Another chapter. Enjoy!

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my apartment on Sunday, I run into a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed completely in black as he leaves Nero's room. He's gruff with a large scar running down the right side of face, dark and skulking. I let him pass me as we both head towards the elevator, a mix of curiosity and alarm churning in my gut.

We both wait for a lift down to the parkade, and I pretend to be busy on my phone, trying not to make any contact with him. He looks like trouble, and I consider waiting for the next one, but by the time the doors slide open he's holding the button for me, and I have little choice but to go in.

We stand in silence until a sharp ringing echoes across the confined space, and he pulls out his cell phone, sounding irritated and rushed as he talks in Italian. His voice is low and rough and grating, like a brick, and it's vaguely familiar but I dismiss it, knowing I've never seen this man before.

I try to pick up some words from his conversation that I can look up later—the thought that eavesdropping could be a bad idea barely registers. My ear is untrained to the smooth quickness of his language, so no words stick, and when we exit the elevator we go separate ways.

As I unlock my car, I hear a new voice as another man, large and tough and mean, comes from the elevator. "Angelo," he begins, addressing the man I rode down with, and it it clicks in my head, where I heard that voice before. They speak in rapid Italian and I climb into my car, knowing that I'll be able to get nothing from their conversation, and that listening in will do me much more harm than good.

As I drive, I think about the two men, both of whom must have come from Nero's place. It's strange that I haven't heard so much as a peep from next door. I appreciate the fact that Nero has made an effort to keep the noise down. It's obviously about his security—absolutely nothing to do with my comfort—but I let myself believe it's Nero thinking about me. Stupid.

At dinner, a conversation starts about work, as it always does. Daniel talks about the fundraiser, and my parents listen, interested, saying that it sounds fun. Just as my mom serves dessert, my dad clears his throat, as if to make an announcement. "So, Daniel and I have some news."

My mom and I exchange a curious look. I watch as he and Daniel share a small nod. "Our firm," he says, talking about the criminal law office that he and Daniel work at, "has recently taken on a high profile case that we thought we should tell you guys about."

This piques my interest; I wonder if it's about anything I've heard on the news. Dad takes a sip of his coffee before he continues.

"The firm recently decided to represent a man who's been charged in relation to a recent death—I can't disclose a lot of information, but it is related to the rise in gang violence in the city. Do you remember the body found a few weeks ago by the marina?"

My blood freezes in my veins, and I swear my heart completely stops for a full second. I nod slowly, though I have a sharp, sinking feeling about where this is going.

Daniel continues where Dad left off, and I know that this is good for him, because he's still young in his career and this case could be a big thing. I'm too alarmed to consider his excitement, however, because my mind is occupied with the recollection of Nero and I, talking about this same death just a little while ago. "We're hoping to plead not guilty on all charges. We can't go into details, but it seems like there's a pretty good chance that he's innocent."

My dad, the well-experienced veteran, chuckles. "We'll see." He gives my brother a small clap on the shoulder, and I know he's proud that they get to work on this one together. "We might think so, but remember that we still have to come up with conclusive evidence. I know the prosecutor on this one and he's tough." Daniel nods. "Everyone wants a conviction." Dad pauses, his voice conveying his skepticism. "They're not going to make it easy for us, no matter how innocent we might think he is." Daniel shrugs, conceding.

I listen as my mom pitches in, and they go on to talk about case strategy and trial dates. I take in all I can, waiting for an opportunity to interject. "Um, Dad?" He smiles at me expectantly, eager to answer my questions. "What kind of crime organization is the defendant a part of, again?" I wait for his answer, knowing he's glad that I'm taking an interest in his work—something I don't usually do besides to be polite. "I mean, how can you be so sure he's innocent with all of this violence happening around the city? Aren't you worried you'll be helping put a criminal back onto the street?"

Dad and Danny both nod, and my father lets Daniel explain. My brother fixes his eyes on me. He's obviously thrilled to talk about the case. "Well, Ros, there might be evidence to show that it was a different group responsible for it. The tricky part is that both the defendant and the people we think are truly responsible are actually part of conflicting organizations, so we have to be careful not to get involved with anything too... messy."

