But I have a job to do. A very serious job, that I won’t compromise on. Not for him, not for anyone. I draw in a breath.

  I’ll research what I can find out about him both from public online sites and databases and what I can find here at the station, but anything I look up on a work laptop is subject to investigation. Practically a goddamn fishbowl. So I’ll have to be selective and careful.

  I blink in surprise when I realize I listened to the rest of my messages without actually hearing any of them. My God. That isn’t me. That isn’t what I do. I’m fastidious and factual, a classic perfectionist. I don’t… just stop paying attention. God.

  I replay my messages a bit sheepishly, ashamed that I allowed myself to lose focus, and over a man. I return a few calls, take down more information, and look at some promising notes on intel that came back from some leads I’d followed before I left the office.

  I should go through my case files and plan my day. I have at least three witnesses I need to interview and a suspect from Saturday’s murder. The guy’s lawyered up, though, and the last time I tried to interview him he didn’t want to talk, but the latest call from his attorney is promising. He’s probably formulated his answer.

  But I don’t want to touch these cases. I don’t want to do interviews. I want to find out everything I can about the Rossi family and now.

  I pick up my phone and dial one of the interns.

  She answers on the first ring. “Detective King?”

  “Hey,” I say, trying to put a smile in my voice. “Can I ask you to do me a favor?”

  Punting my jobs to anyone else is probably the last way for me to get a promotion, but right now, I have bigger fish to fry. I give her my primary suspect’s name and the attorney’s phone number, then ask her to record the responses. I’ll go over those… later.

  “Yes, ma’am, of course, ma’am!” She’s an eager little beaver. I wince at the ma’am but let it slide. I’m not even thirty for Christ’s sake but I am far above her in rank so it’s fine.

  I shove away the distinct feeling that I’m shirking my duty. I shouldn’t be shuffling intel for a murder investigation off onto someone else.

  But it’s the Rossi family…

  Some days I wish I had more of a “made for TV” detective job, but then some days truth is stranger than fiction. Still, a day in the life of a crime scene detective means interviews, interviews, and more interviews. I’ll have to put the power of persuasion into some of them and above all, the power of observation. But right now… I have Rossi family intel to dig up.

  And that trumps everything.

  I look at the folder on my desk, and even a cursory glance shows conflicting information’s come in on one of my cases. Another confirms what I already knew from the evidence—a strong case of suicide versus homicide—and I don’t look forward to breaking that information to the family.

  Mario Rossi. Mario. Soft lips and a seductive voice that melted every reserve I ever had, a thick wad of cold, hard cash, a fast, luxurious ride, and a weapon he was all too familiar with.

  I close my eyes.

  The warm feel of his calloused hand, secure and reassuring, on the small of my back. The weight of his body over mine, our naked bodies pressed together like an embrace, sultry and heated and so natural it felt like breathing. The perfectly stretched feel of him inside me, filling me until every inch of my body felt owned by him…

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose when my phone rings. I answer on the second ring, willing myself to stay calm and professional. “Detective King.”

  I take the call and listen to my intern, but it’s the usual intel. One witness’s interview contradicts his previous one. The excitement in her voice tells me she thinks this means something, that it’s a dead giveaway that he’s the suspect in the case. I speak as patiently as I can.

  “It’s fairly common, to tell you the truth. Witnesses under duress or stress at the time often misremember details. You’ll find it more common than not, but the key is to continue to press for more information and use our resources to determine what’s truth and what isn’t.”

  She sighs, deflated. “Yes, ma’am, will do.”

  When I hang up the phone, Grady is standing in the doorway. I blink in surprise but quickly school my features. Or try to.

  I despise this man.

  “Did I take you by surprise, Emma? Must’ve been an important call. It’s completely unlike you to not know who’s coming before they even darken the shadow of your door.”

  He gives me that snake-like smile I’m so familiar with, then sidles the rest of the way into my office.

  Truth be told, if Grady wasn’t an untrustworthy asshole, I’d think the guy was hot. He’s tall (though not as tall as Mario), clean-shaven (I much prefer stubble), has chocolate brown eyes instead of blue (nowhere near as mesmerizing), but otherwise a symmetrical, outwardly handsome face that’s… used to getting his way. And that’s where his looks go straight down the toilet. Arrogance is an ugly bitch.

  The strong cut of his jaw and the flash of white teeth don’t enamor me but remind me of a wolf preparing to attack its prey. Still, he’s classically good-looking in a haughty sort of way, like a cruel king sitting on a throne. There isn’t a doubt in my mind he robbed, stole, and plundered his way to his position of leadership in the CID.

  Casually, he folds himself into the seat across from me and crosses an ankle over his knee. “How was your night?”

  Night? Why’s he asking me about my night? That is none of his goddamn business. Still, I don’t want to seem defensive.

  I fold Mario’s wallet in half and slide it onto my lap.

  “Not bad.” The biggest lie I’ve told in a while. “Uneventful after the funeral.”

  “Ah, right,” he says with a sympathetic nod that’s all show. “And you’re doing alright after all that?”

  After all that. God, what a douche.

  “I’m fine, thanks. My mom and I weren’t close.”

