Page 80 of King of Power

“Well …” I pretend to think hard about it, though the idea has already formed. “We could watch that new superhero movie you’ve been talking about. The one with the space dragons?”

His eyes widen, ice cream forgotten. “Really?”

“Yep.” I wink at him. “You can get comfy in your PJs, make some popcorn … what do you think?”

“Can we build a blanket fort too?” He’s bouncing in his seat now, all traces of sadness gone from his face.

“Absolutely. The biggest, coziest fort ever.” I reach across to ruffle his hair. “And maybe, if you’re really good, we can even have hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.”

“With the tiny ones?” His face glows with excitement. “And can we use the Christmas lights to make the fort sparkly?”

“Whatever you want, buddy.” His pure joy makes my chest feel lighter. “It’ll be our special movie time.”

While Leo finishes his ice cream, his face sticky and happy, something settles over me. A certainty I haven’t felt in weeks. Maybe months. All the chaos swirling around us—the case, the threats, my complicated feelings for Zeke—fades away when I focus on the present. Like this moment: Just me and my nephew, sharing ice cream and making plans for movie night.

He chatters about the fort we’ll build, his hands gesturing wildly as he describes exactly how he wants to arrange the blankets and where we should put the Christmas lights. His enthusiasm is infectious, and I grin as I wipe purple ice cream from his chin for the hundredth time.

This is what matters. Not the turmoil in my heart, not the way Zeke makes me feel things I’m not ready to feel. This right here—being here for Leo, creating moments of joy. This is my true purpose.

“And can we use ALL the pillows?” Leo asks, bouncing in his seat. “Even the fancy ones from the living room?”

“Even those.” I agree, knowing Zeke won’t mind. Or if he does, well, tough luck.

Leo beams at me, his smile just like that of Rose and James. It hits me then, not with the usual sharp pain of grief, but with a warm certainty. I’m doing okay by their son. Not perfect, but okay. And sometimes, that’s enough.

“Ready to head home and start planning our fort?” I ask, gathering our napkins and empty cups.

“Yes!” He jumps up.

I reach for his sticky hand, and he grabs mine without hesitation, squeezing tight.

Laughter echoesin the private VIP room at Club Velvet Petal, a lively bubble separating us from the chaos of the world outside.

Lydia leans back in her chair, a martini in one hand and a wide grin plastered on her face. “Okay, who’s ready for another round?” She winks, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

I shake my head, trying to suppress my own grin. “Three rounds is enough for me tonight, thanks.”

“Come on, Eve! You’ve gotta loosen up. This is your chance to forget all about, well, everything.” She gestures dramatically with her drink, nearly spilling it as she sways.

“Yeah,” Olivia adds, rolling her eyes playfully. “We’re here to celebrate you being married. To Zeke! How many women can say they snagged a hot mafia husband?”

“Right? Because that’s exactly what I was going for,” I shoot back sarcastically, though a flicker of warmth ignites at the mention of Zeke. “And it’s “former” hot mafia husband.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better about it,” Olivia says with a huge grin.

Lydia chuckles, leaning closer. “Just admit it—you love him.”

“Not happening.” I try to keep my voice steady while my heart races at the thought of his gaze from last night—the way he made me feel alive, like the queen of his domain.

“Fine, then let’s toast to freedom.” Lydia raises her glass high.

“To freedom,” Olivia and I say in unison.

As we clink glasses and down our drinks together, Lydia’s laughter fills me with belonging. This is what I need—a moment away from reality. We chat about our workdays and kids as if we’re three ordinary women instead of survivors bound by our shared pasts.

“What if we took over this place?” Lydia suggests with a gleam in her eye. “We could host our own party every weekend. The ‘Strong Women of Columbus’ club!”

“All drinks served free with every heartfelt trauma story!’” I say.

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