Page 15 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

SARAH

“ U sual?” Bobby greets me with his regular smile when I walk into the cafe the next day, wrapped up in the most comfortable clothes I own. Which, given that they’re leggings and a sweater, they’re not amazing, but I’m not used to taking time off. Especially when it’s forced.

“Actually, can I do something different today?”

Bobby pauses with one hand on a cup and frowns despite his smile. “You never order something different.”

“I know. I’m just feeling…” Shrugging, I deeply inhale the comforting scents of baked goods, coffee, and sweet syrups. “Different. I’m feeling different.”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Something with chocolate, I think. What’s that pink powder? I’m craving something sweet.”

Bobby rolls his eyes lightly and taps the container holding the pink powder. “Ruby hot chocolate?”

“Ooh, yes, please.”

He sets to work making my drink but keeps one eye on me as I rest against the counter. “No work?”

“Not today. Boss is forcing me to take some time off.”

Bobby pauses his whisking of the milk. “Really?”

“Yeah. Says I need a break. Maybe he’s right.

” Glancing out the window, my heart sinks a little to see nothing but an empty road.

Was I looking for my mystery biker? Maybe.

Yesterday feels like some kind of dream, but I also had the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.

I still don’t know what came over me. I’ve never exactly been impulsive, but something about that biker pinning me to the ground ignited something inside me that I didn’t know was there.

And considering how any kind of restraint usually tosses me into a full, desperate panic attack, it’s a wonder I ended up horny.

Is it because he’s faceless and that makes it easy?

Because he doesn’t speak much, if at all?

It was terribly stupid and reckless to fuck someone in an alleyway across the street, especially someone I don’t know.

But at the same time, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.

Hearing his soft breaths and moans escape that helmet while I was sucking him off was more arousing than I ever would have expected. And when he fucked me?

My pussy clenches at the thought and warm tingles rush down my arms.

Maybe his mystery is what appeals to me, and the lack of commitment from being around him.

Or it’s because when I’m with him, part of my mind just shuts off and I feel like myself again in a way I don’t fully understand.

I can enjoy him and I don’t have to deal with the sadness and confusion in his eyes when he sees the scars all over my body.

And if he does look sad, then it doesn’t matter because he’s nothing but a mask.

“Sarah?” Bobby’s slightly irritated voice pulls me out of my daydream.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted cream.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About your case?”

“For once, no. Just some other stuff.”

“Really?” Bobby lifts a brow. “I thought your case was pretty all-consuming these days.”

“It is. I just have something else on my mind, that’s all.”

Bobby’s eyes narrow faintly. “Fine.”

Fine ? What does he mean by that?

“Bobby—” Just as I’m about to ask, my phone rings and another flash of annoyance crosses Bobby’s face. Normally, I’d ignore the call since I’m on a forced holiday, but it’s not from Brant. It’s my old captain back in Montana. “I’m sorry, Bobby, I’ve got to take this.”

“Sure.” He sets the drink down in front of me. “Eight dollars.”

Unable to contest the cost since I already know his answer, I toss down enough bills to cover the drink and pick it up while mouthing thank you .

“Hello?”

“Sarah?”

“Arnold! I—wow, I never expected to hear from you again.” Flashing Bobby a smile he ignores, I hurry from the cafe and linger outside so I can hear him better. “You kicked me to New York and I thought that was the end of it.”

“Sarah, I’ve heard some troubling news.”

“Oh?”

“You’re digging around in The Painter files. Is it true?”

My heart sinks. I thought I’d covered my tracks while securing the copies of the old files, but clearly not. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” He sighs a little raspily. “Sarah, going back to that case is not good for you. You know this. It’s a cold case, an unfortunate dead one because of?—”

“I know,” I snap quickly, not needing to hear him say it.

“But this is important, okay? We had a murder here, a murder that has all the key notes of a Painter killing. Right down to the exact same brand of makeup. Plus, I’ve been getting parcels of that brand.

You can’t tell me it’s just a coincidence. ”

“Sarah, you were closer than most to that case. I’m sure a lot of things look like a connection from your point of view, but you have to understand that you might be seeing clues that aren’t really there.”

“These are some pretty glaring clues,” I mutter, sipping my drink but barely tasting the sweet, almost berry flavor. “Even Brant says the same, but I’m telling you, he’s back or… or there’s some kind of copycat or something.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you what I’m sure you already know, but this kind of obsession isn’t healthy.”