  Truth.

  He nods thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “I understand.” He pushes himself to standing and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hungry? I was thinking maybe we could grab something at that new little bistro on the corner.”

  My boss… is asking me… to get lunch with him? This triggers every radar on my professional business radar there is.

  “I’m good, but thanks. Maybe some other time.” I plaster on a fake smile that seems to pacify him.

  He fake-smiles back. “I’d really like to have lunch with you.” He lowers his voice and shuts the door. The skin on the back of my neck prickles.

  “Not today, Grady, but thanks.”

  He drums his fingers on my desk and lets them brush mine. I recoil.

  “Excuse me,” I begin, prepared to tell him off, when he sighs and draws away.

  “It would be in your best interest to play nice, Emma,” he says.

  “Excuse me?”

  Before I can respond, he leaves. I sit, stunned.

  “That was… weird,” I mutter to myself. Was he hitting on me? Did he cross a line? Was he just threatening me?

  Did he know more about my night than he let on?

  Whatever. He’s an arrogant jerk who just likes getting his way.

  I shake my head and try to go back to work. For fuck’s sake, the absolute worst part about an office job is the inability to actually do your work. I mutter to myself as I make more notes from my inbox, categorize the next steps I need to take in order of priority, and tally a few more emails that have come in since I entered the office this morning.

  Finally, I’ve satisfied enough of my daily requirements that I can… play.

  Time for the good part.

  I slide my desk drawer open and take a blank notebook out. Open to a fresh page. Write R Fam at the top of the page, in lame code so no one suspects what I’m doing if they stumble on my notes.

  I type Mario Rossi into the search bar.

  My jaw drops. There is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  There he is, with a woman on his arm.

  Two women.

  Driving a race car with a leggy brunette at his side.

  Kissing the neck of a stunning redhead.

  I was played. Mario Rossi is a player. A wealthy player who thinks he’s above the law.

  We’ll see about that.

  My eyes go wide at the hits. I sigh, shake my head… then pick up my pen and get to work.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mario

  “After all these years, after everything we’ve been through…” Romeo steeples his fingers at his desk as his voice trails off. He looks tired and weary. His wife Vittoria, after several years of trying, finally had a baby, making Romeo far more powerful in the eyes of The Family. Rank and position are only one jewel in the Rossi family crown; a wife and children are the next most important requirements. He’s tired, though, my oldest brother, and probably not just physically. Late night feedings and the weight of responsibility can tire a guy.

  I half expected him to grab me by the ear and drag me off to punish me, like he did when I was twelve years old and he caught me smoking a joint behind the high school. I wouldn’t raise a hand against him even in self-defense. There was a time when I was almost as afraid of Romeo as I was my father, but time proved my father to be no more than a narcissistic bully, whereas Romeo was driven by brotherly concern and the need to keep us all safe. He’s become the true patriarch of the family.

  I really do hate letting him down. We all do. After being raised by my bully of a father, we’ve all forged deep connections with one another, a brotherly loyalty unlike any other.

  Romeo didn’t drag me off or yell or cause a scene, though, contrary to what Tavi and Orlando prepared me to expect. He only sighed when we came in and pointed wordlessly to the corner of The Castle where his office lies.

  Mama gave me a huge hug, a wordless declaration that once again she feared for her son’s safety and once again, she thanked her guardian angel and the patron saints she prayed to religiously for delivering her son home safely… for now. Nonna smacked my back affectionately and promised to feed me heartily and “fatten me up,” because apparently anything less than fifty pounds overweight looks emaciated to Nonna.

  My sister Marialena gave me a covert wink, a silent plea to tell her where I’d gone and what I’d done, when I was released from interrogation. She and I have always been the ones who pushed the limits, and neither of us has ever judged the other for it. Quite the opposite. She smoked her first joint with me, and came to me when she needed a drink. She’s hardly an addict, but knows that I won’t ever judge her for needing to take the edge off. And I’m the first one she calls whenever shit goes down and she’s in trouble. I’ve never had to call her, but damn does it feel good to have someone in my corner right about now.

  Orlando and Tavi told me on the way home that the other men who are usually here—a new inductee named Dario and my cousins—are scouting a new location for a North Shore line of businesses we’re thinking of opening. I’m glad. I’d rather not get reprimanded or whatever the fuck with a damn audience. I wonder if Romeo sent them on an errand intentionally to give us more privacy. Privacy is hard to find.

  Romeo’s dressed in a suit with a button-down shirt but no tie. It’s not unusual for him, but it does make me wonder if he had any meetings or appointments earlier in the day. He sighs and looks over my shoulder at my brothers.

  Tavi narrows his eyes at me. “Tell him,” he growls.

  Last year when Romeo was sent to jail, Tavi was leader-in-command. Apparently he hasn’t really let that go.

  I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. “Won a drag race, supposedly against the wrong damn person.”

