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I study him, wondering how many other conversations are waiting to break my heart.

"Are you really in the mafia?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Jesus Christ. You couldn't have been a dentist?"

That earns a quiet laugh.

"I'm one of Dario's lieutenants. He controls our Los Angeles operation and answers to Francesco in Sicily. The entertainment company and many of our investments are legitimate, but some of our other business isn't."

"Money laundering?"

"Yes."

"Protection?"

"That too."

I draw a shaky breath. "Have you ever hurt anybody?"

"Yes."

The answer comes without an excuse or an attempt to soften it.

"Have you ever ordered somebody else hurt?"

His jaw tightens. "Yes."

For a moment, all I can hear is the hum of the air-conditioning. I remember the gun against my temple, the sound of it firing, and Enzo walking into that warehouse looking like a man who could order somebody's death without raising his voice.

"Would you ever hurt me?"

"Never."

"What about somebody else hurting me because of you? Can you promise that won't happen again?"

He doesn't rush to answer.

"No," he finally says. "I wish I could. I'll do everything I can to keep you safe, but I won't tell you my world is harmless. It isn't."

I appreciate the truth, even though I hate what it means.

"Are you asking me to accept all of that?"

"I'm asking you to know all of it before you make another decision about me."

I look at him for a long moment. "And if I decide I can't live with it?"

"Then I'll respect that."

"Will you actually? Because you didn't respect my decision when you thought I might leave over your marriage."

He takes the criticism without looking away.

"I didn't. And I can't expect you to believe I've changed because I finally said the right things. If you need space, you get space. If you want me to stop calling, I stop. I'm not sending men to follow you without telling you, and I'm not making decisions about your life simply because I think I know what's best."

"What if you think I'm making a mistake?"