“Obsessed?” I straighten up and glare at a few passing cars. “You think this is obsession?”

“After what happened to?—”

“Don’t.” My heart begins to race. “It’s got nothing to do with that.”

“Then the advice I will give you is to drop the case. It’s not healthy for you. And if you really think there’s something to it, then pass it on to someone else and let them do the work. They will reach the same conclusions as you if there’s any connection there.”

I grip my phone until the edges cut into my palm.

Pass on the case? Give it to someone else?

How do I explain that as soon as this case leaves me, it will be shut down because they care more about keeping the Mafia happy than finding justice?

Without concrete proof of corruption, I can’t say anything to my old captain.

“Sarah?” He tries again as my silence drags on. “I’m only trying to look out for you.”

“I know. Thanks.” Abruptly hanging up, I close my eyes and force a few deep breaths as the last calm feelings from Motorcycle Guy get whisked away in the wind. “Fuck.”

Back inside the cafe, Bobby greets me with his usual smile, but it lacks some of its regular warmth. Or I’m so stressed that it just feels different.

“Everything good?” he asks as I place my empty cup on the counter.

“Uhm, not really. You ever feel like you’re so sure of something but everywhere you turn, people tell you that you’re wrong so you start to wonder if maybe you’re just crazy?”

“Oh, for sure. Salt-roasted coffee beans are the future, I’m telling you, but in the caffeine circles? I’ll get hanged.”

I give him a tired, polite smile for his humor even as my chest swirls with the fog of frustration.

“Okay, listen.” Bobby places one hand down on the counter and leans over. “You look like you need a break, so why don’t you wait until I clock out and then we can go and do something together?”

I wave off his offer, far too distracted by replaying the discussion with my old boss. “Thanks, but I think I’m just gonna go home.”

“But—”

“Thanks for the drink.”

Walking home gives me time to think, and I take the path through the park so that the smell of the trees and the dirt can help me pretend that I’m doing something good for my body.

With my car still in the shop for the tire repair, walking is much cheaper than the Uber.

As I wander the gravel paths, I replay every detail of Belle’s death in my mind and compare it to the old Painter cases.

The similarities to me are glaring, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Arnold was right.

Am I seeing connections that aren’t really there?

Weaving threads in my own attempt to make sense of something so cruel and twist it into something I understand so I have someone I can blame?

Maybe I’m so completely wrong that I should hang up my detective hat and forget that I ever tried.

And yet, even that feels wrong. I can’t be the only one who sees where the dots lead, but I do seem to be the only one trying to do something about it.

Except… Rocky Barati.

Last I heard, he was still looking into Belle’s death.

No one else is listening to me, so maybe I should reach out to him?

Asking a criminal I hate for help goes against everything I believe in.

This isn’t like when I helped Cormac. Back then, I was saving countless innocent lives from a war that was threatening to spill out onto the streets, but this?

Rocky and Belle? This is cold murder and a criminal using fucked up tactics to get justice.

But he very well may be the only chance I have at getting real advancement on this case. My department has closed ranks, my captain has put me on leave, and my old boss is surely one phone call away from alerting my old therapists.

As I arrive at the parking lot, defeat settles deep in my shoulders. Going to Rocky for help is a stupid idea. That definitely should get me several sessions with my therapist.

“Fucking hell, Sarah, when did you become such a headcase?” I mutter to myself, stepping off the sidewalk.

Only, I keep falling as something heavy and solid collides with the back of my skull and my world sinks into darkness as the ground rushes up to meet me.

Restriction around my wrists sends a jolt of panic through my sluggish thoughts as I regain consciousness sometime later.

Pain throbs like the beat of a drum at the back of my skull and my mouth is so dry that swallowing immediately enhances a tickle in the back of my throat.

I cough, struggling to suck air in through my gagged mouth, and cough again. Then I open my eyes to darkness.

No. Not darkness.

I’m blindfolded.

No… not again. This can’t be happening again !

I lift my head from my chest and try to move any other part of my body, but restrictions around my ankles keep me securely bound to what feels like a chair.

Panic grips me like the rapid chill of flash ice.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My heart is pounding out of my chest with such force that I can almost see flashes of pulse against the back of my eyelids.

Panic quickly gives way to terror and a cold sickness churns in my stomach as my chest grows impossibly tight.

This can’t happen again!