Chapter 2
The name hit me like blunt force trauma.
My mind violently snapped back to a crowded college hallway six years ago.
Serena had cornered him, a designer bag on her arm, loudly declaring her love. Luka didn't even blink. "I'm not interested," he had told her, his voice absolute ice. "Stop clinging to me like gum. I already have someone."
His eyes had cut right through the crowd, locking directly onto me where I stood waiting to take him home.
Later that week, I secretly met with Serena. I told her to keep trying, to help pull him out of his dark, isolated shell. When Luka found out, he completely lost his mind.
He pinned me to the wall. He buried his face in my neck, and before I could push him away, his teeth sank into my skin. Hard.
"Even if you don't want me, Evelyn, you don't get to push me to someone else," he had growled, his voice wrecked and desperate. "I'm yours. For life."
The memory burned. I blinked, pulling myself out of the past and staring at the cold, untouchable man standing in front of me now. I shoved the pain down, locking it behind years of professional composure.
I forced a polite, empty smile. "Congratulations."
A black SUV pulled up behind him. Marco De Luca, Luka’s right-hand man, stepped out. He walked right past Luka and handed me a gold-embossed envelope.
"Miss Cross. For the engagement party," Marco said. He looked genuinely pleased, completely misreading the tension. "You should come. Serena was relentless, you know? Twice a week, every week for five years. Rain or shine."
I froze. "Twice a week?"
"Yeah," Marco chuckled, lighting a cigarette of his own. "At first, the boss wouldn't even look at her. Kept her waiting in the lobby. But by year three? He started waiting by the visiting room door before she even got through security. Her persistence finally paid off."
My blood ran cold. The freezing wind sliced through my coat, but the chill inside my chest was worse.
For five years, every package I sent—the warm clothes, the forensic thrillers he loved, the handwritten letters—was returned to sender. Every single visitation request I submitted was denied.
I thought he was punishing himself. I thought he was shutting out the whole world.
He didn't refuse visitors. He just refused me.
I shoved the envelope back into Marco’s chest. "I have a double shift at the morgue. Wish them well for me."
I didn't wait for a reaction. I turned on my heel and walked straight to my beat-up sedan. I yanked the door open, slid into the driver's seat, and locked it.
The backseat was completely full. A custom-fitted leather jacket I bought with my first big bonus. Stacks of new books. A pair of professional boxing gloves. Five years of stockpiled gifts, waiting for a boy who didn't exist anymore.
My fingers clamped around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. A single, hot tear broke free and slid down my cheek. I wiped it away savagely, put the car in drive, and sped away from the prison without looking back.
By 9 PM, my face was plastered across every gossip site in New York.
Cold-Blooded M.E. Clings to Mafia Prince.
The Ultimate Regret: She Sent Him to Prison, Now She Can’t Afford Him.
Gold-Digger Fails Upward: Evelyn Cross Exposed.
The paparazzi photo was a masterpiece of character assassination. It caught the exact fraction of a second I reached out to touch his sleeve. In the grainy picture, I looked desperate and pathetic, while Luciano looked down at me like I was garbage on the sidewalk.
My phone buzzed. It was my assistant, Chloe.
"Chief, are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tight with panic. "Your permanent relocation to the European Forensics Center in Geneva is in exactly two weeks. The board over there hates bad PR. If this mob drama gets any bigger, they might tear up your contract."
"I'll handle it," I said flatly, and hung up.
I sat at my desk and stared at the calendar. I had circled two dates in red ink.
Today: Bring Luka home.
Two weeks from now: One-way flights to Geneva with Luka. Start our new life.
I had it all mapped out. I was leaving New York for good. I even put a down payment on a secluded house near the Swiss woods. It had a massive fenced-in yard. Seven years ago, a quiet, bruised boy sitting on my fire escape whispered that if he ever had a real home, he wanted a Golden Retriever. My apartment didn't allow pets. The Swiss house did.
I ripped the page off the calendar, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it in the trash.
I pulled up LinkedIn and Instagram, typing furiously.
"Thanks for all concern. Today was just a chance to catch up with my younger brother. For the record, I prefer mature men. I don't do younger guys. Accepting private forensic consults. Work comes first."
I hit post. The comments flooded in immediately, calling me salty, bitter, and jealous. I didn't care. I tossed the phone onto my nightstand and turned off the lamp.
At 11:00 PM, the room lit up.
My phone was vibrating wildly. A FaceTime call.
I squinted at the screen. The caller ID said Luka. The profile picture hadn't changed—it was a crystal dog we bought together at a Brooklyn flea market when he was sixteen.
My chest tightened. My thumb swiped accept.
"Luka?"
It wasn't him.
Serena Vanderbilt’s perfectly manicured face filled the screen. She was wearing a thin silk robe, her blonde hair damp and tousled.
"Evelyn? Oh, good, you're awake," she said. Her voice was pure sugar, dripping with lethal intent. "Luka left his phone in the living room. He just got out of the shower."
I sat up, my spine rigid. "Why are you calling me from his phone, Serena?"
"I just wanted to check on you, Evelyn," she sighed, playing the concerned friend perfectly. "Don't let those internet trolls get to you. Luka and I will have our PR team handle the headlines tomorrow. "
She was marking her territory.
"I don't need..." I replied.
"Done talking?" Luciano’s voice sent a violent shockwave through my chest. "Come here. Time for the ‘real business’."
A deep, husky voice echoed in the background. It was thick with water and intimacy.
