
“That’s hurtful coming from someone in a dishcloth,” I yell over the music. Her frown deepens. “My plan didn’t have a dress code.”
She rolls her eyes and stalks back to the dressing room. I follow her, surprised by how different the club looks at night.
For one, it’s packed.
My eyes skim over the frat bros and the bachelor parties, setting my sights on the VIP tables in the back. It’s hard to distinguish faces through the smoke and lights, but I clock Vic Legarre’s table immediately since it’s the only one with two scary looking dudes standing outside the booth, a bunch of girls inside, and bottle service.
I tap Neveah’s elbow, pointing back to the table. “Over there, right?”
She pulls me into the back, turning on me as soon as we’re behind the stage. “First, don’t gawk. You’ll never get near him like that. Second, what the fuck are you wearing? Do you think he’s into homely school marms?”
“Everyone’s got a kink, right?” I joke, but under her scrutiny is a good point. I can’t just waltz up to a man like Vic Legarre, I need an invitation. And based on the other women currently surrounding him, I don’t exactly pass muster. I’m cute, sure, but not sexy.
Nevaeh groans dramatically before turning to her rack of clothes. She’s pushing through her stage clothes at an alarming rate, grabbing hangers and throwing them to the floor just as quick.
“Here. This is it.” She steps over the discarded clothes holding a slip of fabric.
The sequined black dress sparkles under the fluorescent light. Short and flirty and fun. And very small.
“I’m not sure that’ll fit me.”
“Do you have another option?” She smacks the hanger into my chest.
“I’m not sure Vic is going to listen to what I’m saying if I’m wearing this.”
Even if I can wedge myself into it, one stop at the wing bar and the narrow strip of fabric connecting the plunging neckline to the side slit might split the dress in two.
But if Nevaeh is concerned, she won’t admit it. Once the dress is in my hands, she muscles me behind a flimsy curtain to a tiny closet that very occasionally gets used as a changing room. She grabs my dress and pulls it over my head.
“Can’t I just talk to him? Like a normal person?” I protest, as she shucks my bra off and pulls the dress over my shoulders. It’s tight and I’m not sure it will clear my torso. I suck in a breath and, sure enough, it slips down my hips.
“How are you so good at undressing people?”
Nevaeh grins and spins me around, clasping the back of the dress.
I don’t look half bad. The black fabric accentuates how infrequently I see sunlight, but it fits like a glove. And the plunging neckline even makes it seem like I have breasts worth looking at. My exposed thigh takes attention away from my frizzy hair and the bags under my eye.
Nevaeh runs her hand through my hair. She’s watching in the mirror with a dreamy, faraway look as she reaches for a brush. “You know, you could totally be on stage.”
I blush at the compliment, because coming from her, it’s definitely a compliment.
“You couldn’t do the dancing part, but you’re pretty enough to be up there.” She shakes away her reverie and frowns, pulling my scrunchie out of my hair. “I’m doing your hair and makeup before you go out there because this won’t impress Vic.”
“I never said I want to impress him.”
“If you want to get close to him, you better impress him. He’s got muscle that goes with him, so don’t expect to get him alone.” She meets my eyes in the mirror, emphasizing her point.
A point that kills my contingency plan. I deflate in my seat, but Nevaeh is too busy pinning my hair up to notice. She tames the frizz with a spray that smells like coconut and pulls my mousy brown locks into a French twist.
“I wish you brought your makeup bag. We do not have the same complexion.” She frowns as she surveys the makeup sprawled on her table.
“I love that you think I have a makeup bag.”
She smiles at me in the mirror before settling on a plum-colored lipstick she wipes on my lips. A skim coat of foundation wouldn’t hurt, but it’s an improvement. Add in smoky eye shadow that makes my brown eyes look hazel and a touch of blush, and I almost look like someone the bouncer would have let into the club.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad? I’m a fucking miracle worker, Rose. Did you see yourself when you walked in?” she blusters, shaking her head. “What size shoe do you wear? Those flats won’t cut it.”
The faded black flats look almost gray from daily wear. I tuck my feet under the chair. “Size eight.”
“Well, mine won’t fit. I think Cynthia is an eight.” She dives into Cynthia’s locker, pulling out a pair of platform heels and setting them aside. “You can wear heels, right?”
“Yes.”
She pauses her search with a turn of her head, scrutinizing my face with a frown. She spots the lie immediately and sets aside the pair of heels in her hand. “I think she’s got something a little lower in the back.”
“Those are fine.” My flats are off in an instant and I slip into the silver heels, wobbling with my first step.
Neveah pulls her head out of the locker just in time to watch me stumble back to my seat. She exhales, her chest heaving. Then she returns the shoes to Cynthia’s locker and fishes out a bottle of scotch from hers.
“You promise you won’t do anything stupid?” she asks, feeding me a shot straight from the bottle.
The liquid burns going down and I choke back a cough. “Nevaeh, I never do anything stupid.”
She takes a long pull for herself. “You don’t do stupid things, unless it’s for your brother.”
Her eyes flit to Nando’s office and the threats from the last time I bailed Brad out of trouble echo in my ears.
“I’ll be on my best behavior. I just want a chance to talk to him. Make it right. If he won’t even listen, I’ll accept that.”
Nevaeh sighs, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure you should even do that.”
“I need to try.”
She hesitates, closing her baby blue eyes before shaking her head.“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”She squeezes my hand and drags me to the stage entrance. The ground vibrates and when she opens the door, a wall of sound assaults me. Two dancers gyrate on stage, bathed in stage lights. We skirt the stage, walking down the three rickety steps onto floor level, half hidden by a speaker.
She twists her head away from the crowd, toward the DJ booth. The DJ taps his wrist, and she nods in return just as he winds down the song.
“Vic and his entourage are in booth three,” Neveah yells, her breath warming my ear. “The security are Tom and Bobby. Dead center in the booth is Vic.”
I crane my head around the speaker to the two men standing at the entrance to the booth. A bottle of Dom sits on the table crammed to the hilt with people. Two men sit in the middle, flanked by dancers.
One is muscle, a short guy with a mean face and linebacker build. Well, a linebacker who retired a couple of years back.
The other guy, he’s trouble, precisely because he doesn’t look like trouble. Black wavy hair, a strong square jaw shielded by five o’clock shadow, big sparkling eyes, and the type of body built for a three-piece suit. He could be an actor or a musician or a model.
Or a mob boss.
“The guy with the black suit?” I ask.
“No, that’s Vic.” She says absently, adjusting her breasts in her top and giving herself a once-over before she takes the stage.
“Right. Vic.”
“No.” Nevaeh shouts, clearly annoyed as the opening chords to her song plays. “Vic’s brother is in town. His name is Nick.”
“So, Nick is in the blue suit?”
“Nick is in the blue suit.” The opening bars to Nevaeh’s song play and she gestures for the DJ to stretch out the intro before pressing a kiss to my temple. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, okay? I’m serious.”
She marches onto the stage, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Vic Legarre. The bruiser next to him leans over, muttering something in his ear. In response, he smiles. A tight, thin-lipped smile that doesn’t come close to sincere but makes my stomach tumble, anyway.
Damn it.
Time is running out, but meeting this man breathy and weak-kneed won’t help matters. I beeline for the bar and down two shots in a row before I’m ready.

Chapter Five
Nick

Unlike the rest of my family, I’ve never been a night owl. Even in high school, I preferred going to bed by nine and getting up with the sun. And loud music? Dancing? Booze? Absolutely not.But here I am, trying to be a good sport. My chest hurts from the pounding bass and a headache forms at the base of my head. My eyes water as cigar smoke leeches into every pore of my body, making it hard to studiously ignore the dancers and their near-constant question of whether I want a private dance.I don’t.But Vic’s knee bounces to the music. His fingers scratch his pant leg, eyes locked on the women on-stage.When we arrived at the strip club, Vic didn’t need to wait in line. The bouncer walked us straight to a booth. A scantily clad bottle service server came within seconds of us sitting down with a bottle of champagne and a twenty-year bottle of whiskey surrounded by piles of one-dollar bills and white residue that’s currently up Vic and his crew’s nose. Vincent is smart enough not to ask if I’m interested.
Because I’m not. I’m not in any of this. Not in the dancers. Not in Vic’s friends. Not in the drugs or the drinking.I’m nursing a gin and tonic when I finally find something worth looking at.A woman wearing a dishcloth over her chest rushes out of the backstage area and beelines for the exit. A second later, she’s yelling at the bouncer as she pulls a redhead inside.My curiosity over the dishtowel melts away once the redhead comes into view. Maybe it’s just the fact she’s the only fully clothed woman in the club, but really, it’s her smile. Even through a haze of smoke and facing down an angry bouncer, she glows. With a soft, tentative smile and an apologetic shrug, the woman in the dishtowel yells something back and pulls her toward the stage.She doesn’t look like a dancer. Not just because she’s wearing an outfit more appropriate for the beach than a strip club, but because she doesn’t move like a dancer. There’s no intrinsic grace like the woman in the dishtowel. The redhead totters like a baby deer, eyes wide and her smile faltering as she nearly takes out a cocktail server holding a tray full of shots.What’s she even doing here? Is she a server? A bartender? A girlfriend of a dancer?Hunter, Vic’s best friend since birth, interrupts that thought when he throws his arm around me and points out a dancer he used to date. Hunter isn’t my favorite person and I don’t just say that because when I was seven, he convinced me to use the girls’ room at our Catholic school and I barged in on Sister Marjorie, earning a week of detention and a talk with the priest.No, it’s because Hunter and Vic have always fed on each other’s energy in the worst way possible. If one of them does something stupid, the other does it too, ten times worse. Hunter is an enabler and a dangerous one at that. But right now, he’s wasted and regaling me with stories of the women he’s slept with, his numerous ex-wives, and the kid he’s not sure is really his.
I brace the seat, ready to excuse myself to the bathroom, when a commotion stops the conversation.
Vic’s muscle blocks a woman from entering our booth. Not a dancer or a server. A patron, maybe.
The disruption grabs Vic’s attention and he gestures for the guys to let him get a look. They shift aside, still barring her from the booth. I recognize her immediately. The same redhead from before, only now she’s tucked her hair into a neat bun and traded the summery dress for a black scrap of fabric that makes her infinitely more unforgettable.Hunter launches into a story of his next ex-wife, but I ignore him, pitching forward, my attention locked on the woman. Vic notices, his eyes gliding to the guards and then to the woman. He nods appreciatively and yells for his guys to let her through.She walks past the guards, wringing her fingers together before waving at a dancer gyrating on Bobby’s lap. Then her attention lands directly on me.“Hi,” she says, smoothing her hair back.My eyes flit over to Vic, expecting to see a flash of anger. But he’s calm, amused even. There was a time when Vic would have gone ballistic over a girl talking to me and ignoring him, but he has power now and he knows it.“Hi. I’m—”“I know who you are,” she interrupts.Vic’s eyebrows raise and a smirk crosses his lips.So that’s it, then. Vic hired her.“And you are?” I prompt, making room for her on the bench, away from Vic.“Rose. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice is low, almost undetectable, above the vibrating bass of the club.I lean in close enough to smell her perfume, a floral scent that’s nearly as intoxicating as her smile. “Nice to meet you too, Rose. Do you want a drink?”She nods gratefully and I pour her a glass of Dom Perignon that came with the table but no one has touched. When she takes the glass, they shake, almost imperceptibly, unless someone was watching.I’m watching. She’s nervous, which I didn’t expect. I glance back at Vic, but he’s getting a dance, his focus completely on the topless woman grinding against his lap.“So, you work here?”She opens her mouth and shuts it again, weighing her response. “Sort of. I work here, but I don’t dance. I’m an accountant.”The confession sounds too outlandish to be a lie, but Vic’s smirk fills me with doubt. Between the booze and the music, everything about the night feels disjointed. “You’re an accountant who works nights? In that?”Her eyes flit away. “Usually I just wear normal office clothes. The frumpier the better, so I don’t get hit on.”“If your goal is to avoid getting hit on, that’s definitely the wrong outfit.”She blushes and I immediately regret saying anything. I spend most of the year alone, my daily interactions limited to a couple dozen tourists, but even I can clock the flirtatiousness in my tone.“Can I be honest?” She shifts forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and twisting her hands together. I meet her halfway. Eager and desperate that my first impression of her was the right one. That she isn’t another one of Hunter’s exes, one hired to show me a good time.“I came in to grab some paperwork. But I saw you and wanted to meet you.” She pushes an errant lock of hair behind her ear and looks away. Not toward Vic, but toward the exit. Like she’s as eager to get out of here as I am.Beside me, Vic yawns, the two dancers in front of him no longer capturing his attention. He signals to one of his muscle to get the check. If I wait another five minutes, Vic will drag me to another strip club and another until the early hours of the morning. Or…“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask.If she’s telling the truth, I want her away from Vic before she realizes what my last name means in this town. If she’s lying, I want her away from Vic for her own sake.Surprisingly, she doesn’t immediately say yes. She sucks in a breath and for a second, the certainty in her emerald green eyes wavers.“You don’t want to just hang around the office all night, do you?” I prod.The certainty comes back. “Where are we going?”I want to tell her anywhere as long as it’s far away from Vic and his crew, but I don’t.“A drink? Food? Coffee? Your call.”“Ice cream?” she asks, even though it’s nearly winter.“I’ll meet you at the door. Let me just say goodbye to my brother.”
She walks down the steps. More accurately, she wobbles.“Hey, Vic.”Vic tears his face out from between the breasts of a stripper, mouth turned down in a frown and eyes murderous. But it doesn’t take him more than a second to realize what’s going on. His eyes dart between me and Rose.“Yeah. Get out of here.” He shoos me away like a gnat, barely worth his time.Rose is at the bar in a conversation with the bartender. She rests her forearms on the bar top, taking her weight out of her heels. Red marks burn the back of her ankles.
When I catch her eye, she jerks her head back toward the table. “Your friends…”“I’ll catch up with them later.”Relief washes over her face. She thought they would follow us. I don’t know whether that makes it more likely that Vic hired her or more likely that she’s telling the truth and just wanted to meet me. Either way, getting her away from Vic is the best way to get an answer.“Ice cream?” I ask, offering an arm.She pushes herself off the barstool without taking it. We’re almost out the door when Vic comes up behind us.“Just wanted to remind you that Nona is coming over tomorrow for lunch. Don’t get so wrapped up in pussy that you forget to come home.”Rose flinches. Her chest burns red and the color winds its way up to her face as she turns away from him. I press my palm to her lower back, apologetically.“Nice, Vic,” I grimace. “I’ll be home tonight.”Vic smirks, clearly expecting me not to make it back home. I watch Rose as he walks away, trying to pick up some sign that Vic and her know each other, but nothing. Not even a second glance. So, not hired by Vic. My unease melts away.We leave the smoky club and step onto the street. The blare of car horns and people yelling seems almost peaceful compared to the pumping bass of the club. Rose is unsteady on her feet, not from drinking, but those shoes. She can barely walk in them.“Do you need me to carry you?” I ask playfully, but she seems to consider it, her mouth screwing up before she answers.“In this dress? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”I offer her an arm instead, and this time, she takes it.“I don’t live very far from here. Would you mind if we stopped by my place so I could change shoes?”“Sure.”We walk a few blocks away from bars and clubs into a neighborhood. It’s old and a little rundown, but quiet. She pauses outside an older apartment building. The exterior sports more than a few boarded windows and inside the lobby, a fluorescent light flickers overhead, illuminating pea green patched walls.“This is my place.”“Ok.” I glance between Rose and the front door. I don’t know the rules. The last time I went out with someone, we met on a trail. I started a campfire, and she offered her MREs for dinner. With no house to go back to, we made a mutual decision to share a sleeping bag for the night. “I’ll wait out here.”“No. That’s silly,” she says with a nervous laugh, lacking any conviction. “Just come up. I’ll just be a minute.”There’s a lock on the front entrance, but it doesn’t work because she pushes against the door until it gives way. The lobby is small and dated and we walk past a bank of mailboxes towards the stairs. She kicks her heels off, picking them up in one hand as she climbs.“I’m on the sixth floor and the elevator stopped working last…October, maybe? I don’t remember.”This apartment is a far cry from the mansion I was raised in, but then again, I spent most of the last few years in a tent, so I can’t judge.“Have you lived here long?” I ask as we climb the stairs.“A few years. No one ever warned me that strip club accountants don’t make as much.” Her face melts into a sincere smile, closer to the one she wore when she walked into the club.“Yeah, the real money is in bowling alleys.”She glances back at me with a giggle. “Convenience stores. Nice try, though.”We reach the sixth floor and she pauses, angling her body toward apartment 601. I wait for her to pull out a key and open the door, but after a beat, she turns toward 603 instead.“It doesn’t have pockets,” she apologizes as she stands on her tiptoes, running a hand over the top of the door. A shiny silver key tumbles to the ground and she scoops it up, slotting it into the door. She steps aside so I can enter first.
The small one-bedroom is cheerful, more cheerful than anything else in the building. The walls are old, patched plaster and cut out squares of drywall, but she’s painted the living room a vibrant yellow and the kitchen a tranquil green. A vase of flowers sits on the coffee table next to a photo of Rose and two men. I pick up the photograph to look at it, but Rose snatches the picture and holds it tight to her chest.“Just a family portrait,” she says with a tight smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Six
Rose

