The burner phone snaps shut in my hand after I send a quick text.

Meeting. Now.

My handlers advised me to avoid contacting them as much as possible. The last time was a month ago because I was developing PTSD. They gave me pills and told me to suck it up, as though two Valium would fix everything. The night sweats haven’t stopped. Neither has the fear. I’m supposed to numb my senses and keep on keeping on as if everything’s not fucked. The temporary, three-week assignment ballooned into half a year, with no end in sight.

I set out to the metro station a block away. Took me an hour to be sure I wasn’t being tailed. Can’t be too cautious. I don’t believe Vito would watch me, but clearly, he’s lost his mind.

Marry his fucking daughter.

She’d make a good wife. In another universe, I’d fall head over heels with her. All I think about was the last thing she told me: You all die anyway.

It sends a chill down my spine. She’s right. The longer I stay in this shit, the more my chance of survival drops to zero.

Am I fucked up to want her? Normally she’d be persona non grata due to her mob ties, but I meant everything I said. She’s a beautiful woman, and Vito deserves his guilt. Eva’s too fucking good for this dark world, and a sick part of me wants to be her white knight. Take her away from all this shit.

I barely know her, though. Never spoke to her before today. The old man insisted it wasn’t a demand, but it would be suspicious if I turned him down. Any of them would kill to be in my position: son-in-law to the boss. Groomed to replace him.

No.

This has gone too far.

I descend the steps into the subway station, where there’s no cell phone reception, and take the train off the island. My gaze sweeps the car, over the heads of half-awake passengers and anyone else who could be watching me. I don’t expect to recognize faces. Vito wouldn’t send someone I knew to follow me.

The doors slide and I leave, idling on the platform before making sure I wasn’t followed. They always choose a new place for me to meet them. Can’t afford to create a pattern. This time it’s in a bathroom that’s out of service.

I rap my knuckles, and the door flies open. Detective Sergeant Carter, a man in his late thirties whose obnoxious gum-chewing pisses me off, grins at me. His colleague, Captain Ritter, stands with his arms folded in the middle of a dilapidated room. He’s soft-spoken—maybe it’s his age. That’s probably the only reason he reminds me of my father. That and I’m homesick.

“Love the new place,” I say, gazing at the suspicious stains on the ceiling. “You guys know how to pick them.”

“Yeah, we thought you’d feel right at home,” Carter says through a mouthful of gum.

What is it about his face that begs for a beating?

I glance at Ritter, who looks concerned. “What’s up?”

A stab of guilt needles at me. “I understand how important this investigation is, but I can’t do it anymore. I need to get out.”

Captain Ritter laughs at me as though I suggested something ridiculous. “You can’t give up now. We’re just getting started.”

“If I stay any longer, I will be made. You guys told me I could back out whenever I wanted. It’s time.”

Carter rolls his eyes at Captain Ritter. “What the fuck happened?”

Screw you. “The boss wants me to marry his daughter.”

My bombshell has the opposite effect I imagined. Both of them make excited sounds. Ritter grabs my shoulders, beaming at me. “That’s great! Means he trusts you.”

Carter laughs unkindly. “Why you?”

The memory makes me laugh, even though Carter’s pissing me off. “Because I’m Italian and respectful. His words.”

The ugly truth? There’s not a drop of Sicilian blood in my veins.

“That can’t be the only reason,” Carter says, leaning on the wall. “Have you ever met this girl?”

“Not until this week.”

“Wow.” Ritter looks impressed. “You must have made an impression on him.”

“The man’s dying.” I pace in front of the mirrors. “He’s having some end-of-life crisis. Wants to see his daughter happy. Does it matter? I need to leave.”

Neither of them are taking this seriously. They’re acting like I handed Vito over on a silver platter.

Captain Ritter’s low whistle bounces off the tiles. “Ethan—”

“No. Call me Sébastien. I can’t pretend to be two fucking people at once.”

“Right,” Carter sneers.

“Shut the hell up.” Captain Ritter walks to the cracked mirror and stares at his reflection, which is frozen in shock. “Seb, this is a golden opportunity to get closer to Vito.”

They’re not listening. “I’m not marrying her.”

Carter shrugs. “Why not?”

“Are you both insane? There are so many reasons it’s a bad idea. I don’t know where to start.”

“Jesus, grow a pair of balls.” Carter whips out his notepad and jots down notes. “We could organize the whole thing—put agents in the church. Make sure the priest is undercover. Right, Captain?”

Ritter nods. “Doable.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “How the hell will you keep my cover a secret from the other cops?”

“We’ll tell them our man will attend the wedding.” Ritter rubs his jaw. “They won’t know who it is.”

“No,” I say roughly. “I don’t want her involved. That girl did nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve—”

“Now you grow a conscience?” Captain Ritter says. “I told you this would be difficult, son. We need you to do this.”

I try to weigh fake-marrying an innocent woman against locking up a very dangerous man. “Why? Vito’s our guy, but he’s dying. The rest of the family will follow him to the grave. There’s no big score here.”

“Says the rookie who’s been a cop for ten minutes,” Carter snarls.

An exhausted sigh hits the ceiling as Ritter walks toward me. “He might last for a while. My uncle had a six-month cancer diagnosis and lasted two years. We have to push forward on this. Think of all the work you’ve done for us.”

I don’t care. Burnout is fucking real, and I have to look at the facts. I’m pushing thirty. I spend my time bullying small business owners for cash and feel horrible for days.

This isn’t what I want.

Ritter’s still talking. “As Eva’s husband, you’d get privileged access to Vito.”

They don’t understand. “I’d have to let her in my home. That means keeping this act up twenty-four hours a day. Even if I was willing, I can’t do that. I’m not a fucking God.”