I nod, understanding, and Daniel looks glad that he explained it well. "What organizations?" A creeping feeling is climbing its way up my spine, and the gaze that the two men exchange confirm it for me.

Dad takes a second to consider whether or not it's privileged information, but he tells me regardless. "We think it's related to the Italian mafia."

I try my hardest to suppress my unease, knowing that if I'm not careful it will overwhelm me. I try to keep my voice steady as I give my two favourite men in the whole world a small, supportive smile. "That sounds super interesting, Dad."

My mom agrees, pouring me another cup of coffee, which, at this point, I need to help settle my fraying nerves. "Just be careful, okay?" I sound like the worried, concerned family member I am, and I know that they brush my warning aside. They have no idea exactly how much I mean it. "It sounds pretty dangerous, and you don't want to get caught in some sort of violent, mafia war thing, right?"

They let out laughs, thinking my worry is unnecessary. I smile back, though my anxiety is hidden and growing. "This isn't like The Godfather, Ros," Daniel teases, and I roll my eyes, though I silently hope that they take me seriously.

There is no sign of my inner turmoil. I remain calm on the outside, letting Daniel finish. "The police are the good guys, and the world isn't as corrupt as in the movies." I purse my lips when he's not looking, having my own doubts about his unwavering certainty in justice and humanity.

The three of them continue talking about work and law and legal precedents, and I watch them, my mind churning in a nauseous, worried frenzy. I think about exactly what they've gotten themselves into, my smart, brilliant family, and how somehow, I ended up in the middle of it.

To them, it's no big deal. They have no clue that I have a huge, horrific part in this. The mafia. Immediately I know that Nero, and Angelo, and all the other burly, hardened Italian men that roam around my building are in it, the 'mafia'.

The word, foreign and until now distant from my life, conjures up images from The Godfather, and I'm disappointed with how naive and simplistic my view is. My mind chews over the many, complicated pieces of this puzzle, and it's a wonder I don't explode.

I'm a witness. The idea is chilling. I heard Nero and Angelo, plotting to kill a man, and I watched the screen in my parent's living room a couple days later, seeing him dead. I went home, a guilty mess, and had an intense yet stunningly clear conversation with my neighbour in which he all but confirmed that the man died at his orders.

And here I am, exactly three weeks later, hearing that my dad and my brother are defending a man who has been accused of this same crime, though I know exactly who did it. I know, as well as they do, that the person who is being charged with this crime is innocent. And I know that the people responsible would love to see him go to jail for it anyways.

Don't I have an a obligation to come forward? Isn't it completely, one hundred percent wrong to hide all of this, knowing its significance, no matter how much I would like to forget about it?

"Hey, Rosy," Daniel says, looking at me expectantly, "The arraignment is Thursday at 5 if you want to come and watch. Dad and I and another lawyer from the firm will be there." He offers me this information with the idea that I would enjoy watching it, that I would find it entertaining. "It'll be pretty short, but we could go out for dinner afterwards, if you want."

I give him an expertly constructed smile, putting my acting skills to excellent use as I assure him I'd love to come, as if it has no actual affect on my life. As if it's just to support him on his big case, not to ensure my own survival, or to assuage my own crippling guilt.

I feel the signs of an oncoming headache. My heart is beating way too fast in my chest, my breaths shallow and uneven. It's a miracle how I can even maintain a semblance of normalcy, my family completely oblivious to the mess that's filling my mind and the rest of me; it's a burning, freezing, debilitating worry.

I know that this will end badly.

I know that at some point, I will have to choose between my family, who represent the truth, and my dangerously complicated, stunningly attractive neighbour who represents everything evil and illegal in the world, who I know won't hesitate to slit my throat if I tell anyone about what he's done.

I know he wouldn't think twice before getting rid of me, no matter how may cupcakes I bake for him.

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