After I close the door to my bedroom, I pry the photograph from my chest and take a few deep breaths, slowing my rapidly beating heart. Sure, an insanely hot mafia don is currently sitting in my living room and had just come dangerously close to finding out that the man he wanted to kill was my brother, but my plan was working!I lured Vic away from his bodyguards. Hell, he walked away from them like it didn’t even matter.I kick my heels off by the door and search through my closet for something similarly sexy but not murder on my feet. Unfortunately, all I find are sneakers, flip-flops, and a pair of clogs I bought for my accounting internship. Nothing that is both hot and functional. I grab a pair of flip-flops. Maybe, if my rash of good luck continues, Vic is a foot guy and this is a strategically smart move in my bid to convince him to let me pay off whatever debt Brad accumulated.I check myself in the mirror. Despite being a nervous face toucher, my makeup is largely unsmudged. All I need is a quick swipe of lipstick on my way back to the living room.Vic is on my couch, hunched forward as he thumbs through a book from the coffee table. It’s a book of Impressionist paintings. His hair falls in his face as he studies the page. It's Rodin, one of my favorites. I’m shocked by his apparent interest. The last guy I dated ripped a page out to blow his nose.“I picked the colors for my apartment from that painting.” I say, trying to act casual and not like a horny schoolgirl drooling over the deep hottie.I’m supposed to be getting my brother out of trouble, not getting myself into it by falling for a guy who kills people for funsies.It’s only that he doesn't look dangerous. He looks like the kind of guy who volunteers at soup kitchens and helps grandmas across the street.His soft brown eyes shoot between the walls and the painting. “Wow. That’s really creative. I love it.”I sit down beside him. It’s already a small couch and I don’t keep to my side. In fact, I deliberately invade his space, sitting close so our legs touch. He tenses slightly, which isn’t a great sign, but I push on anyway. I don’t have time to lose.I’ve made Brad promise to lie low. No bars, no clubs, no loser friends. He’s with our dad, which is the last place anyone would look for either of us. So, I have a night. It’s now or never.I shift toward Vic. I’m about to explain my dilemma, throw myself on his mercy. But then, the edge of his lip tips up in a smile and my carefully crafted speech slips right out of my mind.He leans forward and my breath stalls in my throat as his lips brush mine. The kiss is exploratory, questioning. Not the territorial, possessive kiss I imagined a guy with Vic’s reputation would give.
And more surprising, he smells like Christmas. Like Hallmark movie, fresh cut tree, wholesome Christmas morning. The smell drives me wild and I cling to his shirt, pulling him in. Deepening the kiss.My plan is thoroughly off the rails when I pull his shirt out of his pants. But what kind of mob boss smells like Christmas? Does the rest of his body smell the same? He doesn’t stop me but also isn’t groping me with quite the same enthusiasm. He’s holding me, his grip firm but his lips yielding, letting me take whatever I need out of the kiss.His hands slip down my arms and encompass my waist. He lifts me up without breaking the kiss, shocking me with his strength. Most of the guys on this side of town only care about weight lifting and giant, bulging muscles. But he’s got a lean strength that’s almost imperceptible under a suit.I straddle his lap and the real reason I’m here is a distant echo in my ear, but getting louder. Because this isn’t who I am. I’m not the type of girl to lose her mind over some guy she met one night, especially not at a strip club.I have responsibilities. I have a life that I’ve worked really hard to keep clean. And Vic isn’t clean. Even though he’s got puppy dog brown eyes and soft lips and enjoys looking at famous paintings.“Is this okay?” he asks, his palm caresses just below my breast, his fingertips brushing my bare skin. The question makes me melt.
Who asks that?“Yeah. Do you want to go back to my room?” My cheeks burn. I sound like an overeager virgin. My voice is all breathy and I’m practically humping the guy’s leg. It’s embarrassing and it’s hot and it’s not how I expected the night to go.His forehead resting against mine, eyes searching mine before he nods. I’m way past Plan A and somewhere into Plan Q or R. I don’t have a good idea of what I’m going to do when we get to my room. It’s increasingly likely I’ll just end up sleeping with this guy and where’s my leverage then?But I can’t keep my hands and lips off him. We ricochet off the walls as we fumble our way down the narrow hallway to my bedroom. He shields the back of my head from hitting a door jamb and I push him into the wall, throwing my arms around him and kissing him so hard my lips hurt.For a breath, I pretend this is a normal hook up. Just some guy I met in a bar with no expectations. And for a beat, I enjoy how much I like him and how attracted we are to one another.We reach my room and I’m disappointed when he disentangles my arms from his neck. I stand there as he peruses the room. Not just a quick peak but really looks like he’s trying to study me.The heat in my body shifts from lust to self-conscious anxiety. My bedroom is a mess. Clothes scattered over the floor, books stacked by the bed, walls bare. I’m not sure what the room says about me, and more concerning, I worry Vic won’t like it.He heads right toward the pile of books. He picks up the top one and smiles.“What is this?” He grins as he flips it to read the back.Instead, I politely slip the book out of his hand and place it face down on the pile.“I’ve got a small addiction to buying secondhand books.”“First editions? Classics?” He scoops up another book and I take it back just as fast.“If I can find them. But mostly…”“Time Traveling Vikings?”I grimace. When I look at him, though, he’s smiling. A friendly smile that convinces me to tell him more.“I love old bodice rippers. They’re so campy and fun.”He takes one more book. This time, I let him. He grabs the book I’m reading and glances at the cover before opening the pages to my bookmark.His face goes white. “Please don’t tell me the bad guy's name is Magic Stick.”“I found a box of incredibly problematic romance novels set in the Wild West.” I cover my face with my hand. “They’re absolutely terrible and I can’t stop reading them.”He sits on the edge of my bed, the book still open, his eyes racing across the page.“Wow. This is,” he pauses, reading more, “way worse than you let on.”My eyes skim the passage he’s reading and I blanch. It’s a sex scene that uses a sweat lodge that is both unsafe and incredibly disrespectful. I pull the book away.
“I feel like it’s only fair after this is an invasion of privacy that you tell me one of your secrets.”He tries to take the book back, but I tuck it behind my back. He grins, patting the bed until I sit down beside him. “Fine. I don’t actually like ice cream.”The confession is ridiculous. I roll my eyes, giving him a playful shove. “Get out of my house.”“What? You don’t even have your shoes on. I don’t even think you want ice cream.”I look down at my bare feet, my flip-flops abandoned somewhere between the living room and the bedroom. “I always want ice cream. You distracted me.”His eyes narrow for a moment before his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to him. Ice cream is officially the farthest thing from my mind when his lips brush over mine. I close my eyes and lean into him, but he’s gone. I open my eyes and he’s standing by the door.“Alright, ice cream. Let’s go.”“Right now?”“Absolutely.”I’m equal parts amused and frustrated, but I stand anyway. I follow Vic down the hallway, collecting my sandals on the way.
We reach the door before I remember my phone. I run back inside, picking it up from the coffee table. When I do, it lights up with a text from Brad.Someone’s at the door. I think this is it. Love you.My stomach drops, and the room spins. Panic grips my throat and I garble out something between a swear and a gasp. Vic’s eyes widen. He steps inside. I turn my phone screen off.“What’s wrong?” His hand slides over my elbow as he leads me to the couch.Comfort and disgust roil in my stomach.“Nothing. I just…” I falter as my plans fall apart.I want him to be someone else. Anyone else. Some guy I met at the club. Someone who asked me out to dinner. Not the mafia boss threatening my brother’s life.“I guess I’m not that hungry.” I smile. Unconvincingly based on the frown that crosses his face. “I think I drank a little too much. I should lie down.”“Absolutely. Can I get you something? Do you want me to hang out on the couch to make sure you’re alright?”His concern is palpable, wildly convincing. No wonder Brad thought he could con the guy. But I’m smarter and I’m better informed. It’s now or never.I take a deep breath, stilling my shaking body and pasting on a more convincing smile. “Would you actually mind lying down with me for a bit? I could use the company.”My voice wavers and the request sounds lame even to my ears. But it’s not fear or calculation in his eyes, it’s sympathy. Apparently, my ability to judge character has gone to shit like everything else in my life.“If that’d help,” he finally says.
I lead him back to the bedroom, dreading every step, but I steel myself with Brad’s text. I don’t have long.When we’re back in my room, there’s none of the playfulness of the last time. Vic’s focus doesn’t waver from me.I take his hand as I lie down on the bed. He lies down beside me and I nudge his arm around my shoulder so my face burrows into the crook of his neck. So I can’t look him in the eyes.The smell of pine and ginger surrounds me. I allow myself one more moment to breathe it in and pretend this happens differently.Then, steeling myself, I kiss him.
Gently, at first. It’s a goodbye of sorts because after this, he won’t speak to me again. Hell, I may not speak again if this backfires.He kisses me back. It’s a tender kiss. A careful kiss. The kind of kiss that makes my stomach twist and my heart hurt. I’m the one to deepen it, change it. His hand finds mine, and I move our clasped hands to the headboard. He doesn’t notice as I slip the handcuff around his wrist.He doesn’t notice until he hears the click.

