The sound of cutlery clinking against porcelain was the only thing keeping the silence from swallowing us whole.
Jessy's eyes were glued to her plate, pushing around mashed potatoes she had no intention of eating. Dad sat stiffly at the head of the table, shoulders taut, jaw locked, a full glass of wine untouched beside his plate. The air between us was too heavy for comfort—thick with things unsaid.
I took another small bite of grilled chicken, chewing slowly. My stomach twisted from more than just the tension. Something was… off. And it wasn't just the forced family dinner.
"You haven't said a word since you got back from campus," Jessy finally said, flicking her gaze toward me like she was waiting for a slip-up.
"I'm tired," I replied, sipping my water without looking at her. "Classes are a lot."
That wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.
The dreams had gotten worse. Vivid. Gritty. Lucas's hands on my throat, but not to hurt me—God, no. His grip had been controlling, dominant, a force I didn't want to admit I craved. He whispered things I didn't understand in the dark… and I woke up aching in places I didn't want to acknowledge.
He wasn't just in my head anymore.
He was under my skin.
And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't scrub him out.
"So, finals are around the corner?" Dad asked, trying too hard to sound casual.
"Yeah." My voice was flat. I couldn't play the obedient daughter tonight. Not after last night's nightmare. Not with the way Lucas De Santo's voice still echoed in my skull like a curse.
"Good. Keep your head in the right place, Nia. That's what your mother would've wanted."
The mention of Mom made Jessy stiffen. Her fork dropped with a clang.
I glanced at her, confused by the sudden shift in her energy.
Jessy glared at Dad, eyes narrowed. "Don't speak for her."
Dad looked up slowly, brows rising in challenge. "Excuse me?"
"You always talk about what she would've wanted like you knew her better than we did."
"She was my wife."
"She was our mother," Jessy snapped, voice shaking. "And you never told us everything about her death."
My stomach dropped. "Jess—"
"No," she interrupted, eyes not leaving Dad's face. "I'm tired of pretending everything you say is gospel. You've kept us in the dark for years."
Dad's hand tightened around his wine glass.
"Your mother was killed in the crossfire of a mafia raid," he said through gritted teeth. "You were both too young to understand what that means."
"And now that we're older, you still treat us like kids," Jessy shot back. "You've been investigating the De Santos for decades. And yet, every time I dig into that night, the files are redacted. Even with my badge."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I didn't want this fight, not tonight, not when everything already felt fragile.
"What are you hiding from us?" Jessy demanded. "Tell me why everything about Mom's death has been buried."
Dad stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the tiled floor.
"You think you can handle the truth? You think you're ready to know what really happened that night?" His voice rose, the mask finally cracking.
Jessy stood too, her chin lifted in defiance. "Try me."
A tense silence followed.
Dad stared between us, then looked down at his shaking hands.
"Your mother wasn't an innocent bystander," he finally said, voice low. "She knew Matteo De Santo."
I blinked. My ears rang.
"What?" Jessy whispered.
Dad ran a hand over his face, his features aging by the second. "They had a connection before she met me. She was young, naïve. He used her. Manipulated her."
"You said she was in the wrong place at the wrong time—"
"She was meeting him that night," Dad admitted. "That's why she was there. That's why she died."
"No," I muttered, heart thundering. "That doesn't make sense. Mom hated everything about the mafia."
"She tried to run," Dad said. "Tried to break away. But Matteo wasn't done with her. He lured her back in… and she paid the price."
Jessy sat down slowly, the weight of his words sinking in.
I couldn't move. My hands trembled under the table.
"She never told us," I whispered.
"She didn't want you to live in fear," Dad replied, shoulders slumping. "She thought if she stayed quiet, you could grow up normal."
"Well, that worked out perfectly," Jessy said bitterly.
My head spun. The De Santos weren't just the family Dad hunted—they were personal. Our lives had been entangled with theirs long before I ever met Lucas. Before I even knew what the mafia truly was.
"Why now?" I asked, looking him straight in the eye. "Why are you telling us this tonight?"
"Because it's getting worse," he said. "They're shifting. New players. New threats. I need you both to stay away from anything that reeks of their world. If Lucas De Santo so much as breathes near you—"
I flinched.
Dad caught it.
"Nia." His voice was a low growl. "What aren't you telling me?"
I froze.
Jessy looked between us. "What's going on?"
I couldn't speak. My throat dried up, my mind screaming to lie, lie, lie.
But Dad already saw it.
He came around the table fast, his voice sharp. "You've seen him."
"I haven't," I lied too quickly.
"Nia—"
"It was just a dream," I blurted. "I've just been… stressed."
His eyes scanned my face like he could see straight through me.
"Stay away from him," he said coldly. "I don't care what dreams you're having or what fantasies are messing with your head. If Lucas gets close, you run. Do you understand me?"
I nodded stiffly.
"Good," he said, turning to Jessy. "We're doubling surveillance. I want eyes on both of you. 24/7."
"I don't need a babysitter," Jessy said through clenched teeth.
"This isn't up for debate."he said, and stormed out of the dining room, leaving us alone in a pit of truths we didn't ask for.
Jessy leaned toward me, her voice a whisper. "Why did you flinch when he mentioned Lucas?"
I stared at my plate, the food now cold and untouched.
"Because," I said quietly, "I don't think he's just in my dreams anymore."
Her face paled. "You saw him?"
"Not directly," I admitted. "But I feel him, Jess. Like he's watching me. Like… like he's waiting."
My sister didn't speak for a moment.
Then she said, "He's not the only one watching."
"What do you mean?"
She stood up and walked over to the living room, pulled open the curtain just slightly enough for us to see the car parked.
"There's a black SUV parked across the street," she whispered. "It's been there since we sat down for dinner."
I joined her, peeking through the slit in the curtain.
The windows were tinted. The engine's off. No one moved.
"I'll handle it," she said.
"Jess—"
"If they're cops, I'll know. If they're not…"
Her hand went to the gun holstered under her sweater.
I looked back at the street. My heart pounded like a
war drum.
Whoever sat in that car… they weren't just watching.
They were waiting.