Chapter 4
Three weeks later, what began as a seven-minute arrangement had evolved into something considerably more consistent, dinner meetings becoming a regular occurrence neither of us quite acknowledged as dating, though it certainly resembled exactly that.
“You’re doing it again,” Ethan said one evening, watching me across another restaurant table.
“Doing what?”
“Overthinking whether this is appropriate. I can see it in your expression.”
“Can you blame me? You’re not exactly a conventional dinner companion.”
“No,” he agreed. “I’m not.”
Priya, now working at this restaurant too after a brief conversation with Ethan that I suspected involved more than simple networking, brought our usual order without needing to ask.
“She likes you,” I observed, once Priya left. “Whatever you said to help her get this job.”
“I simply mentioned her reliability to the owner. Nothing more.”
“That’s not nothing, coming from you.”
Ethan’s expression softened slightly. “I wanted to do something decent for someone connected to you, given how much your friendship with her seemed to matter.”
The gesture, small as it seemed, revealed something increasingly apparent about the man beneath Richmond’s most feared reputation.
“Ethan,” I said carefully, “what actually happened to Grant? You still haven’t told me.”
He set down his fork, studying me with unusual seriousness. “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. Though his current situation involves considerably reduced freedom and resources compared to before his betrayal.”
“That’s vague.”
“Intentionally so. Some details aren’t safe to share, even with someone I trust.”
The admission of trust, casual as it seemed, carried weight I hadn’t expected from someone with his careful, controlled reputation.
“You trust me?”
“More than I probably should, given how recently we met.”
“Should that concern me?”
“Probably,” he admitted. “Though I find myself less concerned about caution than I’ve been in years.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with an urgent message from St. Vincent’s, requesting immediate coverage for an unexpected staffing shortage.
“I need to go,” I said, gathering my things quickly.
“I’ll drive you.”
“Ethan, that’s not necessary—”
“I insist.”
The drive to the hospital passed in comfortable silence, though something had shifted between us, an unspoken acknowledgment that this arrangement had evolved considerably beyond its original, desperate purpose.
“Thank you,” I said, as he pulled up to the hospital entrance. “For tonight. For everything, actually.”
“Hannah,” he said, catching my hand gently before I could exit the car. “I know this started as something ridiculous and impulsive. But I’d like to continue seeing you properly, if you’re interested.”
I studied his expression, searching for the calculation I expected from someone in his position, finding instead genuine, uncertain hope.
“I’d like that,” I said honestly. “Though you should know, dating a mafia boss wasn’t exactly part of my life plan.”
“Neither was falling for a nurse’s aide who agreed to fake-date me for pie,” he replied. “Yet here we are.”