Chapter Seven
Nick

Rose pulls away. Her lips form a perfect O of shock as her gaze slides from my lips to my hands. I pull experimentally and feel the cold bite of steel.“You’re supposed to ask permission before you tie someone up.” My tone is surprisingly measured. I’ve never had someone handcuff me before and doing it without permission feels like a breach of basic etiquette, considering five minutes ago, I was about to pay for this woman’s ice cream.“Right,” she drawls as she crawls off the bed, standing just out of reach. A tremor of nervousness runs through me for the first time. That this might not be some sex thing, but an actual kidnapping.An insane assumption. Unless, of course, you grew up the youngest son of a prominent crime family.
“I’m not really into it, so if you don’t mind.” I lift my bound hand, forcing a laugh.“I was actually hoping you could do me a favor first.” Her voice is as shaky as her hands. She wrings them together as she takes another step back.The vague notion that I’ve been kidnapped solidifies into something more probable than possible.“Sure,” I answer, calm as if I stumbled across a copperhead or a wolf den. “What’s the favor?”Her brow furrows, surprise on her face. “Just like that?”“I need to know what you’re talking about first, but if I can, sure.”“My brother,” she finally says, the words expelled in a single breath and then nothing.“Your brother?” I prompt.“I need you to let me pay off my brother’s debt. I need you to not hurt him.”It takes me a minute to understand what she’s saying. Really understand. Because my first instinct is to blurt out the truth: I don’t know who her brother is. Barring the improbability that he hiked the Appalachian Trail in the last six months or he sat in my immediate vicinity at the strip club, chances are I low I’ve ever heard his name, let alone met him.But slowly, so slowly because I’ve drunk too much gin and my mind is still cloudy with lust, the pieces fall into place: her determined walk to our booth, the way she told me with certainty that she knew who I was, and the relief on her face when we left with no one else in tow.She thinks I’m Vic.And by the time I solve the puzzle, she’s in a full-blown panic. “His name is Brad. Brad Callum. I don’t know what he owes or how much, but I’m good for it. And I didn’t lie before. I work at the club. I don’t have much cash, but I clean books, if that would help.”“I don’t know him.” I cut her off.“You do. Brad Callum. I think…” She stops her fevered pacing across the room, eyes growing glassy and faraway. I reach out my hand to reassure her, but she takes another step back. Terror mars her face and my chest tightens. “I think you might have someone out to get him right now.”“Rose, I don’t know him.”“You do. Or your people do.”“You have the wrong guy. Vic is my brother. I’m Nick. Nicky Legarre.”“No. Nevaeh told me—”“Nevaeh is wrong,” I say, keeping my voice impassive and clear.She catches her breath, taking a step toward me before she shakes her head and retreats.“Call your brother,” I tell her, a soft rise of panic welling in my chest.For me and for her. “Ask what I look like. He’ll tell you. The guy sitting next to me was Vic. The short, mean one. You picked up the wrong brother.”She hesitates, eyeing the distance between the bed and her phone on the nightstand. I hold up my free hand overhead. “Grab your phone. Call him.”She darts forward, grabbing the phone before skittering back to the opposite side of the room. Her fingers shake as she punches in the number.“He’s not answering.” The panic in her voice rises as she turns away from me. “Brad, it’s me. Where are you? Call me back. Now.”She crosses her arms, resting her head against the wall before sucking in a stuttered breath.“Rose, what do you know about Vic Legarre?”She doesn’t turn around. She tips her head back with a tired exhale. “That he’s dangerous.”She states it with a finality that suggests she knows more. Maybe she doesn’t know all the rumors, but enough that she’s scared. Scared enough to kidnap a killer to save her brother. She’s impressively brave and incredibly naïve.“Call your friend. The one at the club. Ask who you went home with,” I urge her.“She won’t answer. She’s dancing. Besides, I need to find Brad first,” she says, already dialing another number. “PJ, do you know where Brad is? He’s not answering. Yeah. Why?”There’s a long pause and I struggle to hear what’s being said.
Rose turns to face me, eyes growing wide. “Thanks. If you hear from Brad…yeah.”She drops her hand, exhaling.“What did he say?”“Brad went back to his place.” She struggles to hold back tears. A fat drop rolls down her face. “He wasn’t supposed to go back to his place. He was supposed to stay with our dad. You need to do something.”Her plea breaks my heart. Rips it right out of me. And even though she’s chained me to the bed, I want to help, but reasoning with my brother is impossible.“If Vic—”“You,” she interrupts, clinging onto hope that she hasn’t botched this kidnapping.“If my brother or one of his guys picked him up, there’s nothing I can do.”Her steady gaze flickers, face falling into a look of defeat that makes my chest ache. “You won’t help?”“I can’t help you, Rose. I’m not Vic.”“Stop lying,” she demands, tears falling freely now.“I swear, I’m not lying,” I say, but she’s not listening.Her gaze rakes down my body, shaking her head as she marches for the door. “I’ll be back.”“You can’t just leave me like this,” I argue, pulling at the handcuffs as I struggle to sit up.She pauses at the threshold, her attention split between me and the exit. She worries her bottom lip.“Rose, you’ve got to trust me. Unlock the cuffs and we’ll search for your brother together.”For a moment, her conviction wavers. She rubs her palm against her dress. Then she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t trust you.”She’s gone before I can say another word, turning the lights off and shutting the door.I yell, scream, shout for someone’s attention. But between the street noise and the nearby subway that rattles the building every seven minutes, I doubt this is the type of apartment complex where the neighbors care about some yelling. Hell, she may not even have neighbors judging by the number of boarded windows I spotted when walking inside.I save my voice and turn my attention inside the room. I pull at the handcuffs, but they’re solidly anchored to the headboard. Snaking my hands under the bed, I find the headboard anchored to the wall. Experimentally, I shake the headboard, trying to work the screws out of the wall, but the only thing I do is cut my wrists. I’m not moving from this spot, not until Rose comes back.But sleep doesn’t come, so I try to piece together Rose’s plan. Her terrible, disastrous plan. If she knew anything about my brother, she’d know this “plan” was doomed to fail. Even as kids, Vic didn’t cave to threats. He didn’t accept defeat. And any injury done to him was paid back threefold.A shiver runs down my back when I consider how Vic would respond to Rose’s attempt to save her brother.Of course, he wouldn’t have ended up chained to her bed. He rolls deep, surrounded by guards and an entourage of dumb friends. He didn’t follow strange women to rundown apartments.She might have made it out of the club with him, but she wouldn’t have finished her plea for her brother’s life. At best, Vic would laugh with his buddies and move on. At worst, Rose would have shared in her brother’s punishment.And despite the current circumstances, I didn’t want that for Rose. I tug at the metal. This is fixable. Maybe not for her brother, but for her. And despite trying to kidnap me, I like Rose. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. So I promise nothing will happen to her. I just need to get to her before my brother does.

Chapter Eight
Rose

I race away from the apartment, cold air whipping at my exposed legs. Guilt churns in my stomach, mind replaying the look on Vic’s face as I snapped the cuffs into place.Despite the circumstances that resulted in Vic coming to my apartment, I feel horrible about handcuffing him to my bed. God knows he probably deserves it, but not from me. Worse, a nagging doubt plays at the back of my mind. Like I’ve put together a puzzle using the wrong pieces.With a deep inhale, I push those worries away and focus on the only one that matters: Brad. I need to find my brother. Stashing him with my dad was admittedly a bad idea.
I barely tolerate the guy. Brad hates him. But that would be the last place Vic would think to look for him, right?When I call, Dad doesn’t answer his phone. Unsurprising. With a shudder, I call Dad’s favorite drinking buddy, Gary. He slipped me his number one morning after Dad passed out in the bathroom of a local haunt, forcing the bartender to dig through his pockets for an emergency contact. Gary had been just as drunk, but upright, and he scribbled his number onto a cocktail napkin, slipping it in my back pocket with a prolonged grope while I attempted to drag my father to standing.Gary answers on the second ring, breathless, his voice slurring “Rosie, gorgeous. I wondered when you’d call.”“Are you with my dad?” I ask, breathless and hopeful. Maybe Brad is with them. Maybe his frantic text was a mistake. Or a joke. A bad joke, but Brad has told worse.“Yeah, but I can ditch him.” His voice is garbled and disturbingly flirty.“Can I speak to him? Now?”Gary grumbles, but eventually turns over the phone.“Rose? What the hell are you doing calling me?” Dad barks. I can practically smell the cheap whiskey through the phone.“Where’s Brad?”“That ingrate? Took off a couple of hours ago. Fuck him. Stole twenty bucks out of my wallet, too. You’re reimbursing me for that.”I bite my lip, holding back an exasperated sigh. “Where’d he go?”“My last twenty bucks. I was saving it for rent. How am I gonna pay my rent now, Rose?”“Where did he go?”“I wish I could say, but I’m too worried about getting evicted.”I tip my head back, exhaling audibly. “I can float you twenty dollars. Where’s Brad?”“You’re a good kid. Aren’t I always telling you that, Gar? She’s a good kid, always looking out for her dad.” He boasts to whatever shitty bar he’s posted up in for the night.I bite back a scream. “Where did he go?”“PJ called him and he ran off. Hell if I know where.”I release a shaky breath, relieved. It’s more information than I thought he had. I’d half-expected him to shake me down for twenty dollars and send me on a wild goose chase. But I had PJ’s number.
“Thanks, I’ll drop off the money tomorrow.”“You sure you can’t swing by the bar? I’m sure Gary would love to—”I hang up, already searching my phone for PJ’s number. He doesn’t answer, so I take a chance that he’s working at Joe’s, a local pool hall where Brad likes to hustle. My intuition pays off, but PJ is as useless as my dad. For one ridiculously overpriced drink, he relays Brad stopped by, took a guy at the back table for enough money to make him throw a punch, and slipped out into the night.Despite a pounding headache, aching feet, and the worry that I’ve got a mafia kingpin handcuffed to my bed, I follow Brad’s path into the early hours of the morning. Suds and Pub, Smiley’s, McGregor, and Last Ride are all busts. Everyone’s seen Brad. No one knows where he went next. Between each stop, I call him again. His phone is dead and my calls go straight to an automated voice message stating the customer I’m trying to reach is no longer available.Dread builds in my chest as the sun rises. The drunks and exhausted bartenders close up shop and head home. People in yoga gear and business suits take their place. I’m no closer to finding my brother.My phone buzzes in my hand and I startle, fumbling to check the name on the screen and hoping that one of my hundreds of conversations throughout the night has resulted in some information about what’s happened to Brad.I’m not that lucky.“Rose?” Nevaeh’s normally calm voice is loud and agitated.“Yeah.”“Rose, where are you? What happened last night?” Her agitation gives way to a panic that takes me off guard. One filled with concern.
I’ve spent the entire night wandering the worst bars in the city and no one’s given a shit about my brother. Despair creeps in and my stomach churns. “I…I don’t know. Brad is gone.”“Rose!” Nevaeh interrupts. “Get it together.”I gulp back a sob.“What did you do?” She hisses under her breath. The pointed accusation takes me off guard.
“Rose, listen to me. Some of Vic’s guys were at the club this morning. They were asking about you.”“What about me?”“They want to know where Nicky is.”I exhale and the street tilts.“Nick?” I strangle out.“Vic’s brother. They said you left the club with him and he never made it home. Tell me he’s sleeping soundly beside you and not anywhere near your brother.”“He’s not near my brother,” I reassure her. My breath escapes in short pants as I spin around, breaking into a run toward my apartment.“Rose?” Neveah clocks my unease, voice pitching up in a probing question.“He’s at my place.”“They left a number. Said he doesn’t have a phone on him. Want it?”“Um…text it to me?” I ask, taking a sharp left and racing down an alley.“Rose, are you okay? Are you running? Where are you?”“I’m fine. Just…grabbing breakfast. I’ll give Nicky the number,” I promise her and hang up before she asks anymore questions.I can’t run worth shit and within two blocks, I’m gasping for breath and holding a side stitch. With another mile to go, I can either exhaust myself racing back, show up disheveled and panicked, or take my time and think this through.My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down at my leverage. A phone number for Vic. I contemplate calling the number, telling whoever answers I have Nick, and I’ll only give him up if Brad is safe.But Nevaeh’s warnings run through my head and I force myself to come up with a second plan. A better plan. Once I catch my breath, I find solace in the fact that my gut feeling about Nick might still be right. Maybe he’s not the same as his brother. Maybe he’s forgiving. Maybe he’ll help.It’s a ridiculous thought. I’m the poster child for nice people who do messed up things for their degenerate family members. Nick is just as likely to help his brother throw me in the river as help me find my brother. But I’m running out of options.It’s quiet when I get back to the apartment. I duck into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me and checking myself in the mirror. I brush my hair out and try to pinch some color into my cheeks. There’s a tube of lip stain and I apply a coat before entering the bedroom.When I push open the door, Nick is curled up on the bed with a book in his hand. He’s turned away from the door, toward the window. The chains rattle as he clumsily turns the page.“Need some help?” I ask. I recoil at my own words because I sound so casual, like he’s a one-night stand rather than a guy I’ve kidnapped. Wrongfully, at that.“I really need to use the bathroom.” Nick says. He watches me warily, as if trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. I deserve that.“Not a problem.” I dig the key out of my pocket and walk toward the bed. When I unlock the handcuffs, I flinch, waiting for him to take a swing or push me away. Instead, he sits up and rubs his wrist. His dark eyes search mine, questions behind them that don’t make it to his lips.“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know that’s not enough, but…”Tears burn my eyes. Before I can stop them, they’re streaming down my face. “I have your brother’s number. You can call him.”I fumble in my pocket for my phone, holding it out to him. His lips twitch into a frown and when he moves, he doesn’t take the phone. His arm wraps around my waist and squeezes my side. I drop my head on his shoulder, taking the invitation as sobs wrack my chest.“It’s fine,” he says, as if I’ve just called him a dick or insulted his mom rather than held him hostage for the last ten hours. “You’re fine.”I’m not. Not even a little. I’m a fucking wreck. My brother is missing, probably dead. Probably dead at the hands of his brother.But I can’t force those words out through the heaving sobs that threaten to break a rib. He holds me closer, his lips brushing my hair as he strokes my back in slow, deliberate circles. He tells me everything will be alright. But they won’t and his comforting me makes me feel worse. It’s a vicious cycle that feeds my tears until I’m wrung dry, body limp and exhausted.

