Option two, casual confidence. I force my shoulders to relax and quirk my lips into a half-smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
Option three, seductive compliance. This one makes me want to punch the mirror. I look like I’m trying to sell sketchy diet pills online.
I drop the act and just stare at my reflection. Without the performance, what’s left is raw and real. A woman with shadows under her eyes and fear she can’t quite hide. But there’s something else there too. A spark of defiance that hasn’t been completely extinguished.
“What are you getting yourself into, Raven?” I whisper to my reflection.
The woman in the mirror has no answers. Clueless bitch.
My mind circles back to the fact that Matteo is a Russo for the hundredth time today. This is the family Piper willingly married into. And I guess I’m now connected through whatever bizarre arrangement I’ve agreed to with Matteo.
What exactly does the Russo family do? The obvious answer—organized crime—sends a chill down my spine. But what kind? Drugs? Weapons? Human trafficking? Each possibility seems worse than the last.
And what does Matteo do for them? His scarred face and easy violence suggest nothing good. The way he dispatched those men outside his apartment with such efficiency…
Mental pin: Don’t think about the blood. In fact, don’t think about it at all.
My fingers hover over Piper’s contact info. She would know more about the Russos. But calling her means explaining why I’m asking, and I’m not ready for that conversation yet.
Not ready to say out loud that I’m going to be playing make-believe girlfriend to a man who kills people and doesn’t seem particularly troubled by it.
I set my phone down without calling. Tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be braver tomorrow.
But… then I pick it back up, my thumb hovering over the call button like it might bite me. My apartment feels too small suddenly, the walls closing in with each circle I pace around my coffee table.
I need information. I need to understand what I’m walking into with Matteo. And the person who knows the Russos best is my best friend—who has no idea I’ve been sleeping with, stealing from, and making deals with her husband’s family.
Perfect. This conversation won’t be awkward at all.
Before I can talk myself out of it again, I hit call and press the phone to my ear. Each ring makes my heart thump harder until I’m certain she’ll hear it through the phone when she answers.
“Lee.” Piper’s voice bursts through the speaker, warm and familiar. “I was just thinking about you. Enzo brought home this ridiculous bottle of wine that tastes exactly like the stuff we toasted with that one New Year’s where you lost your shoes. Remember how sick you got?”
I laugh, the sound almost natural. “How could I forget?”
She hums her agreement. “How was your visit home? Did you scandalize the neighborhood again?”
The question lands like a gift—an easy topic that requires no lying. I sink onto my couch, tucking my feet under me as I launch into stories about my family, my twin’s boyfriend, and my defense of Leo against his high school bully.
“That’s my girl,” Piper says proudly when I finish. “Still protecting your brother from assholes.”
“Always will,” I reply, meaning it. “Some things never change.”
“Unlike my life, which is a constant circus these days. You would not believe the gala Enzo is making me attend next week. The theme is Underwater Elegance, which apparently means I need to look like a sexy fish or something.”
I snort-laugh. “Please tell me you’re wearing scales.”
“Worse. The dress is blue. That’s it. That’s the underwater part. Politicians have no imagination.”
This is so easy, talking to Piper, laughing about nothing important. For a moment, I almost forget why I called. Then she mentions Lorenzo again, and my purpose snaps back into focus.
“Speaking of your husband,” I begin, keeping my voice deliberately light. “How are you getting along with your in-laws these days? I feel like you never talk about them.”
There’s a brief but noticeable pause. “They’re… fine,” Piper says, her tone shifting slightly. “His mom moved to Italy last year, so it’s mainly his cousins I see.”
I twist a strand of hair around my finger, heart racing. “That must be nice, not having mother-in-law drama.”
“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of other drama to make up for it,” she laughs, but something in her voice sounds careful. Measured. “The Russos are very… close-knit. Family means everything to them.”
