ErosI drink the good, strong coffee and cross my legs. The diner is quiet at mid-morning after the breakfast rush and I'm only half listening to Lycus as he goes over the day's schedule.My mind's on the girl behind the counter with her hair pulled up in a messy bun, looking lost and overwhelmed and so fucking beautiful it's like a railroad spike in my chest.Cara glances over and smiles uncertainly at me. I don't smile back, which makes her roll her eyes as she gets back to refilling salt shakers.It's been a week since I paid off that predatory rental place and that asshole tow truck driver and used my connections to make the cops go away. Since then, I got her hired here, a diner run by a client of the Khazan family, a nice older Greek man named Demetrios. He manages the place along with his wife and daughter, two of the strongest and most intense Greek women I've ever met in my life, and that's saying something. I got her an apartment in a house owned by a Greek woman named Hermi

CaraI bury my face in my hands in the alley behind the diner as Ophelia cackles with pure and unbridled delight. "I knew Eros Khazan was into you but I had no clue he was that into you," she says, and I want to melt into the street and disappear."It's not like that," I tell her even though it sounds totally hollow, because it's kind of hard to deny what she saw."Oh, it's not? So you just let random guys go down on you in the break room of my dad's diner all the time?""No!" I say and pull my knees to my chest. "Just Eros. Apparently. And only that one time.""Right, well, it sounds like he's into you." She sits down next to me, grinning her head off. "Seriously, Cara, he's been coming into the diner every day since you started and all he does is stare at you. How can you sit there and act like there's nothing happening between the two of you?""Because there's not," I say which is almost true. Things with Eros are complicated. He saved my life back at that stupid car rental place,

CaraHot water rushes down my face. I stand in the shower and let it scald the horrible thoughts from my mind, the bad memories, the barely healed bruises.Christopher was here. He was here, in this apartment, ripping through my things for his own sick pleasure. I don't know how he found me, but my ex-husband has connections, the kind of connections I hoped wouldn't be of much use.But apparently, I was wrong.I should've left Chicago. I thought Eros was right—it's a big city. I could get lost here, disappear forever in this tiny little Greek neighborhood, and Christopher would never be the wiser. He'd be too busy trying to track me down back home in Philadelphia.But I'd never go back to that place. I'd never return to my parents and their dump of a South Philly row home with the rats in the basement and the leaking roof and the constant scorn and their anger. Mom hating Dad and Dad hating Mom, both of them locked in some sick duel to the death, a slow-motion murder. They despise eac

ErosI park in front of a decent townhouse in the Pilsen neighborhood directly south of Little Italy and University Park. It's a vibrant place filled with murals, restaurants, cafes, and Italians. Lots and lots of Italians.The Pavone Famiglia always had a presence in Chicago. Their roots went back generations, and they held on to the relatively small Little Italy for years and years. Mostly, their home base was Philadelphia, but they ran some rackets and made some books among their own people for the most part, and we ignored them for a long while. They didn't give us much trouble—we controlled better turf and outnumbered them ten-to-one—until the last few years. More and more of their members began moving out from the East Coast and putting down roots in Chicago, swelling their numbers, and pushing their borders in all directions.The block is nice, shady, and quiet. It doesn't look like the kind of place a mobster would make a home.But looks don't mean a goddamn thing in this busi

ErosThere's only one safe place I can think of in the entire city."Where are we going?" she asks as I roll through Hyde Park, turn off a quiet side street, and down a shady avenue. No Trespassing - Private Property signs are plastered all over along with more cameras than Buckingham Palace.Somewhere not too far, a small army of well-paid, loyal, and heavily armed men watch every inch of the property for anything out of the ordinary."This is where I live." I reach a gate and it opens before I can even roll down the window. The guard nods to me respectfully as I drive along a tree-lined, shady driveway until we come into view of the Khazan family home.Cara sucks in a breath. I try not to smile to myself, but even after all this time, a swell of pride fills my chest. This is the heart of my family's power, the nexus around which the city turns, and it's all mine.It's a beautiful Tudor building with tall peaks and a stone facade. Trees surround the property, the grass perfect manicu