Page 42 of Don’t Say Mafia

The way she didn’t fawn. Didn’t flatter. Didn’t flinch.

She wasn’t a passing impulse.

I stared into my glass like it held all the answers I was looking for. When I finally spoke, my voice was certain. “She’s everything.”

Cruz made a choking sound, and I did an inner fist pump because it was almost impossible to surprise the guy. “You sound pretty confident, Thatcher.”

“I am.”

He nodded slowly. “You better be certain she’ll never find out,” he said quietly. “Because if she does, there’s no coming back from that.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “She won’t find out.”

He studied me for another beat, then reached for his jacket. “Thanks for the drink . . . and for not shooting me. It’s been fun as ever.”

I huffed. “I’m charging you for that bottle,” I called after him as he stepped into the elevator.

Cruz responded by throwing a stack of bills into the living room.

The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the city lights and the certainty settling deeper into my bones.

I hadn’t crossed the line yet. But I knew exactly where it was.

And I was done pretending I wouldn’t step over it.

Eden

I woke to the smell of coffee.

That alone was enough to disorient me. Had I fallen asleep at the coffee shop during my shift?

I blinked against the light and rolled onto my side, still exhausted. Ryan stood beside the bed, holding out a paper cup like it was an offering. He was already dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, and his hair was still damp from a shower, combed back with a level of care I hadn’t seen from him in months.

“Morning,” he said carefully, as though he was approaching something that might detonate if he stepped wrong.

I pushed myself up on one elbow, the blanket slipping to my waist. “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice coming out in a defeated croak.

He winced, then straightened, resolve settling over his features. “I’m getting a job today. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care how many places I have to go. I’m not losing you.”

I’m not losing you.

My fingers tightened slightly around the blanket in my lap. His words were still making me feel nothing . . . maybe he really had broken me this time.

Ryan held the coffee out again, closer this time. I stared at it for a second too long before taking it.

“Thanks,” I murmured half-heartedly.

Relief lit up his face like I’d handed him forgiveness instead of a single syllable. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his knees bouncing, and energy buzzing off him in tight, restless bursts.

“I mean it, Eden,” he said quickly. “I screwed up. I know that. But I’m fixing it. Starting now.”

I nodded slowly, taking a sip. He’d gone to the cheap place on the corner to get this, the one we used to go to when we first moved here.

“I’m serious,” he said again, searching my face. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I swallowed and dropped my gaze to the coffee, letting the rising steam give me something to focus on so he wouldn’t see how empty my expression had become.

Trust didn’t break all at once. It wore thin. Frayed. It disappeared in inches, not miles. And once it was gone, no amount of coffee or promises could just . . . put it back where it belonged.