Chapter Nine
Nick

Rose melts into the bed, her arm flung around me and her body heavy.“I actually wasn’t joking about the bathroom,” I whisper, easing away from her reluctantly. “I’ll be right back.”She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even move. She exhales, breath shaky as she curls into herself.I close the door to the bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s clean if a little rundown. A cracked, pale yellow tile on the floor, a chip in the lid of the toilet, a hairline crack on the wall of the shower. Neglect from the landlord, but not from the occupant. A hand embroidered picture of a capybara hangs on the wall above a battered shelf, painted but dented with age and use. Thrift store finds, but loved.There’s no drug money here. No shoplifted goods. Definitely not the home of a hardened criminal.I use the bathroom and wash my hands, splashing cold water on my face and neck. In my secluded ranger’s cabin, I sleep like the dead. But with both hands chained to the headboard and a train running by every fifteen minutes, I barely slept more than an hour at a time. I’m not thinking straight.I open the door to find Rose hasn’t moved. Without another place to sit, I perch on the edge of the bed.“You can go,” she says. “Or call your brother. You should call your brother. He must be worried.”“He isn’t,” I say, but she searches the bed anyway, blindly patting the covers. Her eyes are swollen shut from crying, but she finds her phone. My stomach churns as I take it, my fingers brushing hers. Flickers from the night before come back. Her hands on my chest. Her lips on mine. A frenzied make-out session down the hallway. An unanswered question of how the night would have ended if we’d met some other way.“Did you find your brother?” I ask, wincing at the dumb question. Of course she didn’t find her brother. We’d be having a much different conversation if she had.I flip open the phone, a cheap Nokia I haven’t seen in ages. Even the phones issued by the parks service are more advanced than this model.She shakes her head.“Do you think he’ll tell me where his body is?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, eyes brimmed with tears, but none falling.“I…don’t actually know.”She tips her head back, lips pursing before she shakes her head. “He’s not answering his phone. And he texted around midnight, but someone claims they saw him at a bar around one. But then why hasn’t he answered his phone?”She swallows hard as she sits up, breath shaky and eyes locked on the phone. One of her legs hangs off the bed and she pulls the other between us, her knee brushing my thigh. “I wouldn’t have done this if I had another way to save him.”I bite back my questions. Is he worth saving? Would you throw away your life with his? Because the answer is plastered on her face: she would. In a heartbeat. Even knowing the consequences, she’d do anything to save him.I admire her for that. Despite my family name and the tight-knit world I grew up in, the loyalty drilled into me since birth never took hold. Sure, I could fake it. Nod when my dad talked about family being the most important thing in our lives and earnestly promising my mom I’d look out for my brothers no matter what happened. But the day I turned eighteen, I left home and barely looked back.“It sounds like he’s really important to you.” I pick the words carefully. Unlike every other person I’ve talked to since returning to civilization, she doesn’t rush me or paper over the silence. I sort of wish she would. “If my brother is after him, though, you know he’s into some bad shit, right?”Her face stays placid, eyes growing soft as they wander into the middle distance. She nods. “Yeah. I know.”“And you’d risk your life for him, anyway?”I shouldn’t probe. I should take a cab to my Nona’s house and tell my brother that Rose was just a one-night stand. Nothing weird, certainly not a kidnapping. And if he’s already pieced together Rose’s connection to her brother, I’d assure him it was a weird coincidence. An unhappy happenstance.“I’d do anything for him.”My chest tightens at her certainty. At her conviction. She’ll burn the place down to save her brother. She’ll fight tigers. She’ll risk death without a second thought. But who the hell is looking out for her?“What about your parents?”She scoffs, red hair gleaming in the sun streaming in through the window. “Dad can barely find his way out of a bar. And Mom…Well, it’s better that she’s not around.”Rose pauses, worrying her bottom lip. “Is it awful to wish Brad got arrested? At least the cops might have kept him alive.”“Who picked him up?” I ask, abandoning the phone for more information.“I don’t know. Some of Vic’s guys? Maybe Vic? Brad didn’t say.” Rose swipes the phone out of my hand and shows me the text message.Someone’s at the door. I think this is it. Love you.“Did he call? Leave a message?”She shakes her head, flipping the phone shut and setting it between us. “I can’t get a hold of him. His phone is dead or off or…who knows?”“So, you don’t know if Vic picked him up? Just suspect it.”A passing wave of distress flares in her eyes. “What else would it be? He wasn’t supposed to go back to his apartment, but he did. Maybe around midnight.”“But didn’t you say someone saw him around one in the morning? That doesn’t line up with the text.”She’s been up all night and if her brain is half as muddled as mine, she’s not thinking clearly. For her sake, I go over the facts, the holes in the story. If her brother crossed mine, he’s a dead man walking, but she deserves a good bye.“Or maybe the person I talked to was drunk and not paying attention to the time. Hell, maybe they didn’t even see Brad. Maybe they just saw someone who looked like him.” She exhaled, collapsing her arms onto her lap. “Maybe the last twelve hours have been a complete waste of time.”“I don’t know. You’re a pretty effective kidnapper.” I knocked my shoulder into hers, trying to draw a smile.The edge of her lip hitch up, but then the phone between us buzzes and her smile falls.“Answer it,” I urge. “I’m right here.”With shaky fingers, she picks up the phone. “Hello?”I lean close enough to listen.“Rosie?” the voice on the other end asks.“Brad! Where are you? You were supposed to stay at Dad’s!” Her shoulders collapse, relief flooding her face..“Yeah, I had a better idea,” he answers breezily. “I’ve figured out a way out of this mess.”“You figured out a way out of this mess?” Rose echoes, and the tension is back. “So you’re safe? You’ve been safe all night and you didn’t call?”“I lost my phone.”“I was so worried. You weren’t supposed to leave Dad’s house. Why couldn’t you just stay there for one night?”“It’s fine. All good.” I bristle at her brother’s nonchalance, biting back the urge to tell him how worried she’s been. What she’s done for him. “I came up with a way to replace what I lost, but I’m going to need some cash. I’m working something out and will pitch to Vic tonight.”Her knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the phone. “Pitch it to Vic?”“He’s an entrepreneur, Rosie. He’ll know a good deal when he hears it.”In any other situation, I’d admire Brad’s confidence. But the guy is a moron. A moron about to get himself killed.“Brad, you can’t talk to Vic,” Rose says. “At least come over and let’s talk through your plan first.”“I heard he’s got a table at Storm tonight.” Brad mows over her pleas. “I’ve got a friend bartending there, so I’ve got an in.”“Please listen to me. You can’t—”“I’ve got this. I just need a couple of bucks to grease a few wheels.”“You’re going to get yourself killed.” She lays out the stakes, shuddering. “Where are you? I’ll come over now.”Brad laughs. “You’re overreacting. I’ll call you after I’ve spoken to the guy, worked things out. Love you, Rosie.”She splutters into the phone, begging him not to hang up. But he’s already gone.“Damn it,” she swears under her breath, staring at the phone. “Damn it!”I cover her hand with mine. “Are you alright?”She straightens, as if suddenly remembering she’s not alone. “Fine. I’m fine. You should go. I can call a cab—”“You’re not calling me a cab,” I interrupt her.From a brief overheard conversation, I don’t like Brad. He’s the same smarmy asshole my brother has surrounded himself with since high school. Over confident, a smooth talker, and a complete dummy. The type of dummy who’d find himself in the hole with my brother, then think he could talk himself out of it.Rose, though, she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Ruthless and loyal. Soft and hard. A walking contradiction that shouldn’t exist. Certainly not with a brother like hers. Even after the attempted kidnapping, I want to protect her. Show her a little of the loyalty she’s so easily giving to a family that doesn’t deserve it.Family.I snag on the word, an idea forming. “In my family, nothing is more important than family. Nothing. And it doesn’t matter what kind of fuck up you are, you’re worth protecting.”She snorts out a laugh. “Must be nice.”“It’s awful,” I laugh. “But if you were in our family, Brad would be untouchable.”Rose stills. Her entire body grows taut. Her hand shakes as she meets my eyes. “What are you saying?”I take her hand, interlacing her fingers with mine. “I’m saying we can save Brad by making him part of my family.”The offer is wildly reckless. Especially given to a woman I’ve known less than a day, most of which was spent chained to her bed. But with the offer said aloud, I don’t feel any regret.“Before we call Vic, we get married. I tell him you’re Brad’s sister. He’ll back off. He’ll have to. My dad would never allow—”“That’s insane.” Rose pulls back, laughter burbling out of her lips. “You can’t be serious. I kidnapped you.”I shrugged. “Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome.”“I think I’d have to have hung around for that to happen.” She unlaces our hands, pitching her head back and pinching the bridge of her nose with an exhale. “You don’t know my brother. Or me, for that matter.”“I know a lot about you. I know you love your brother. You’re loyal. You’re an accountant with terrible taste in novels. And you’ve got a thing for chupacabras.”“Capybaras. Chupacabras are mythical creatures. Capybaras are just adorably large rodents.” She sighs. “Maybe you know me a little,”“Listen, I’ve sidestepped my family for years. I’ve done everything I could to stay out of their business and keep my hands clean. They’re not the good guys, but I’m not either. I just avoided getting involved. And then you went and involved me, Rose. If I walk away now, what does that make me?”“Smart?”I laugh and shake my head. “You want to save your brother? I’m giving you a path.”“So, you’re saying we should…”“Get married. We walk down to city hall, fill out the paperwork, and go to my Nona’s house. Vic will be there. We’ll break the news and no matter what Brad does tonight, Vic can’t touch family.” The idea takes shape in my head so quickly that my mouth struggles to keep up. “It’s perfect. We take off on a fake honeymoon, go…wherever you want, and then I’ll go back to work, you go back to your life. We’ll make an appearance at a couple of holidays and then divorce whenever you want. Whenever you’re sure your brother is out of trouble.”I take a breath, readying myself for a barrage of reasons this idea is crazy. Why it’ll never work.Rose set her hand on my arm. “Okay.”“Okay?”“If marrying you saves Brad, I’ll do it.”