  “Right. Lucas Peterson. The brat’s got an ax to grind and won’t he let you know it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve been telling you for a while it was time to let that shit go, Mario,” Romeo says sternly. His lips press together. I half wonder if I’ve crossed a line thick enough to exile me to our family home in Tuscany or menial labor at one of our new restaurants on the North Shore. He’s not above a beatdown or “taxing,” demanding we pay a fee for a transgression. He’s chosen humiliation at times as punishment, but most of the time doesn’t have to think along those lines at all. Our mob runs like a well-oiled machine. We haven’t had punishment by execution for the worst of crimes since our father led our family.

  “Yeah.” I blow out a breath.

  “So winning against Peterson ain’t the only problem here. What else?” His words are stern and direct, nothing at all like our father, but the tone leaves me feeling a little apprehensive. Reminiscent of being in the exact same seat on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from our father. He wasn’t above a backhanded slap or a beating, no matter our age. We all lived in fear of his towering rage, and a guy doesn’t forget shit like that easily.

  “So I took a girl to bed.”

  Again, and again, and again, and fuck it but I don’t regret it.

  “Naturally.” Romeo’s lips quirk up. That isn’t a surprise to him. “What else is new?”

  “She was beautiful, Rome. So fuckin’ gorgeous. Alone and in mourning, just came back from her mama’s funeral.”

  Romeo’s eyes dance at me, even as Orlando curses under his breath and Tavi cracks his knuckles. One could say I’m Rome’s favorite, probably because he saw how much our father hated me. He’d never admit it, but my brothers don’t miss a thing.

  “Ah. An act of altruism, then, was it? Mario, you think all women are beautiful.”

  I shrug. “They are.”

  “Tell him,” Orlando orders.

  I sigh. “Spent the night with her and believe you me, it was epic.”

  Romeo tosses up a palm. “If you think I wanna hear whatever kinky shit got your rocks off, think again, brother. Stick to the facts. You wanted a night off so you went dark. Even though you know it’s strictly against our code. Even though you know as a member of the inner sanctum you’re required to be on the grid and respond to communication from me at a moment’s notice. Even though you know that the greater risk is that when you go undercover, you lose your motherfuckin’ guard.”

  I wince.

  For decades, I’ve only ever wanted to prove myself to my brothers. To show them I ain’t just a manwhore or party animal, but am hardworking and dependable and deserve the rank granted to me. I don’t like the reputation I’ve earned. I crave their approval. When our father died and Romeo took the lead, I felt there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. And I’ve saved their asses more times than I can count. But now…

  “Yeah, man. I just wanted a night off. I went dark because this girl… she was special.”

  Romeo raises a brow. Now that’s a line I haven’t used before, because I’ve never believed it to be true.

  “Right,” he says thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “And what happened?”

  “She took off this morning. Before I woke up.”

  His brows raise in surprise. “You missed her leaving the room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you drinking or high or both?”

  I look away. “Drinking. But she’s slick, man. The girl knew how to move quietly.”

  “Slick,” Romeo repeats. “And what else did she do? Just leave?”

  “Nah, man. Stole my wallet and phone.”

  Romeo stares at me, unblinking. The only indication that he’s angry is a slight flushing of his cheeks and the way his steepled fingers come together as if folded in prayer, but his knuckles whiten.

  “You won an illegal race against the governor’s son. Went dark. Took a girl to bed you didn’t know, who managed not only to escape without your notice, but lifted your wallet and phone, too?” He shakes his head. “Jesus, Mario, what the fuck am I going to do with you?”

  Yeah, it sounds a lot worse when he says it all like that.

  I don’t respond. I feel like a Class-A fuckup right about now, and I don’t wanna dig myself into a deeper hole. I swallow and shake my head. “Sorry, Rome. I really am.”

  He nods. “I bet you are. But it was only a matter of time before your heedless behavior would come to something like this, wasn’t it?” Oof. Now that has Narcisso Rossi written all over it. Heedless behavior.

  I blow out a breath, squirming under the uncomfortable scrutiny. “How can I make it up to you? I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  He strokes the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Did you exchange names?”

  “No, but if she has my wallet she knows who I am now.”

  “So it was a real I.D.”

  “Yeah.” We rarely have need to carry fakes.

  “We have to find out if that’s a problem,” he says softly. “Any indication that she could be a rival? Someone on the inside? Did she set you up?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, man. No way.”

  “When you lead with your fuckin’ dick, it’s easy to think that,” Orlando says. He ought to know. His wife Angelina hoodwinked him into thinking she was someone else altogether. By the time he found out, she was already pregnant with his child and bearing his ring and name. It all worked out, and they’re happily married with two kids of their own, but they had their fair share of challenges to overcome.

  “Right.” I scrub a hand across my brow. But they didn’t see her last night. They didn’t hear the sincerity in her voice or see the way she submitted herself fully to me. They don’t know how good it felt to hold her, to make love to her, or how real it felt when she folded herself in my arms when we were drunk on sex and exhausted.

  They didn’t see what I did—a woman plagued with her own demons who needed to escape them for a night as badly as I did.

  “You know you deserve to be punished after something like this,” Romeo says. “For so many reasons.”

  “Right. I know it, brother, and I’m sorry. I won’t fight anything you say, I promise.” Jesus. I’d stand with my hands behind my goddamn back at this point. Humility in the face of having royally fucked up can go a long way.

 

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