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T hey’ve left me here in the interrogation room to sit in silence, while they confer behind that mirror. Oh, they must know by now that they fucked up. And not just because they shot my lover. My hands turn to fists as I think of Nicolo.

No, they fucked up because there was nothing there to find. There were no records. None of the whores had anything to say, except for how pleasant their stay was, and that they’d never be caught soliciting. The Martellis are philanthropists, helping those in need.

Truly, Angel has been, well, an angel. She knew what to do, the right pressure and bribes needed. The cops can’t flip any of them.

By now, those fuckers have to be shitting themselves. Especially because they shot an unarmed man who showed no fucking aggression. Oh, they think I didn’t hear about how they plan to spin this. We’ve got fucking cameras recording everywhere. They’ll show that all Nicolo did was step in front of me when they came bursting in without even a damn knock. And yes, our lawyer will bring up the no knocking thing as well. Because while they assumed it was a business, it’s not. It’s private fucking property for a reason, assholes.

So I sit, I wait, and I plan to squeeze every bit of information out of them. They think they can play me? Watch and learn, fuckers. Watch. And. Learn.

Finally, the door opens, and I keep my anger banked far below the surface, so it doesn’t show. The first man who stumbles in tries to glare at me, but his eyes are a little too wide. Sweat dots his forehead, as if he thinks I’ll jump up and kill him in this very room. He’s a little on the stocky side, and there’s nothing special about his brown eyes. But hmm, the asshole behind him? This makes things more interesting… He's gotta be a fucking fed.

Plain enough suit—untailored, of fucking course—desperately in need of a good stylist, because that haircut is ridiculous, and while on the thin side, I’m sure that horrible suit covers some serious muscles. But his eyes? Now those are much more interesting. They’re brown as well, but the intensity in them…that’s quite enjoyable. I’d love to have him at my feet, even if it’s just to kill him.

Pretending to be innocent, I ask pleadingly, “How is my friend? Is he okay? Did we get Swatted? Are you here to help?”

The fed can’t keep in his snort, and I force myself to remain calm. The cop cringes, his eyes darting between us both. I’ve given him a golden opportunity and he knows it. Will he bite? Just how much is the fed running this goddamn shitshow?

“So, you’re Antonio Martelli.” I cock my head at the fed who spoke, the cop remaining silent as they sit.

It’s not a question, so I don’t respond. Hell, I’m sure they expected me to ask for a lawyer by now. That’s the only reason the fed is in the room. I haven’t asked, so he wants to play with me. Good luck. I love games.

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he says, “You have nothing to say?”

“I’m sorry, was that a question? You have my ID. Do you need to know more about me so we can figure this out? Am I being targeted? Do I need protection?” I have to bite the inside of my cheek at that, and seeing the way the fed flushes? Ah, yeah. Pressure point, baby.

“Do you need protection,” he says flatly, his nostrils flaring at the very thought. “Why would a renowned criminal—one of the so-called Martelli Boys—need protection? Or are you wanting to give up the Family? I suppose, I could find a deal for you…depending, of course, on your information.”

Shifting my stare to the cop, I ignore the fed, wanting to rile him up more. “What’s he talking about? You know my family works for the good of the people. And how much we contribute to charity. Especially the ones that benefit those in Blue who protect us. It’s why I’m so worried that we’ve had such a case of mistaken identity.”

The cop looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. He’s not one I’ve dealt with personally, or even recognize the name of. Then again, this really isn’t my department.

Swallowing, he nods toward me. “We, uh, do appreciate the contribution, but the, uh, general understanding is?—”

“What understanding? That we’re some sort of criminal family? If that’s what you believe, I’m sure those police charities would never have accepted a dime from us. That would be like…bribery or something.”

Hiding my smirk as the cop goes deathly white, I go to push further but the table jumps from fists hitting it. I turn my attention to the fed having an outburst instead. At least the cop has his name tag in place. Just who is this fucker?

“Bribery? You want to talk fucking bribery? Your so-called family—ruthless criminals, who have no morals, no boundaries, and care nothing for anyone except themselves—are willing to bribe anyone they want. And it isn’t always through these see-through charities. No, you walk around as if you are above the law. You do whatever the hell you want. But I’m here to tell you no, to show you that you aren’t above the law.”

I blink at him in astonishment. I was only pushing for a bit of information, does he know how much he just dropped in my lap? If this fucker isn’t behind Il Padrone’s disappearance—or at least tied to someone who is—I’d be very fucking surprised.

The cop reaches out and touches the fed’s jacket, a silent gesture that does nothing to decrease the man’s ire. Instead, he pushes away from the table, storming out and letting the door bang shut.

“My friend?” I ask again, trying to ignore the man who left, even though I want to ask lots of questions. No, it’s not something that I can learn right here.

“Ah, yes. Nicolo. I’m so very sorry that it happened. We obviously found no evidence that you were doing anything untoward. I think you’re likely right, and someone called in a false alarm. I promise, the cop who shot Nicolo will be placed on administrative duties until we know more. Until then, why don’t we have someone drive you to the hospital? I sincerely apologize.”

If I thought the officer was on the verge of breaking down before, it has nothing on the way his hands shake as he pushes his chair back and stands. He gestures for me to follow him, and despite his choppy movements, he makes rather good time as we go through the maze of the bullpen toward the lobby. I almost laugh as silence envelops the room when we walk through it. As soon as they notice me, especially seeing I’m not restrained or arrested, the stillness that hits is rather entertaining.

Once we're in the lobby, I turn toward him and decide to ask my questions anyway. “Officer McPhearson, who was the other guy? I mean, I don’t want to file an official complaint, but I need to at least let my lawyer know who I spoke with.”

Officer McPhearson’s shoulders slump as he mutters, “That was Federal Agent Tom Court.”

“Thank you, Officer. It does appear my ride is waiting here, so you don’t need to spend valuable time on me when you can be searching for those responsible for trying to harm my family. We don’t want this city to be hurt.”

His mouth hangs open, but before he can do more than splutter, I sail out of the lobby with one of our drivers trailing behind me. I slide into the backseat of the limo, all too ready for whatever alcohol is stashed here in the back. I don’t even need to direct the driver, he’ll head straight to the hospital.

That’s where the cops are dead wrong. Our men? They’re loyal to us. Dirty cops forget loyalty, but we’ll remind them—joyfully.