Chapter Ten
Rose

We race downtown, crammed into the back of a tiny Honda driven by Octavio. Octavio was born in Honduras but moved to the United States as a kid with his mom and seven siblings. He’s married to a woman from Puerto Rico and drives people around to “get out of the house” because, despite growing up in a two-bedroom apartment crammed with children, that didn’t dissuade him from having eight kids of his own. Fifteen minutes into the ride, and I know more about Octavio than the man sitting beside me. The man I’m on my way to City Hall to marry.“Where do you work?” I ask Nick after Octavio lapses into silence.The question draws a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you?”“It didn’t come up.”“I’m a park ranger. Right now, I’m stationed on the Appalachian Trail.”“You can’t be serious.” I search for the joke on his face. Instead, find a wind-chapped face and deep tan supporting his claim. “You’re serious?”I don’t know the rules in other families. In mine, working a nine-to-five makes you the black sheep. In Nick’s? I assumed they all worked in the family business. If not the mafia portion, a quiet front. A government job seems dangerous.“Yep,” he drawls, eyes skittering out the window. “My parents…my dad doesn’t like it, but there’s not much he can do about it now. Besides, it’s the perfect cover for this.”He waves his hand between us, indicating that “this” is marrying a complete stranger to save her idiot brother.“Thank you,” I murmur, unsure if I’ve said it before and biting back another “you don’t have to do this,” and “I can come up with another plan to save my brother. I don’t need your help.”“You don’t need to thank me, Rose.” The gentleness in his voice takes me back. He says it almost like I’m doing him a favor when there’s no upside for him.“So, when you said you’d go back to work after we got married and Brad was safe, you meant the woods?”“Yeah.” His callused palm finds the back of his neck, as if he’s not used to follow-up questions. “It’s pretty secluded. I have a sat phone, but no electricity or water. Once a week, another ranger comes up to bring supplies and check on me and there are hikers passing through. Otherwise, I’m on my own.”“Sounds lonely.” I frown.“It’s quiet. I like quiet.”“Other than the nights you go out to strip clubs?” I tease. Well, half tease. I’m curious about the night before and how it squares with a secluded cabin in the mountains.“My mom wanted us to spend time together and Vic didn’t want to change his normal weekend plans. He dragged me along and I didn’t want to make a fuss. If you hadn’t come over, I planned on sneaking out before we went to the next club. Strip clubs aren’t really for me.” Nick pauses and his cheeks burn. “Of course, there’s nothing wrong with stripping. It’s just not for me.”I bite back a grind. “Based on last night, I’m not sure you have the flexibility to be a dancer.”“No,” he chuckles, a deep grumble that lights up his face. “That’s a fair point. I can’t dance worth shit and my flexibility is piss poor. I’m starting a nightly stretching routine as soon as I can lift my arms over my shoulders again.”Not for the first time that morning, a pang of guilt punches me in the stomach. Before I can open my mouth to apologize again, he stops me.“I get it. It was the only way to save your brother.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad it was me.”Not Vic. He doesn’t have to say it, but we’re both thinking it.Octavio pulls up in front of City Hall, drawing our attention back to the present and away from the scary roads my mind wanders down when I think about my plan through Nick’s eyes. Fear. He barely knows me, but he’s scared for me. Other than Nevaeh, I’m not sure anyone has ever worried about me.“Alright, lovebirds. We’re here!” Octavio says cheerfully, shaking his head when Nick offers him a wad of cash for the ride. “Nope. Consider it my wedding gift. Crazy kids…”It’s a kind gesture because Nick and I don’t exactly look like two people about to tie the knot. His wrinkled white Oxford button-down and equally rumpled pair of black pants make him look like he stumbled out of a club. He’d run a hand through his hair, but a night chained to a single position left the back of his hair standing up.I didn’t look much better. I chose a pale pink sheath dress over the white lacy sundress living at the back of my closet for whenever I had enough money and time for a beach vacation, but I hadn’t bothered to put on makeup. During the short elevator ride up to the city offices, I caught my reflection in the steel doors, giant bags under my eyes and disheveled red hair thrown into a messy bun. Nick reclined his head against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment of peace before the doors opened.Just two normal people getting their wedding license on a Friday morning.We exit the elevator to find a woman unlocking the door to the City Clerk's office. Her eyes widen with surprise when she spots us early morning intruders.“We’re here to get a wedding license,” I say experimentally, my eyes darting to Nick as if he might retract the offer, but he nods encouragingly.She tilts her head. “Really?”“Is that alright?” I ask, worried we’ve breached some marriage license rule.“Oh, of course. Only most people don’t come in first thing in the morning. It’s more of a lunch hour-after work errand. Come on in!”The door swings open into the empty, unlit room. She hurries inside, flicking on the lights. “Give me just a moment to find the right paperwork. I’m Sherry, by the way.”Sherry gives us both a beaming smile as she hefts up a hinged counter separating the room into two: one side for employees, the other for the public. A cursory flip through a nearby filing cabinet and she plants a marriage license application in front of us.“You both have a driver’s license, right?” Sherry tips down her readers, leveling her gaze at me, then Nick.Nick pats his pocket. “Yeah.”“And did you want to get married now? I think Judge Lumberton is free this morning. He loves weddings.”I nod. “Please. If it’s not too much of a bother.”“No bother at all.” Sherry sets down a paper on the desk between us, placing a ballpoint pen on top. “Just fill this out and I’ll let the judge know.”Nick picks up the pen and fills out his half of the form. His handwriting is efficient and neat, not dotting his I’s and striking tiny marks across his T’s that barely break his stride. From the form, I learn more information about my fiancé than I learned the night before. His middle name is Lorenzo. He’s never been married. His address is in Boulder, Colorado.That one takes me off guard. He’s never mentioned Boulder. I assumed, since he lived in the woods most of the year, his parent’s address was also his permanent address.When he finishes, he slides the paper to me. His gaze burns into me as I fill out the form.“Colorado?” I ask, tapping the word.“Have you ever been?”I push aside the finished paperwork, leaning a hip against the desk. “No. I’ve never left the east coast.”“It’s beautiful. Gigantic mountains, tons of hiking, fresh air.” His face breaks out in a goofy grin.“Sounds nice,” I smile.“It’s gorgeous. A place where anyone could have a clean start.”I shrug off the pointed comment and the surge of jealousy that comes with it. Maybe guys like Nick Legarre get clean starts. “Is that your plan? Take me to Colorado to start over?”“You wouldn’t have to worry about my family anymore.”“What about Brad?”Nick’s brow furrows. “He could go with you. I’d help. I can’t keep him out of trouble anywhere else in the country, but at least he wouldn’t be in the same zip code as Vic.”I shook my head. “He’d never go for that. Brad has friends here. He knows people. I might get him out of town for a little while, but he’ll come back. He can’t stay away.”Nick rubs the back of his neck with a sigh, his brown eyes flitting around, searching for an answer to a question he is wildly unequipped to deal with. A stab of pity and appreciation shoots through me. I like him so much more for even trying.With a furtive glance at the closed door Sherry left through, I rub my hand over his arm. “You’re doing plenty. Don’t worry about after. This is more than enough.”The worry stays on his face but he covers my hand with his, giving me a quick squeeze before a slammed door jolts us apart.“Alright, the judge is in and ready. Let me just get your driver’s licenses and make a copy of this paperwork.” Sherry scoops up the paperwork and shuffles to the photocopier.“Last chance to back out!” she trills with a laugh.Nick’s mouth twitches.“Last chance to back out,” I whisper under the hum of the photocopier.He shakes his head. “Not happening. You?”“I guess not.”

Chapter Eleven
NICK

Minutes after we fill out the paperwork, we’re standing in a judge’s office. There’s no big ceremony. No cake. No rings. No loved ones. Only one overly enthusiastic city employee, phone in one hand and tears in her eyes.Sherry starts the proceedings by pulling out a box of props: a veil, a bouquet of fake flowers, and a dried boutonniere. Rose tries to wave her off, but Sherry insists, arranging the veil so it flows down Rose’s back, snapping pictures on her phone the entire time.The judge, for his part, hasn’t done much. We walked in to find him lounged in his chair, napkin stuffed in his shirt collar as he ate his breakfast, eyes on the newspaper perched on the corner of his desk. He gave us a curt nod when we entered, but only when Sherry says we’re ready does he jump into action.Or at least stand up.“Do you have vows written?” he asks, pushing aside a half-eaten breakfast sandwich. His desk is cluttered with folders and books. His laptop balances precariously on a stack of brown file folders.Rose shakes her head. “No. Just the normal vows are fine.”He nods. “Fair enough. Dearly—”Sherry stops him with a shush, jumping up to dab a spot of ketchup off his chin and hand him a random book picked up from his bookshelf on the way.“For the pictures,” she hisses under her breath before retreating into the corner of the room.“Dearly beloved,” he begins, holding open a book written by John Grisham as if we might mistake it for a book of wedding vows. “We’re gathered here today to witness the joining of two lives.”He pauses, craning his neck to read our paperwork. “Rosalind Gwendoline Wells and Nicholas Lorenzo…”His eyes narrow, moving from the paper on me. “Legarre?”I give him a weak smile. An apologetic one. The judge waits a beat, then two. Maybe he’ll throw us out. Refuse to sign the certificate.Instead, he continues, his tone icy. “In matrimony.”Whether he’s reacting to my last name or eager to eat the rest of his breakfast before it’s cold, he speeds through the rest of the ceremony. Even when Rose stops to remind him we don’t have rings, he barely breaks his stride. Husband and wife, you may now kiss your bride.Sherry sighs dreamily while uncertainty flickers over Rose’s face. Inhaling to steel herself, Rose launches forward, brushing her lips over mine in a kiss that’s over as fast as it started.“Great, thank you,” Rose says, pulling off the veil and stuffing it back into the cardboard box of wedding accessories.“Let me get your email and I’ll send you the pictures,” Sherry says, tilting the screen towards us as she flips through them.They’re…not good. We look sleep-deprived, shell-shocked, and sort of scared. More bewildered than wildly in love. I give Sherry my email anyway. Mom will want the pictures and we’ve got to sell this marriage. Sure, we don’t look madly in love, but at least the photos along with the license are proof it happened.My stomach churns as we leave City Hall. Rose asks for my grandmother’s address and I respond by rote, the address etched into my brain with my childhood best friend’s phone number and the theme song to my favorite cartoon. When the cab pulls up in front of City Hall, the driver looks relieved to have passengers going into the suburbs after ferrying office workers into the city all morning.Rose has her attention pinned on the window, her shoulders tight and breath shallow as she watches the city race past.“You good?” My fingers clench around the wedding license, wrinkling the corner of the envelope Sherry stuffed it in.“Yeah,” she responds flatly, eyes glazed before shaking her head and blowing out a breath. “I’m good. How are you?”“Not about to meet my new in-laws, so great,” I joke. Although as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I wonder if I will have to meet her parents. Do I even know anything about her parents? She has a dad, but based on the brief bits of conversation I overheard, he’s no more reliable than her brother. A mom, though? Or other siblings? No idea.She rolls her eyes, the childish gesture temporarily wiping the exhaustion from her face.“Alright, maybe ‘good’ was overselling how I feel. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Her shoulders relax and she shifts her body toward mine. “So, what should I know about your family?”I open my mouth and close it again, unsure how to answer the question.What should I know about your family?What do I know about my family? Not much. Nothing important, anyway. I don’t know how to charm them. I don’t know how to interact with them. I don’t even know how to talk to anyone besides my mom. All the things that Rose is going to have to do for even a short amount of time, I can’t help guide her through.A weak smile forms on Rose’s lips as the silence stretches into awkwardness. “Alright, how about we start with names and go from there?”Names are easy. I can do names.“Well, there’s Vic. Obviously. My mom and dad, Vincent and Maria. My youngest brother, Tom. And then Nona.”“How do I impress them?” she asks, tone teasing but voice tight.“If I knew the answer to that, I’d tell you. I don’t know how they’re going to take the news that we…” I hold up the envelope. Proof. I doubt anyone will believe it otherwise. “Just call my dad Mr. Legarre and let my mom and Nona show you the kitchen. I know it’s misogynist as hell, but it’ll make them happy.”A sly grin breaks out on her face. “To show me the kitchen?”I shrug, extending my hands helplessly. “It’s their thing. Vic brings home a girl and they show her the kitchen. Stick around and they’ll probably make you cook, too.”“I’m guessing your dad and brothers don’t help in the kitchen?”I shake my head. “Not even a little. I tried once. I know how to cook. Hell, I even asked Nona for her meatball recipe so I could make it at home. But, based on their reaction, you would have thought I asked to burn down the house with all of us inside.”“Your family sounds very…traditional.”“That’s one way of putting it.” A nice way of putting it. “Just smile and nod and they’ll love you.”“And what about Brad?”“I’ll talk to Vic as soon as I can get him alone. If he balks, I’ll go to my dad. They won’t touch him.”I can’t predict how my parents would take the news that I’d married a stranger. Can’t explain to Rose how can get into their good graces. I can’t even stop Vic when he inevitably makes some smart ass remarks about marrying a girl I met at a strip club. But I can guarantee her brother’s safety. For all the things I didn’t know, I know there’s a code, an agreement about these things. People like my dad and brother don’t touch family.I reach across the middle seat, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Let’s just get through lunch.”If we could make it through lunch, we could get some sleep. Regroup. Hash out the details of our fake marriage. The ones we haven’t talked about and don’t even realize are coming.“Are you all having a party?” The driver knocks his earbud out, drawing my attention to my grandmother’s street. Cars line the road, spilling out of her driveway and into the yard.“Something like that,” I lie, stuffing down a soft swell of panic. “Just drop us off here.”I shove the marriage license in my back pocket and open the door, helping Rose out of the car.“Are there normally this many people?” she asks. “On a Friday?”I grimace. “I’m not sure.”“Holy fucking shit, Nicky!” We don’t even make it to the driveway before Vic tears out of the house in his Sunday best: white button up, black jacket, tailored pants. Besides a tiny flake of glitter on his temple, any marks from the night before are completely gone. “Where the hell have you been?”He emphasizes his accusation with a hard smack to my chest. Despite his blustering, he’s not worried. Not about me, anyway. “Mom fucking wrecked me when I came home without you. She’s crying and shit, convinced you got arrested or worse.”Rose’s hand clenches around my arm, squeezing tight as she retreats behind me. I keep my eyes on Vic, giving him a cool smile. “I’m fine. Thanks for the concern.”He scoffs. It’s only when he unlocks his gaze from me that he realizes I didn’t come back alone. “And who the hell is this?”“This is Rose.” I ignore his glare. “Why don’t we go inside and I’ll introduce everyone to her at once.”“The stripper from last night?” Vic doesn’t budge, head cocked and a dumb grin spreading across his face.“She’s not a stripper.” I walk around him toward the door.“Nah, she’s the girl from the strip club,” he repeats, chasing after us. “Hunter hired her, right?”I shake my head. “Wrong girl. Rose is an accountant.”His braying laugh makes me grind my teeth. “Ah, Nicky. And you believe that? You spend one night with a girl and drag her to Nona’s house. That’s hilarious.”Rose interlaces her fingers with mine, giving them a quick squeeze. “It’s fine.”“Nicky! Vic! Stop messing around and get in here!” Dad’s brusque bark makes us both straighten, even with his voice muffled by the wooden door.Vic raises an eyebrow, eyes wandering over to Rose as he shakes his head. “Come on in, honey. My parents are gonna love this…”

