The car arrived at 8 p.m., just as Ashlen said it would. I had called Detective Anchor about three hours ago. He promised me that his men would be in place to trail us to the restaurant. Maybe I was an idiot to think the cops could protect me, but this was the only way to make sure that Ashlen would never bother me again.

That left me with an important conundrum: What outfit does one wear to entrap their mafia boss-ex-husband? I didn't have much time to change after work, so I threw on some black sweatpants and a silky T-shirt. It wasn't actually silk; it was probably viscose.

I didn't exactly look the part of a femme fatale out to seduce a mob boss.

I studied my reflection in the darkened window pane. I hardly looked the part of a ferocious mafia wife, one full of devious secrets and a set of claw-like nails. No, I looked like a scared middle-aged woman who really wished that her life would go back to normal.

Perhaps it could, after today.

Yet, even if Ashlen were thrown in jail, could everything ever go back to the way it was?

I didn't know. There wasn't time for those thoughts. I should have been worrying about what Ashlen had to say to me if he was going to threaten me, blackmail me, or kill me.

Even now, it was hard to imagine my calm, perpetually cheerful ex-husband doing any of those things.

I locked up my apartment and slowly made my way downstairs. It was hard not to run back to the safety of my apartment building. Perhaps I could hide in my mailroom the way Ashlen had done so many years ago.

Maybe that would have been the correct choice. As soon as I approached the black town car waiting in front of my building, a chauffeur dressed in a black suit appeared and opened the door for me. I gulped and stepped inside. There was no going back now. The car windows were tinted black, and I could barely see the lights of Manhattan skyscrapers passing by. The car smelled vaguely of cigarettes but also sweetly artificial, like a cheap vanilla freshener.

The chauffeur was silent at first. He looked to be a rather ordinary middle-aged man with an oversized cup of Dunkin Donuts iced coffee by his right hand and a car ornament that appeared to be a Chrome Hearts knockoff. He was busy texting on his phone and paid no attention to me.

"Mrs. Evenhell," he finally said hesitantly. "I believe we are being followed."

"W-what?" I wasn't sure what shocked me more, that he was calling me Mrs. Evenhell or that he knew the cops were on to us.

"Yes, the Ten Dragons have been trailing us for days. They have been following us since 34th Street. We will try to lose them. If not, don't you worry. I am sure the boss can deal with them."

I gulped and crossed my arms over my chest. This wasn't good. Ashlen's men were on high alert. This meant they might also discover I had my own band of stalkers following us. What would Ashlen do to me if he found out I betrayed him? Would he execute me himself, or would he have this chauffeur do it?

The driver didn't give me any more updates on the Ten Dragons situation. He turned on the radio and hummed along to the songs.

"My name is Ray; the boys call me Rooster," the driver chirped. "I've got sharp eyes for danger."

"I'm Lyrika Rhodes," I replied coldly, hoping that he would understand that I wasn't a Mrs. or an Evenhell. Some of my friends call me Lia."

"You don't have to worry, Mrs. Evenhell; you're safe with us," Rooster said, taking a loud sip of his iced coffee. "We'll lose those idiots before we head back to your apartment."

I glanced down at my cell phone. Maybe I should tell Brisden to call the whole thing off. If the Ten Dragons were involved, did we want a three-way gunfight? Yet, as the lights of Columbus Circle came into view, I had a feeling it was already too late.