, I have Shauna over. She's at the point where she's done pining and ready for revenge, so we amateurishly plot her ex's doom while painting each other's nails.

"What if Michael and what's-her-face get pulled over on the way to dinner, and his registration is expired, and he's driving too fast, so the officer puts them both in jail for the night?" Her fingers deliver smooth, even strokes to her toes, her face contorted into an excited, plotting smirk.

I purse my lips, trying not to laugh at her. "Um, Shauna, I don't think you usually go to jail for that. And why would both of them get locked up?"

She gives me an are-you-serious look, as if I'm the dumbest person she's ever met. "Duh, Ros. She was aiding and abetting."

I'm not really one for gossip and trash talk, but I let Shauna continue on her tirade about how horrible Michael's new girlfriend is, about how she's not a natural blonde and isn't really a size two and so on, my thoughts eventually drowning her out, drifting to things more interesting and less vapid.

I think about the landscape I'm going to paint for Daniel's fundraiser, already planning out the colour scheme and textures. I think about the plus one that the invite came with, the idea still nagging.

"Hey, Shauna," I begin, once there's a small lull in her speech, "Do you wanna be my date for this thing in about a month? Daniel's office is doing this charity fundraiser and he bought me an extra ticket." Implicit is the idea that I have no boyfriend or plans to bring a significant other, and she raises a knowing eyebrow.

"Um, babe, you know I'd love to but like, this dry spell of yours is seriously starting to worry me. Do I need to set you up with another one of my cousins?"

Immediately, I regret bringing it up, and traumatic images of Shauna's various male relatives flash before my eyes. "No," I say quickly, "please don't." I purse my lips, trying hard to suppress my growing laughter. "I don't think I would be able to survive another one of your blind dates."

She shrugs, starting on the other foot. "Your call, Ros. But you're hot, and you deserve a real date." She gives me a suggestive wink. "Not that I'd pass up any chance to get near that brother of yours. Is he seeing anyone right now?"

I groan, shooting her a disgusted glare. She's had a not-so-secret crush on Daniel since we were in junior high, and her tastes have expanded little since then. "Gross, Shauna. Maybe I should look for a date after all...."

She gives me a light whack with the nail file, her full lips pulling into a pout. "Give me the details and I'll get back to you, okay?"

The timer goes off and I rush into the kitchen—my batch of cupcakes from Monday only lasted a few of days. Definitely time to make a new recipe. These ones are strawberry, and they smell amazing as I take them out, the icing already waiting in the fridge.

I haven't done my fingers yet so I put the cakes onto a rack to cool before joining Shauna again, and she gets me to do her right hand for her, and I get her to do mine.

We drone on again about the most useless things, but I turn the six o'clock news on as soon as the hour changes, and Shauna rolls her eyes, telling me that I'm no fun. "Excuse me for wanting to be well-informed," I retort, and I turn it up, because the story catches my attention.

Shauna goes on her phone as I watch, the reporter standing in a packed courthouse, talking about how the recent surge in organized crime has sparked even more police investigation. My face pales when begin speaking about the body found almost three weeks ago, how new suspects have emerged.

Shauna says something but it barely registers, and I stay fixed on the screen as they mention threats against witnesses to gang-related offences. I swallow. The story strikes way too close to home. They get a balding, slightly overweight man in a suit to talk about the Italian mafia's role in the Vancouver underworld, and I'm so absorbed that I don't even pay attention to the knock on the door.

I wave Shauna away to see who it is and she says something dirty to me before she leaves, my attention glued to the TV. "A leading expert from the University of British Columbia's Department of Criminology says that most mafia organizations are family-based and highly hierarchical. Currently, the Santino family is believed to be highly influential in the Vancouver area, though few links between them and organized crime have been definitively proven. Members have been charged with a wide variety of criminal offences ranging from trafficking to extortion."

The news shifts to something about local education and school boards, so I bring my focus back to Shauna, who just closed the door. "Oh my god, Ros!" Her voice is a high-pitched squeal, and she sounds dangerously excited; shrill and full of amazement. She drops the box of pizza that was just delivered onto the coffee table, her hands flapping wildly in the air. "Oh. My. God. I can't even, Rosalyn."

I stand up and go over to where she's jumping up and down, pointing at the door and whispering hoarsely to me. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that your neighbour is the hottest, sexiest man alive?"

My face goes red, my chest filling with dread. There is no way that I'm getting out of this one, and I know it instantly. "Um, I didn't think it really mattered, Shaun." I give her a small shrug. "I don't really know him, and I hardly ever see him." I lie straight thorough my teeth, and she believes me.

"Seriously, Ros? How can you even sleep knowing that something as gorgeous as him lives right next door?" She licks her lips, and I give her my most disgusted look.

"Is sex all you think about?" I make my way into the kitchen, hoping to avoid her onslaught of harassment, but she just follows me, her excitement only building.

"Babe, all I know is that one minute I'm paying for the pizza, and the next, this stunning, beautiful man walks by and unlocks the place right next to yours, vanishing before my eyes." She shakes her head, apparently unable to believe it. "Do you know his name?"

I pretend to rack my brain, coming up short. "Um, I think it's something Italian? Starts with an N? Gosh, Shauna, I can't remember. I only met him like once."

She looks outraged, a hand on her hip and disappointment written all over her face. "You are not telling me you haven't tried talking to him. He's gorgeous! Unfairly, incredibly so." She groans. "Of course a boring old prude like you gets stuck with the hot neighbour. My neighbour is eighty-two and knits me scarves in the middle of July."

My nails long since dry, I carry a couple plates back into the living room, and I give her my most withering look. "Shauna, if I'm a prude then you're the sluttiest person I've ever met."

She shrugs, grabbing a large slice from the box. "At least maybe then I could sleep with that." She nods her head in the direction of Nero's room.

We sit on the floor and I scroll through the pay-per-view list, trying to get Shauna to see some reason. "But like, okay, he might be hot, but we don't know anything about him. He could be some sort of serial axe murderer or something. How could you be okay just jumping into bed with him?" Unbidden, my mind conjures up images of his hands clutching my wrists, my back pressed against the door. I remember the heavy fight I heard through the walls, and my blood runs cold.

Her jaw drops, giving me one of her signature are-you-stupid looks. "Have you seen that face? Men like that are made so that cute girls like us can sleep with them. It's simple logic."

I groan, leaning against her and making a face. "He's all yours, Shauna. Just don't say I didn't warn you." After another minute of flicking through the list of movies, my eye catches on a title, and the idea is so apt and compelling that I start begging. "Oh, please Shauna, can we have a marathon? Please?"

She gives me an over-exaggerated sigh. "Fhine. As long as you confirm that you wave all your rights to the hot neighbour to me, no exceptions."

I readily agree, fastening my eyes on the screen. I know Shauna loves it too because she's silent as we watch Marlin Brando and Al Pacino and the rest of the mobsters as they flit across the screen, and I unintentionally make parallels between the characters and the real-life criminal living next door.

I have an itch to tell Shauna everything, but I refrain, knowing how badly it would end. And besides... having my own little secret is frightening and nerve-wracking, but at least I know that it is one hundred and ten percent mine.

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