"No, he's worse." She leans forward. "Because at least my uncle's a soldier. Declan is going to run the whole operation. You think that makes you safer? Being with the man at the top?"
I'd tried to stay away. For a year after meeting him, I'd dodged his calls, ignored the flowers that showed up at my door, deleted the texts that were somehow both patient and persistent. Because I'm not stupid. I grew up in this city. I know the difference between the people who work for a living and the people who work in the shadows.
But Declan had been patient too. Never pushing, never demanding, just... there. Steady as a heartbeat. And when Mom got sick, when the medical bills started piling up faster than I could work them down, he'd offered to help. I'd refused. When she died, he'd shown up at the funeral in a black suit that probably cost more than her entire medical debt, stood in the back, and left without saying a word.
Three months later, I finally answered his call.
"I love him." The words taste like defeat and truth tangled together. "Nia, I love him. I tried not to. You know I tried."
Her face softens, but the worry doesn't leave. "I know you did, babe. I watched you fight it like he was poison."
"Maybe he is." My phone buzzes again. "But if he is, I've already drunk deep enough that walking away won't save me now."
"That's not how antidotes work." But there's no heat in it, just the worn-down concern of someone who's had this argument too many times. "You could still?—"
"Still what?" I finally flip my phone over. Three texts from Declan, each one shorter than the last.
Declan:Missing you.
Declan:Dinner tonight?
Declan:Say yes.
I raise a brow at her. "Go back to before I knew him? Pretend the last two years didn't happen? Pretend I don't feel what I feel?"
Nialyn pulls her textbook back toward her, armor against a conversation that's going nowhere new. "I'm just scared for you. That's all. You're the sister I chose, and I don't want to lose you to this world."
"You won't." I reach for her hand again. "I promise. I'm careful. We're careful."
"Careful." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're dating the future head of the Wolfe Outfit. There's no careful about that."
She's not wrong. Declan's family runs half the gray market in Philly—the kind of businesses that have legitimate storefronts and illegitimate back rooms. His uncle is getting him ready to handle it all, and he's ambitious. I have no doubt he'll collect more territory.
I don't ask for details. He doesn't offer them. It's the unspoken rule between us: I know enough to understand the danger, not enough to become a liability.
But I've seen glimpses. The way people move out of his path. The deference in voices when they say his name. The violence that lives in the set of his shoulders, barely restrained, like a wolf pretending to be a dog.
"I need you to be okay with this." My voice comes out smaller than I intend. "Or at least... I need you to try. Because I can't lose you too. You're all the family I have left."
Nialyn's expression cracks, vulnerability bleeding through the worry. "That's emotional manipulation and you know it."
"It's the truth."
We sit there, the coffee shop humming around us with conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine. She's chewing her bottom lip, the way she does when she's working through something difficult, trying to find the right words.
"I won't pretend I'm okay with it." She finally meets my eyes. "But I'm not going anywhere either. Sisters, right? Even when one of us is being spectacularly stupid."
"Right." Relief loosens something in my chest. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She picks up her pen again. "When this inevitably blows up in your face, I'm going to say I told you so. Repeatedly. Possibly in song form."
"I'd expect nothing less."
My phone buzzes a fourth time.
Declan:Please, love. I need to see you.
Nialyn catches the change in my expression. "He's summoning you."
