Page 11 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

SARAH

“ D enied,” I mutter, staring furiously down at my phone. “Of course it was fucking denied.”

Despite orders from my captain to shut down the case and rule Belle’s death as a gang killing, I’ve been doing everything I can to stop that from happening.

The parcel left on my doorstep is a clear sign that this has nothing to do with the Mafia that has New York in a chokehold.

The only thing I can’t work out is whether or not this is the real Painter or if someone is just being a copycat.

My therapists back in Montana would order me to hand this case over to someone else and not think about it, but I can’t do that.

I can’t let him get away again .

As a result of spending a night panicking on the roof of my building, I’ve doubled down on my investigation efforts which includes trying to get a warrant for Belle’s father.

He refuses to talk to me willingly and he’s the only one with intimate knowledge of her life.

He could very well be sitting on a clue about who did this to her and not even know it. If only he would talk to me.

But the most recent email to land in my inbox is a denial of my warrant request, putting me right back to square one.

“Bad day?” Bobby, the cafe owner, stops by my table with several empty cups dangling from his fingers.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“I know what you do for a living. I’d be inclined to believe you.”

I squint up at him, studying the thick beard that hugs his jaw for a long moment. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

Bobby leans back and rests against the empty table across from me. “Try me.”

“Alright.” I take a deep, calming breath. “I’m working a murder case. On the surface, it’s pretty cut and dry, and given the city we live in, most would chalk it down to collateral damage. An accidental death of someone caught in the crossfire.”

“But you think differently?”

“I know differently. Too many aspects of the case are suspicious so I don’t think it’s gang related at all. I think there’s a psychopath wandering the streets and we’re overlooking them because so much shit gets pawned off as gang warfare.”

“Is it a gut feeling or do you have evidence?”

My heart skips briefly up to my throat as the image of the Saran Wrap and makeup palette jump into my mind. “Circumstantial evidence,” I admit, remembering my captain’s words about how often Saran Wrap is used to kill. “But eerily similar to an old case.”

“Oh?” Bobby’s brows dart up and a spark of interest ignites in his eyes.

“Just… nothing important. It’s just familiar, y’know?” I can’t tell him the truth. The moment the word serial killer gets out, people go crazy and there are enough true crime addicts in this city that they’d end up doing more harm than good.

“So it’s mostly gut instinct,” Bobby muses, rubbing at his beard. “Well, far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, but surely, if your instinct is telling you something is off, then it’s better to follow that, right? You don’t want to end up arresting the wrong person.”

Or no one at all.

Bobby’s innocent view on how this case might end is rather heartwarming. He doesn’t even consider that the case will get closed and shelved with no real answers attached. If only that were true.

“You’re right.” I flash him a smile. “Thanks for letting me bounce that around.”

“Anytime. Besides, this kind of customer service is what keeps you coming back, right?” He winks at me and is quickly pulled away by another customer at the counter, leaving me to my mess of thoughts.

On one hand, he’s right. I can’t settle until I’ve followed this gut feeling through until the end.

The only problem is, anyone I tell about The Painter is just going to look at me like I’m crazy.

My captain was clear about his thoughts about the connection, but while I can’t deny the chance that it’s just a coincidence, the parcel sent to my address makes this personal.

I’m being toyed with. I know it, so I have to weigh my options.

Either he’s back, in which case I have to do everything in my power not to shrivel up into a ball of terror and let him walk again, or there’s a copycat with enough knowledge to know my history with the killer.

Both options are terrible.

There is a third option. Someone is trying to scare me off the case by sending shit to my address that they think will make me back off out of fear that I’ll be next. Following that strand would likely get me to the killer faster and would bring me back to the original two choices.

Fuck.

My thoughts are going round and round with no end in sight. I can’t help Belle this way.

Draining my cold coffee, I leave some extra dollars on the table as a thank you to Bobby and head outside with my laptop shoved deep into my bag. I need to go home and get some sleep before this case consumes me.

Despite the heat of the sun during the day, May evenings are still chilly so I huddle into my coat as my phone blares to life.

Brant’s name flashes on the screen and my heart drops.

I took the longest, most obnoxious path known to man to try and get that arrest warrant in the hopes that it wouldn’t get back to my captain, but given how he’s now calling me at eight at night, I think that failed.

“Hello?”

“Sarah, what did I tell you? You’re like a dog with a bone. You just don’t know when to let things go.”

“Hardly. You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think there’s a reason you don’t want me investigating this case.”

“Are you trying to accuse me of something?”

“Not directly,” I mutter, glancing up and down the street as I cross. “But what happened to the good captain known for supporting his officers? A girl died, Brant. I’m not just going to walk away from this.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I’m trying to look out for you, Sarah? Maybe I’m trying to stop you from ending up in the wrong crosshairs.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know who Belle is. Who she is related to. You know they deal with things internally.”

“So? They’re criminals, Brant. And you shouldn’t be bending to their whims. Or their money.”

“Choose your next words very carefully,” Brant warns, but despite the threat in his voice, it doesn’t faze me.

“Look, you can paint it as trying to look out for me, but we both know!”

A solid impact to my back sends my phone flying out of my hand as something hard and heavy knocks me clean off my feet while hot pain explodes through my ear.

A yelp of surprise tears past my lips and I have just enough time to throw my hands out to protect my face before I hit the ground with a thump.

All air is forced out of my lungs upon impact and for a long moment, I’m in a daze.

My head hurts, my heart races, and it feels like a tight, hot band is wrapping around my chest the longer I lie there.

What feels like forever turns out to be only a few seconds when I register that someone is on top of me.

Panic surges through me like rising vomit and I immediately begin to struggle.

I kick my legs out, throw my elbows and head back, twist and turn and writhe with every ounce of strength I have despite my lack of air.