Chapter Twelve
ROSE

Vic tails us into the house like a wolf sniffing out a meal. His eyes narrow to predatory slits and even when I turn away, I can feel them on me. Assessing me. Watching me. Searching for weakness.Nick’s arm tightens around my waist, drawing me inside the house with a quiet confidence that buoys me. Even with his brother nipping at our heels, I keep my head up and a smile on my face for his sake, if not for mine.The single-story ranch house looks straight out of the sixties. We walk into an entrance hall, a mahogany table and matching mirrored coat hook flanking us and every inch of wall covered with pictures. The scent of rosemary and onions hangs in the air and the house feels almost comfy until Nick is wrested out of my grasp.“Nicky!” A white-haired woman who barely reaches his chest emerges into the hall and throws her arms around him. As she holds him, she mutters in a foreign language, either a scolding or an endearment. Maybe both.Nick holds on until she lets go. When she finally does, he takes my arm. “Nonna, this is Rose.”Nonna’s gray eyes narrow on me, flitting up and then down before pulling me into a tight hug. “Rosa.”When she pulls back, she pinches my cheek. “Beautiful girl, Nicky, but so skinny. She needs to eat.”Before I can luxuriate in anyone calling me skinny, she drags me into the kitchen and plops me down next to another woman. Even without an introduction, the big brown eyes and high cheekbones give away Nick’s mom in an instant. She holds a glass of red wine in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. Her brows furrow with confusion and then clear just as fast.“Nicholas!” she barks, the perfectly coiffed blonde hair unmoving as she whips her head toward the entrance where Nick followed us in.“Mom,” he responds, walking past the table to the oven. He takes the lid off a simmering pot and inhales. “Nonna, did you make bolognese for me?”Nonna shoos him away from the oven. “I make bolognese all the time. I don’t need you here to make bolognese. You’re never here.”Her words are harsh, but the sly smile indicates the bolognese is, in fact, just for Nick.“Where have you been, Nicky?” His mother drains the glass and crosses her arms, pointedly ignoring my presence for the time being. “We were worried sick when you didn’t come home. And without a phone? Careless. Your father can’t be stressed right now.”“Sorry, mom.” He braces against the back of a chair across the table, leaning forward. “I meant to call so you wouldn’t worry, but—”A man enters the kitchen, Vic trailing behind. He’s tall, big, with an authoritative demeanor that makes my back straighten. Not knowing anything about the senior Vincent Legarre besides his son, I’d clock him as someone important. Someone used to getting what he wants.But there are signs of weakness. A hitch in his step and a faint tinge of yellow on his face. Somehow, those make his presence more unnerving.He smacks a phone to Nick’s chest, blue eyes flaring. “There’s a phone. Call next time you decide to stay out all night chasing women. Your mother kept me up all night.”“You shouldn’t be up, cucciolo!” Nonna flutters closer. “Your heart.”He brushes her cheek affectionately; the anger falling from his eyes. “I’m fine, mom. Just fine. But I don’t want Nicky to worry Maria.”Nonna smacks his arm. “Sit, then. Sit and talk to your son.”
The senior Vincent doesn’t seem apt to take his mother’s advice, but Vic slides into a seat next to mine. He kicks his feet out, tilting his head to rake his gaze up my legs before settling. I bite my cheek and steel myself. Even for an afternoon, being part of the Legarre family won’t be comfortable.After a tense standoff, Vincent takes his mother’s advice. He woodenly sits down at the table, scanning the room. His eyes sweep past me and then return. He raises an eyebrow. “And this is…”I steel myself for our pitch: I’m Nick’s wife. We’re married. Now, about my brother…“This is Rose.” For a fraction of a second, Nick’s eyes lock with mine as he gives me a warm smile. The type of smile a normal, happy couple would give each other in an awkward situation. At least someone is selling this marriage. “And she’s my wife. We got married this morning.”Nonna claps her hands, ignoring the stunned silence around the table. The wooden chair screeches as she jumps up, encircling Nick in a hug that she beckons me to join. The rest of the family watches as I stand, awkwardly allowing myself to accept her congratulations. Nonna fills in the silence, talking a million miles a minute in Italian, too fast to make out any specific word other than “bambino” which is repeated like a record.When she releases us from her surprisingly firm hug, she grabs my hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen her frown. “Where’s the ring, cara?”Before I come up with a lie, she turns to Nick. “A ring.”“We didn’t have time…” The excuse is only half-formed when it tumbles out his mouth, stalling on his lips.“You married a stripper?” Vic asks, his voice slightly awed.“She’s not a stripper,” Nick snaps.“No matter,” Nonna responds, maybe about the ring or maybe about the insinuation that I’m a stripper. Regardless, she pulls me out of the kitchen.“We’ll get you a ring. Were you married in the church?” She doesn’t wait for a reply. “Bah. Of course not. Young ones can never wait. We’ll fix that. A real wedding with a priest in the church.”We weave down the narrow hallway, past the living room and into her bedroom to a small chest sitting on top of a vanity. Unease settles in my chest, but no one comes to rescue me as Nonna rifles through her jewelry, pulling out a selection of rings.
“Rubies?” She tilts her head and shakes her head. “No. Sapphires.”She picks up a square-cut sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. It’s breathtaking, the kind of jewelry I’d pick if I had the type of disposable income that allowed someone to buy jewelry.“My husband, Enzo, bought this for me in the sixties? No, seventies. Las Vegas. Probably to pay off a debt, but I fell in love with it and wouldn’t let him sell it.” She grabs my hand and slips the ring on before I can stop her.The silver band fits like a glove and I can’t help but to rotate it so the stones sparkle. It’s breathtaking and definitely not something I can keep.“It’s lovely, but I’m sure Nick will—”She shushes me, pressing her index finger to my lips. “No, no, no. For you and my Nicky. You need a ring.”I swallow another excuse. Obviously, I can’t keep it, and once lunch is over, I’ll give it to Nick for safekeeping until we dissolve our sham of a marriage. For now, I’ll make his Nonna happy. One family member charmed, three more to go.“Now.” She grins, patting my ring with a pleased smile. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”***When we return to the kitchen, Nick is white knuckling the table, his lips thinned to a grimace.“You don’t even know this woman, Nick. She’s a stranger.” His father, no longer constrained by Nonna, paces the kitchen.“Yeah, a stranger, Nicky,” Vic parrots as he looks straight at me, amusement twinkling in his black eyes.Vincent’s diatribe stops dead as Nonna touches his shoulder. “Sit and be calm. You’re so tense. It’s not good for you.”While the rest of the family is distracted, I flash Nick the ring.
Nonna pats my cheek affectionately, squeezing it before retreating to the oven.“Why don’t you boys go back to the living room so I can chat with Rose?” His mom commands, eyes locked on the ring, unimpressed. “We have a lot to learn about each other.”“Don’t I get to talk to my new sister?” Vic whines.His dad backhands him on the way to the living room. “You’ll have plenty of time later, I’m sure.”His sons follow Vincent out of the room and I’m left with Maria.“Take a seat,” Maria issues the edict, pushing back a chair. No kitchen tours for me. Not even a glass of wine. “And tell me about yourself.”She levels her gaze at me, crossing her arms, and takes a sip of wine.“Well, I'm an accountant…” I drag out the small bit of information that’s safe to give, hoping for a followup question that doesn’t involve my family or how I met her son.She gives me a tight nod, but remains silent. I sit silently with her, unsure of what else to say.“What’s your last name?”“Wells.”“I don’t know any Wells.” She drains the glass and taps her fingernails against it.She wouldn’t. My parents aren’t exactly hanging out in the same circles as Nick’s.“Did you grow up here?”I shake my head. “We moved around a lot.”She frowns. “And how did you meet my son?”Had we been thinking clearly, we would have come up with a better backstory. A late night meeting at a strip club doesn’t exactly scream, “stable marriage.” Given even a few hours of sleep, we could have whipped up a story about a meeting years ago. In high school, maybe. Reconnecting. Instead, I stick as close to the truth as possible.“I had to finish payroll and met your son. We hit it off.”“You finished payroll at a strip club?” She lowers her voice as
Nona shuffles past, beaming at me.“My employer owns a lot of different businesses. I have an office at the club.”She raises her eyebrow, a look of disbelief on her face. “You choose to work at a strip club? But you don’t dance? I find that hard to believe.”“I worked out of a convenience store for a while, but the office was small and there was no security. I was working during a robbery and decided that the strip club was a safer bet. But, no, I don’t dance. I don’t have any rhythm.”
Her lips twitch, lips melting into a bemused smile. “If you’re lying, you’re convincing.”
“Thanks,” I offer weakly."Who's your employer?" she asks, the mask of indifference back in place."Fernando Galles.""I don't know him.""Most of his businesses are on the north side of town. I imagine you don't spend a lot of time there. He's a good employer. I'm lucky to have my job."She sighs, unfolding her hands. “I’m going to check on your story. On your name. Is there anything I won’t like?”I weigh my options. How many Wells are there in the city? Hundreds. But she has connections and the money to root out my origins.“My family, probably, but nothing from me.”