The bathroom echoes with Carter’s indignant voice. “All you have to do is fuck her a few times!”

“I won’t ruin her life for you.” My lips burn with contempt. “Or you.”

“Who the fuck cares?” he bellows. “She’s a Romano.”

No, she’s just a woman who wants a family. I’ve done a lot of shit that’ll take years to forget. Making Eva believe she married me won’t be added to the list. “I’m not hurting that girl for anyone.”

“Jackass.”

“You want to take over as undercover?” I gesture toward Carter. “Go ahead. The Romanos have a ton of openings. You’re a meathead—you’d be a good enforcer.”

Agitated, Carter kicks a broken tile. “Boo-hoo. I wanna quit ’cause it’s too hard. Grow the fuck up!”

I don’t feel a flicker of rage for this dumbass. It’s a waste of energy, and there’s not enough of that these days. “Speak for yourself.”

He pushes Ritter aside. “You said you wanted to help us.”

No, I didn’t. “Not worth it anymore.”

Carter changes tack with lightning speed. “What are you going to do, huh? Go back to that Podunk town you’re from?”

Jesus, he will not shut up. “Yeah, probably.”

“Fuck you!”

I laugh at his outrage. “After six months of this, I’m done. There’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. You’re not my master, and I’m not your fucking slave.”

All I see is Carter’s red face, twisted with fury, before pain explodes over my jaw. I stagger into the wall. Another fist whirls across my vision. I block, his knuckles glancing off the bone.

The tiles crack. I grab his shoulders. His head hits plaster. I smash his nose, pummeling the asshole until Ritter slides an arm over my neck and yanks.

“Stop it!” he yells at Carter. “That’s an order.”

I’m blinded with red and pain throbbing through my skull. “I’ll kill you.”

Douchebag picks himself up off the filthy floor and lunges at me. I break free from Ritter, who keeps screaming. I tackle Carter and sink two fists in his stomach, one right after the other. Then he grabs my face and gouges my eyes.

A mirror shatters as we crash into another hard surface. A jagged piece slices my head, and I throw him off me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Carter’s always been an asshole, but he’s never hit me before. He crossed the line, and neither of them seems to think it’s a problem. Carter wipes his bleeding mouth, and Ritter scowls like we’re two misbehaving children.

“Jesus Christ, stop it!” Ritter shoves Carter’s chest as he takes a step toward me. “If anyone sees us—”

The piece of shit pushes against Ritter’s hand. “What do you think will happen if you walk out on us? News flash, moron, we’re the only two people who even know you’re a cop.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin fills me with dread. “Erasing your undercover file.”

I glance at Captain Ritter. “What?”

Carter points at me. “You leave, and your identity goes bye-bye. You won’t be a detective anymore. Just another thug on the streets.”

Ritter shouts at me to stop, but I hear nothing but the blood roaring in my ears. Carter’s smile stains red as I punch his mouth. He drops like a stone. I knee his spine, twist his arm.

Kill him.

The voice. Louder this time.

Carter deserves it.

The lights go dark and flicker on. I’ll break his fucking arm. All I have to do—

A fist smashes my face. I drop, blinded with the impact. Vicious kicks dig into my side.

“Stop! STOP!” The sounds of scuffling. “We need him, you idiot!”

“Captain!” I struggle to my knees as he swims into focus. “You can’t force me to do this.”

He sighs. “I don’t want to, but I will.”

“I’ll report you both. Whatever it takes.” I grab the sink and claw myself upright. Carter hammered my skull, but at least the bastard is bleeding all over his shirt.

“This is not a negotiation, Sébastien,” Ritter says. “That’s what I said when you first started, remember?”

“You said I could leave whenever I want.” I look from the captain’s grim face to Carter’s sneering one. This can’t be happening.

“Marry the girl, and it’ll be over soon.” Ritter shrugs. “Or don’t. Up to you.”

It won’t be over. It’ll just be the beginning. “You’re not going to erase my file!”

“If I get a whiff of betrayal from you, I will. We’ve worked too hard and long on this investigation to throw in the towel.”

Carter flips me the bird as he leaves the bathroom. He holds the door open for Ritter, who doesn’t spare me a backward glance.

“Captain!”

The door slams, trapping me inside. I clutch the sink and look up, recoiling from my reflection. Blood runs down my face from a cut above my eye.

What the fuck just happened?

He hit me.

Carter assaulted one of his own. We’ve had our disagreements, but he’s never swung a fist at me before. He’s a fucking cop. Why would he risk his career like that? What are they both playing at? All I have to do is go to the station. Report them both.

With what proof? By now I’ve been identified and photographed as Vito’s street soldier.

The Internal Affairs Department, headed by Captain Ritter, handles all the undercovers. They have my file in their database. No one else knows I’m a cop. There’s no evidence I studied law enforcement. A string of misdemeanors and felonies replace my clean record. If they erase me, my identity is gone.

No.

It’s a mistake. There was a miscommunication. I’ve worked for Captain Ritter the last six months. He’s never acted like this before. He needs me, and he got carried away. I’ll set up another meeting. Demand to be taken out. It’ll be okay.

They’re extorting you.

It doesn’t make sense why they’d—

You’re in denial.

I wipe the blood, wincing when it smears over my skin. The water in the sink goes pink as I splash my face. Takes a while to stanch the bleeding. Can’t wander the streets in this condition—attracts too much attention.

Instead of taking the subway, I walk home. It’s three miles, and I weave through Johnny’s territory. Technically a no-no, but at least it gives me time to reflect.

Vito will expect an answer from me. What am I going to tell him?

I fish the keys from my pocket as I approach my brownstone. A beautiful girl sits on the steps. She stands, her eyes widening when she takes in my injuries.

Eva.

Shit.