“Hey!” calls a muffled voice from behind me, and my elbow collides with something solid.

“Get off!” I rasp. “Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

The weight rolls to the side and I gasp roughly, dragging air past my dry lips. As soon as I’m free, I shove myself upward and scramble back onto my feet just as another bullet whizzes past me. It narrowly misses me as the person beside me grabs my wrist and jerks me harshly to the left.

“Let go you, fucking—oh!”

I find myself staring up at my reflection in the shiny black visor of a motorcycle helmet. The person who tackled me is instantly recognizable as the biker who helped me when I was mugged on my birthday. Seeing him shocks me into silence and his grip tightens on my wrist.

“Come with me.” His deep, slightly muffled voice makes my racing heart skip a beat and warmth flushes through me from head to toe.

I’m barely given time to respond as he drags me down an alley away from whoever is taking shots at me.

He moves so quickly that I can barely keep up.

My head is still swimming and an aching heat radiates from the side of my head while my chest still feels like something is tightly wrapping around it.

We run together and burst out of the mouth of the alley where the stranger's bike is parked awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“Get on!” He barks out the command, and something inside me makes me obey without a second thought.

What the fuck is going on? Why is he here? And why the fuck is someone shooting at me?

Motorcycle guy slides onto the bike and half drags me on behind him, then he revs the engine the second my arms slide around his waist. My foot is barely off the ground when the bike screeches to life and we race off down the street going faster than any person should ever be able to travel.

Hold on, Sarah. Just hold on .

The world passes by too fast for me to register anything about where we’re going.

My heart pounds like a drum, and when I tuck my head between the stranger's shoulder blades, pain throbs loudly in my ear.

I tighten my grip and close my eyes, leaning into the man so that every shift of his body on each turn and weave through traffic is mirrored by my own body.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Chalk this up to another terrible decision that I’ve gotten on this stranger's bike without a thought and?—

Ah, shit.

My bag.

It fell from my shoulder when I was knocked to the ground and I didn’t get the chance to grab it.

I need to switch to one of those fanny packs.

It’s unclear how long we drive for, but when the bike finally begins to slow, I open my eyes and scan our surroundings.

All of the buildings are faintly familiar, but it doesn’t fully click where we are until we finally stop in a small parking lot tucked away behind some trees.

We’re actually not that far from my apartment because I recognize the nearby path and the blue bench where I’ve spent several summer evenings enjoying takeout from the nearby Korean place.

Excellent dumplings.

My mind wanders until the stranger turns off the bike and leans back into me. With his movement comes a jolt of reality and I immediately remove my arms from his waist and slide off the bike onto trembling legs.

“Holy shit.”

“Are you alright?” Motorcycle guy tilts his head as he looks at me, but all I can see is my own reflection highlighted by the single street light glowing above us.

But it’s definitely the same guy. The red piping on his helmet is exactly like what was in my dream, and as I follow that with my eyes, I catch the red lipstick stain from where I kissed him.

Oh, God, I forgot I did that .

Why didn’t he wipe it off?

“I said,” says the deep, muffled voice once more, “are you okay?”

I nod quickly as my knees knock together and my racing heart races not from adrenaline, but from the realization that someone shot at me.

Someone tried to kill me.

“I’m fine.” My trembling voice doesn’t offer much confidence.

The man slides from his bike and suddenly, his leather-clad hand cups my cheek and forces my head to turn to the side. “You’re bleeding.”

“What? No, I’m fine, I’m just—ow!” Intent on correcting him, I lift my hand to my ear, but hot pain immediately pulses out from the touch and my fingertips come away sticky with blood. “Ow.”

Motorcycle guy remains silent, apparently content now that he’s pointed out my injury.

“I didn’t even feel it.” I tenderly dab at the area again and wince just as his hand falls away from my face. The wound feels small, just a small slice to the outer shell of my ear, but while I hope to get an answer from my savior, he’s suddenly climbing back onto his bike.

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

He hits the ignition and the bike roars to life.

“Wait!” I clutch at his arm without thinking, and thick muscle flexes under my grasp. “What was that? Why were you even there?”

Silence.

“Why did you save me? Who was even shooting at me?”

Again he says nothing, but this time, he turns his head to face me, making me stare desperately at my own reflection. All other questions die because there’s something about the way he tilts his head that feels achingly familiar. Is it because he saved me on my birthday?

“Who… who are you?” I ask softly, tightening my grip on his arm as if that could prevent him from leaving.

He doesn’t speak. I stare at where I think his eyes must be and strain to see past my reflection and the glare. I’d take a hint, even the tiniest hint about who this man is just so I can thank him properly, but there’s nothing. He remains faceless and voiceless.

I should leave. I should walk away and report the attempt on my life, but something keeps me rooted to the spot.

How is it that the same man has saved me twice? Is it terrible that I wish I’d met him sooner? If he’d been around five years ago, then maybe…

Motorcycle guy moves suddenly as one hand vanishes behind his hip, then he pulls out a black handgun that glints dangerously in the light.

Despite every sensible thought in my mind screaming at how dangerous this is, I don’t feel it.

My heart is calming, albeit very slowly, and even the pressure in my head from the fall is easing.

I don’t feel like I’m in danger despite how I’m in a secluded park with a man and his gun.

The safety flicks off with a snap, and the nerves across my shoulders jump in anticipation.

He lifts the weapon, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Motorcycle guy lifts his gun skyward and shoots out the streetlight above us, sending the world into complete darkness other than the lights blinking on his motorcycle. His helmet clatters against the ground near my feet and then suddenly, one strong arm winds around my waist.

Hidden beneath a blanket of darkness, warm, soft lips crash against mine as Motorcycle Guy kisses me.