Chapter Thirteen
NICK

The football game is a blowout which doesn’t help my cause. Instead of watching the game, my dad focuses on me. His gray eyes are steely, arms crossed, jaw set.“What the fuck have you done, Nicky? Who is that girl?”There’s no gentle navigation out of this situation, no magic words to make it make sense. My safest strategy is to pull the Band-aid off and let the fallout and negotiations happen without Rose in the room.“Her name is Rose Legarre, and she’s my wife. Her brother, incidentally, is mixed up with Vic and I need him to back off.”
The smug smile slides off Vic’s face, replaced with a snarl. “Who’s her brother?”“Brad Wells.”Vic's eyes flare and anywhere except Nonna’s house, I’d get a fist to the face. “Brad? No. Absolutely not.”“Who’s Brad?” Dad asks, eyes narrowing as his focus jumps off me and to Vic.“The pier incident.”Recognition flares in Dad’s eyes. Not ideal. Neither is Brad’s screw up getting a name.Dad rakes a hand down his face and sighs. “Have you dealt with that?”“Not yet,” Vic said, his voice tinged with regret. I exhale a sigh of relief. Not that I suspected Vic had his goons out looking for Brad first thing in the morning, but what did I know?“Just as well.” Dad's neck tenses but his voice is impassive.“So, who’s going to pay for—?”Dad cuts off Vic’s question with a glare. “We’ll have that conversation later. For now, Brad is family.”I mark the “for now.”Vic shoots daggers at me, shaking his head. “You got taken, Nicky. Taken by a girl looking to save her fuck-up brother.”“Watch your mouth!” Dad warns, not remotely aware of how close Vic landed to the truth. “That’s his wife, and you’re going to treat her and her family with respect.”Vic exhales as he stands. He rakes a hand through his hair, opening his mouth before shutting it again and stalking out of the room.Despite wanting to argue, he won’t cross our Dad. Even in our father’s currently weak health, he could thrash us in a heartbeat.Dad sits next to me, draping an arm over the back of the couch. “You sure about this girl, Nick? You didn’t marry in the church. It’d be easy enough to—”“I’m sure.”He searches my face before nodding. “So, that means you’re staying here? I can get you a job.”I flinch at the offer. “I have a job.”“A job that keeps you in the woods most of the year. On the other side of the country. You can’t build a life with someone like that.” He nods, as if I’ve already agreed. “Which means you’ll need a house. I’ll call Justin in the morning.”“We don’t want a hou—”“Consider it a wedding gift. We can revisit the job situation once you’re settled.” Dad turns up the volume on the TV, closing the conversation before it even gets started.“She knows about my job,” I say, lifting my voice over the announcers on-screen. “She’s fine with it. We’ll make it work.”“Don’t be ridiculous. She wants to follow you into the woods?”“No,” I admit. I don’t know anything about Rose, but I do know that she doesn’t want to leave town. Certainly not into a cabin in the woods. “She’s got a job here. A life.”“And now you’ve decided to start a life together. Running off for months at a time isn't good for a marriage, Nicky.” Dad sighs, a belabored huff of a father exasperated with his dumb as rocks kid.“We’ll figure it out.”“I’ll call the realtor. Now, go save your blushing bride from your mother. What’s her name again?”“Rose,” I bite out between clenched teeth as I stand to leave.***We white knuckle our way through family meal. By the time Nonna shoves an armload of leftovers in Rose’s arms and lends us her car to get home, I’m exhausted. The "barely keep my eyes open" type of exhausted.Rose looks the same. She stows the food in the backseat and keeps a smile on her face until we’re down the street. Her face collapses into a frown as she punches an address into the navigation.1024 Maple Street.“Brad,” she answers the question I hadn’t asked before she settles back into the seat. “We tell him and then…”“Sleep,” I finish her sentence, unsure if that’s what she meant to say. “We need sleep.”She doesn’t argue though the specifics of where we’ll sleep, which is another matter entirely. I can’t exactly head back home. I’ll need to book a hotel, for a couple of days at least.While the address is less than five miles from my Nonna’s house, the neighborhood is a lifetime away. Dilapidated houses and broken windows, people sleeping in the street.“Your brother lives here?” The question slips out of my mouth before I think better of it.Rose doesn’t answer. “You can wait in the car.”While I don’t want to leave my Nonna’s car on this street, I’m certainly not letting Rose waltz into a mostly boarded up building. “It’s better if we both talk to him.”She nods, accepting the offer without an argument.The lobby door is open wide and junk mail and leaves litter the floor. A barred door hangs on a single hinge and Rose pushes past it, leading me up four floors. She bangs on the first door on the left.“Brad!” she shouts. “It’s Rose! We need to talk.”A door further down the hall creaks open. The occupant, an elderly woman, watches me with narrowed eyes before shutting the door again.“Brad!” Rose yells, cupping her hands as she yells into the door.“What the hell, Rosie?” The door opens wide and a man in boxers and nothing else glares at us. “Who’s this?”His anger melts into confusion as his icy blue eyes meet mine.He looks nothing like I expected. Certainly nothing like his sister. From the phone call, I expected a goofy asshole, bright red hair, tall and lanky. Instead, Brad looks like a predator: black hair, dark features, calculating eyes. Not the kind of guy involved in “the pier incident.”
It's only when I really study him that I find a few similarities between Rose and her brother: an upturned nose, the way they jut their chin when they're upset, the soft way they drawl their 'r's.“Nick.” I thrust a hand toward him, the forwardness taking him aback. “Nick Legarre.”Brad’s tanned face blanches as his eyes snap to Rose. “What the hell is going?”“He’s a friend,” Rose says, pushing her way inside. “He’s helping you. Us.”“He’s a Legarre. Trust me, none of them want to help me.” Still, Brad steps aside.The inside of the apartment matches the outside: run down and barely livable. A half-eaten pizza sits on an empty crate masquerading as a coffee table. The pillow and sheet strewn over the worn gray couch mark it as a bed.“Technically, she’s a Legarre now, too,” I say, well aware that I’m not helping the situation but enjoying myself regardless. I don’t like Brad in the flesh anymore than I did on the phone.He steps back, mouth open. “What the hell does that mean?”Rose exhales softly. Her lip twitches as she tries to form the words. Brad doesn't wait for her to get there. He reaches for her hand, instead.The emerald ring glitters as his eyes widen to saucers. “Looks like he’s more than a friend.”She pulls her hand back, pressing her palm behind her back as if afraid he’ll steal it. And maybe he would. “He’s helping me out. Us. He’s helping us out. Vic can’t hurt you if we’re family.”For a moment, Brad is struck silent. His mouth gapes open and shut like a beached fish. He takes a step back, rubbing a clenched fist against his chest. “You married a Legarre?”“His brother.” Rose steps beside me, presenting a united front.Brad shakes his head. “Nah. Vic’s brother is a kid. High school or some shit.”“That’s Tom, our youngest brother. I’m the middle brother.”I take Rose’s hand, which gains me a sneer from Brad. “The cop?”“Not a cop. A park ranger.”“And you’re going to get me out of this mess?” He skirts closer to us, craning his neck to get another look at the ring, and smiles. “I didn’t think you had it in you. You did good, Rosie.”Rose’s grip tightens, her body turning tense.“Which means, you have to stay away from him,” I clarify, not sure if Rose’s reaction or Brad’s slow smile are putting me more on edge.“He’s gonna want to hear about this new idea I had.” Brad smiles, suddenly animated as he bounds toward the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. He grabs a pad of paper, pointing a finger to the words written in the middle. “It’ll make back what I lost and more. We’ll be partners this time. It’ll change ever—”“Do you even care that she married a stranger?” I ask, my harsh question cutting through his deranged enthusiasm. “She kidnapped me for you. She would have kidnapped Vic and then she would have been…”My rant trails off, not because of Brad’s silence, but Rose. She pulls her hand from mine, squaring up to her brother.The smile growing on Brad’s lips is more predatory than pleased.
“What’d you do, Rosie?”“You didn’t give me a choice.”“There’s always a choice,” Brad grins. “You kidnapped him? For me?”He’s irrationally pleased with the fact his sister nearly got herself killed. While I’m not normally the violent type, my hands clench into fists.“She put herself in danger. And you’re going to throw that away to what? Fuck around with my brother again?”“This is a sure thing.” Brad says it like he means it. Worse, like he believes it.“At least give Vic some time to cool down,” Rose says, gripping my arm as she steps between her brother and I.“Right.” Brad shrugs, as if that was his plan all along. “And this is good. You did a good thing. You always wanted a family and Nick seems like a decent guy from a great family. I’m proud of you.”He glosses over the kidnapping with shocking ease. Already forgotten as his head swirls with ways to get back in my brother’s good graces.“So, you won’t try to find Vic this afternoon?” Rose asks.“Nah.” Brad looks around the room. “I’ve got some other irons in the fire. I’m sure I’ll see him soon, right? We are family now.”

Chapter Fourteen
ROSE

After our brief conversation with Brad, I navigated home on autopilot, not even asking about Nick’s plans. He said no to my offer to sleep in the bedroom while I crashed on the couch. Misplaced chivalry. Or at least, that’s what I thought until I landed in bed on top of the handcuffs.
The trill ring from my phone wakes me up, the dark room catching me off guard.“Yeah?” I press the phone to my ear and fumble in the dark for the light switch.
“Yeah? That’s how you answer the phone?” Nevaeh barks back.
“What time is it?” The flood of light as I flip the switch blinds me. However long I slept, it wasn’t enough.
“I don’t know. Ten? Eleven?”
I pull the phone away from my face long enough to confirm the time. 10:02.
“Brad came in here, talking some bullshit about you marrying into the Legarre family,” she continues, her voice a mixture of confusion and anger. “He thought Vic would be around. We kicked him out.”
“Was Vic around?” I ask, chest tight.
“No. Not tonight.” She pauses. “Brad’s full of it, right? I mean, he’s alive, so that’s…fine. But you wouldn’t actually marry a Legarre to get him out of trouble, would you?”I gnaw at the edge of my thumbnail. She hisses when she guesses the answer. A resounding “yes.”
“It’s a long story,” I wince. “Can we talk about this in person? Tomorrow, maybe?”
She exhales and her teeth grind against each other before she answers. “Fine. Just tell me it’s not Vic.”
“It’s not Vic,” I promise.
Her silence hangs on the other end of the line, undercut by the pounding of bass from the stage. “Tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get up.”
“Tomorrow,” I promise, hanging up.
One disaster averted, I pad to the door, cracking it open. The lights in the living room are off, but the keys to his grandmother’s car are still on the dresser in my room. Nick is still out there. Asleep, probably.
My stomach grumbles loudly and I risk turning on the hall light as I make my way to the kitchen. Sure enough, Nick’s lying on my tattered couch, a worn blanket drawn over his shoulders. Even though his eyes are closed, his eyelids move and his lips purse, in the middle of a dream.
Or a nightmare.
Hard to tell, considering our current circumstances.
I tug open the fridge, silencing the clanking bottles with one hand while I sift through what’s inside with the other. There’s a handful of wrinkly radishes and a styrofoam container of leftover naan from an Indian restaurant down the street.
The mint sitting by the window next to the sink has regrown enough to risk pulling off more leaves. “Weird Radish Sandwich,” as Nevaeh lovingly dubbed it, might not be the most appealing food, but it’s one of my only comfort foods born out of the two-month period where Brad and I lived with our Greek neighbors when Dad disappeared.
There’s an almost empty tub of butter in the fridge and I slather the naan in what’s left, covering the butter with bits of mint and a pile of sliced radishes sprinkled with salt. I take a giant bite and tip my head back, the combination of sleep and food finally letting me think clearly for the first time in days.
“What’s that?” Nick sits up from the couch, raking a hand through his hair and leaving the ends splayed in the air.
I stop mid-chew, struck temporarily silent by how handsome he is. I mean, sure, he was handsome last night in a “put-together, going with his rich friends to the strip club” kind of way. But this is different. A cozier handsome.
I shake the thought away. I tricked the guy into marrying me. The only way this ends well is if Brad and I end up alive at the end.
“Weird Radish Sandwich,” I mumble, swallowing it with a painful gulp. “Do you want one?”
He stands, crossing the short distance from the couch to the kitchen before peering down at my sandwich. “What is it?”
“Radishes and butter and mint?”
His lips tug up into a grin. “Sounds weird.”
“I can make you something else,” I offer, the words strangled as he stands in front of me. The fabric of his shirt brushes my arm. The scent of pine invades my nostrils, blocking out the mint.
His brown eyes lock on mine before he dips his head down, taking a giant bite of my sandwich.
A surprised yelp escapes from my mouth as I pull the sandwich away. “I said I’d make you one!”
He chews the food, the grin still on his lips. “It’s definitely weird. Didn’t Nonna give us leftovers?”
“In the fridge.” I keep my sandwich shielded as I slink to the dinette table, unable to remember the last time I used it as anything but a dumping ground for junk mail. I move aside a flyer for a new nail salon and move a pile of bills onto the counter.
While the leftovers reheat, he opens and closes drawers until he finds the utensils and when he sits down, he slides a fork in my direction.
“In case weird radish sandwich doesn’t fill you up,” he says before digging in.
It doesn’t and after I poke around the edges of his leftovers, he pushes pieces onto my side: a meatball, a cheesy bit of eggplant, a slice of garlic bread. The food I picked for seconds at his Nonna’s house and I’m not sure if he noticed what I ate or is a lucky guesser.
“So,” he finally says, breaking a comfortable silence. “What’s next?”
I choke out a laugh. “I don’t know. Honestly, I was hoping you’d tell me.”
He shakes his head, collecting our plates and walking them to the sink. “You’re the ringleader.”
“You proposed,” I counter as he turns on the faucet.
“That’s henchmen shit. I didn’t come prepared with handcuffs.” I flinch, but he presses on. “My dad wants to buy us a house.”
“A house?” I echo.
“He said now that we’re married, I can’t go back to my job. Which is ridiculous, but do you want a house?”
I splutter, doing my best parrot impression. “Do I want a house?”
“Yeah.” He wipes down his plate, scrubbing the baked on cheese off my plate before rinsing it off and setting it in the dish rack. “Or an apartment. If I was going to stay here, I’d take the house, but it’s up to you.”
I join him at the sink, taking the clean dishes and drying them. “And by ‘buy us a house’ you mean…”
My dad never so much as bought me lunch. The idea that a family member would buy another family member an entire house sounds ridiculous. Maybe I misheard. Maybe Nick’s dad offered to put down money on a house, help us avoid taking out a loan.
Nick stops washing dishes, cocking his head. “He’ll purchase a house for us to live in?”
“Like, a down payment? Or a loan? I can barely afford this apartment. I’m not sure I’d even qualify for a mortgage.”
“He wants me to stay in town and apparently, he’s willing to drop a lot of money for that to happen.” Nick shrugs, continuing to wash. “So, you can have it instead. It’s not like I’m really going to get married again. And even if I did, I wouldn’t take his money. This is a win-win situation.”
Win-win. The thought that a win-win situation would end in me having a house, free and clear, is so ridiculous that I laugh. “And what happens when we divorce?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll tell them I was cheating. Or had a second family in Colorado. We’ll just make me the bad guy, so you get the house.”
Despite my first impression, I have a hard time framing Nick as a bad guy. “I don’t want to cause problems with your family. Any more problems.”
“They won’t care. Well, Vic will give me shit and Dad will be pissed, but no more than he was this afternoon. I’m barely around, anyway. I’ll wait a year or two to come home and it’ll blow over.”
He turns off the sink, wiping his hands on a hand towel and resting his back on the oven, arms crossed. “But Nonna is going to be a problem.”
“Nonna loves me.” I hold back a smile. I’m hardly anyone’s favorite. With Brad’s charisma and Nevaeh’s looks, I’m always second place. It’s never bothered me before, but I’ve always been curious what it feels like to have someone light up at the thought of me. Nonna is the closest I’ve ever gotten.
“Yeah, that’s a problem.” Nick crosses his arms over his chest.
I toy with the ring she gave me, reluctantly slipping it off. “You should keep this.”
His jaw tightens before he shakes his head. “Wear it. She wanted you to have it.”
“She wanted your wife to have it.”
“You are my wife,” he corrects sternly, making my cheeks heat. “And she wanted you to have it. Keep it on. It’ll make her happy to see you wear it.”I put it back on and it’s impossible to ignore how relieved I am to get to keep it. I love the ring. I love that Nonna gave it to me. I’m not ready to give it back. Not yet, anyway.
“I should pick up my bags from my parent’s house,” he groans, tipping his head back. “Get a hotel and find out when they expect to see us next. Let me get your number.”
The absurdity of the fact he doesn’t even have my number lands and I smile. “Yeah, I guess we should exchange numbers.”
I hold back an invitation to stay with me. His parents clearly have money and he must, too. A week or two in a hotel won’t put him out and I doubt he wants to stay with me, anyway. I hand him my phone and he punches in a number, handing it back with a grin.I look down at the contact.
HUBBY
“Cute.”
“I’m cuter when I’ve had a shower.” He winks at me. “How about dinner tomorrow?”
I beat down the quick burst of excitement. He’s not asking me out on a date. He’s asking me out for a planning session. A way for him to escape town and my brother to escape Vic.
“Sure.” I text “Hubby” directions to a nearby restaurant. Nice, but not so nice I can’t afford to pay. “Tomorrow night, say, seven?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Chapter Fifteen
Rose

Nevaeh stumbles into the diner, large black sunglasses covering her eyes, fur-lined jacket zipped up to her neck despite the unseasonably warm weather outside. She pauses at the entrance, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as she searches for me. When she spots me, she totters over on lucite heels, collapsing into the opposite booth.“Good morning,” I say, nodding toward the coffee already on the table.She reaches for it but pauses mid-air, grabbing my hand instead. She wrenches me across the table, lifting my ring toward the sun, making the blue stone shimmer. “That’s five carats, at least. And the clarity! It’s got to be real, right?”I shrug, pulling my hand back. “I haven’t had it appraised or anything.”The temporary excitement at the ring fades as she wraps her manicured fingers around the dingy white mug, tapping the ceramic. “So, Nick Legarre gave that to you?”“I thought you kicked Brad out.”“Vic told everyone at a club across town. Word travels fast.” She takes a sip. “I was mad, at first. I told you not to get involved with that family. But, after a good night’s sleep, I thought, what the hell? It’s actually not a bad plan. You’re in the family now. They can’t touch Brad and I don’t know Nick, so that’s got to be a good sign, right?”“He’s a park ranger.” I hand over the scant pieces of information I have on Nick. He’s a park ranger. He lives in Colorado. He’s not involved with his family’s business. I think he hates his brother. He did me a favor.“Big favor,” Nevaeh laughs after the server takes our order. A breakfast plate for her and a side of fries for me. When the server’s gone, Nevaeh steeples her fingers and leans forward. “He’s a good guy, though, right? Like, he’ll protect you?”I wince, unsure. Nick seems like a good guy. Hell, better than good. Great. A legitimately nice guy. But I’d only known him for a couple of days. And most of that time, he’d been tied to my bed or actively lying to his family. “I think so.”Her mouth twitches, lips sinking into a frown. “You need to know. Fast.”“Why?” I ask as Nevaeh settles back into the booth, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “What’d you hear?”“Rumors. Bullshit.” She waves a hand as if it doesn’t matter, but her brow furrows. “Vic thinks you’re running a con on his brother.”I nearly choke on my coffee. “Me? Conning him?”“You can’t blame him, considering…” Her eyes dart around the diner before she pitches forward, dropping her voice. “Vic might not be the smartest guy, but even he recognizes how convenient that his brother comes home for the first time in years and marries the sister of the guy he’s planning to kill.”“So he has a pretty good read on the situation?” I try to joke, but Nevaeh’s frown forces me to stop. “Exactly how suspicious is he?”Nick seemed convinced that family overrides the mob stuff, but I’m not so sure. People like Vic don’t exactly follow the rules.“Enough to blab about it to a bunch of strippers.” She shrugs. “Enough to get fairly drunk and say some not so nice things about you.”She doesn’t elaborate on what those ‘not so nice things’ are, which isn’t good.“I’ll keep my ears open, but watch your step, Rose.” She slides her hand across the table, covering mine with a squeeze. “Stay away from him as much as you can and, God knows, you can’t control him, but do your best to keep your brother out of his hair.”I smile weakly. “I’m trying. Nick wanted me to leave the city.”Nevaeh’s dour expression brightens. “That’s a great idea.”“I told him I couldn’t. Brad wouldn’t come with me and I can’t leave him here.”“Brad’s a full grown man.” She shakes her head. “At some point, he needs to take care of himself. Or not. You can’t marry into the family of every guy who wants to kill your brother.”“Nick and I plan on getting a divorce, if that helps.” My second joke doesn’t go over any better than my first.“You’re a good sister, Rose. But at some point, Brad is going to drag you down with him.”***After I leave the diner, I can’t get Nevaeh’s warning out of my head. She’s right, of course. I could keep my head above water when all Brad needed was an extra twenty or a forged signature. When he needed a car or rent. Hell, even a loan.But he’s self-destructive and a dreamer. A dangerous combination that convinces him he’s invincible and prophetic all at once. Like our father. But our father limited his dreams to low-level stuff: a roof over his head, a decent whiskey at a bar, an evening surrounded by friends. Brad wants fame and money and all the things that come with it. Things that Vic has. And if he hadn’t tangled with Vic, he would have done it with someone else just as dangerous.I head away from my apartment, walking in circles around the city with no destination in mind as I worry about what comes next. I need Brad safe. I need to avoid Vic. I need to divorce Nick without his family finding out what we did. What I did.With no answers, I head back to my apartment. After a quick shower, I pull on a pair of jeans and a knit sweater, dragging my hair back into a ponytail just as the doorbell rings.“You made it past security?” I ask, opening the door for Nick.He’s no longer wearing the rumpled suit. Instead, he has on a pair of khakis, a white t-shirt with a faded green flannel over the top, and a pair of boots that look like they’ve seen their fair share of miles of trails. I don’t normally go for the outdoor look, but he pulls it off pretty naturally. Coupled with his bright white smile and his dark five o’clock shadow that’s now morphing into a full beard, just the sight of him makes my stomach flip and my knees a little weak. I push away the feeling.“The doorman on duty let me through. I told him I was kidnapped here two nights ago and he let me right up,” he laughs, stepping inside.I waver on how to greet him. We’re married, so I feel like I need to do something, and I settle on placing my hand on his shoulder and lifting on my toes to brush a kiss over his cheek. His cheeks burn red, but his smile doesn’t fade.“Let me just grab my purse,” I say, feeling flushed and a little off kilter.My fingers fumble as I sort through the purse, pulling out a handful of empty receipts before closing the clasp and throwing it over my shoulder. “So, is Mexican okay? There’s a good restaurant just down the street..”“Sure,” Nick shrugs. “I make all my best life decisions over margaritas.”A single drink would calm my nerves. Although, more than one could be catastrophic..“Or Indian?” I suggest a cuisine that doesn’t have a liquor license.“I’m sort of craving tacos.”I nod. “Great. Tacos it is.”Nick’s a perfect gentleman, holding the door open as we leave my apartment and then placing a hand on my back as we navigate a tight space through a throng of people. By the time we’re seated in a corner booth of the busy restaurant, I’ve almost convinced myself this is an actual date and not a full debrief with my fake husband.After a server plunks a basket of chips in front of us, Nick levels his gaze at me. “We need to talk about Nonna first.”My heart lodges in my throat. “Is she alright?”“Yeah, she’s fine. She just wants your number.” Nick rakes a hand through his hair before picking up a chip. “I can probably come up with a reason not to give it to her, if you want.”“Why would I want that?”An amused smile crosses his lips. “No reason. I’ll send it to her now.”He pulls out his phone, copying my contact information and forwarding it to Nonna.“She’s going to harass you about a church wedding. Just tell her you’re a Lutheran or Episcopal or something. She’ll drop it.” He stops playing with his phone and looks at me.I hold back a laugh. “She won’t try to convert me?”He laughs. “Oh, she will, but just change the subject. She also doesn’t text and when she calls, which she will, she’s going to ask if she interrupted you so much it’ll interrupt an actual conversation. Honestly, it’s easier to visit.”“Can I visit her?” I ask, brightening at the idea.“Why couldn’t you?”I’m grateful for the pair of margaritas that land on the table and take a gulp before I answer. “Because we haven’t discussed what happens next. How much we let our lives overlap before…”He nods. “We divorce?”“Right.”The edge of his lip jerks, his fingers tapping against the bottom of his drink. “My family wants to get to know you. Vic isn’t taking it well and Mom thinks having you around will smooth everything over.”“Will it?” I raise an eyebrow.Nick considers the question for a minute before shaking his head. “I doubt it. I told them we’re going on a honeymoon and we’d talk about it when we got back. I thought it’d give us some breathing room.”“You thought it’d give us some breathing room?”The question hangs between us as Nick searches for anything else to grab his attention. Finally, he reaches for a tortilla chip sitting in the basket between us, breaking the chip into tiny pieces before abandoning it on his napkin and meeting my eyes. “Have you ever been to California?”

Chapter Sixteen

Coming July 23rd