Page 6 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

ROCKY

A nother dead end.

In a city full of criminals, it shouldn’t be this difficult to find just one, but it turns out no one is willing to claim responsibility for Belle’s death.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and usually, a family steps up within the day to claim the death, along with the reason behind it.

Not this time.

Belle’s body remains locked away in police custody while the world remains silent about the culprit. Either this hit was personal or someone close to her has something to hide.

Driving back from yet another dead end, I weave through the late-night traffic as my mind replays every detail I’ve learned about Belle so far.

Gio did a really good job of keeping her away from a life of crime to the point that I’m not even sure she was aware that her uncle was a career criminal.

It wouldn’t be the first time an uncle had worked hard to keep his niece out of this kind of life.

For all accounts, her upbringing was as ordinary as anyone else's.

I have to consider the possibility that her death was also ordinary. Not Mafia related, just a random act of terrible violence.

Not that her killer will receive any less of a punishment once I get my hands on him.

I just need to make sure I find him before Sarah does. Gio will never forgive me if Belle’s murderer ends up safe behind bars.

Pulling up to a stoplight, one foot rests on the ground while I lean back into my bike, and my mind wanders back to Sarah. She’s been a presence around here for a few years now and is often highlighted as the cop to avoid since she can’t be bought.

Pretty strict morals, that one.

But she’s had dealings with Cormac Gifford, the Irish Captain.

And she was at the gala. As much as she tries to stay away from this life, something just keeps dragging her back.

And now she’s assigned to Belle’s case. I did call one of my contacts at the precinct to try and get the case reassigned to someone on our payroll, but no one was biting.

Apparently, no one wants to deal with the wrath of Sarah Gogs when she loses her case.

So I’m stuck with her.

Not that I mind. She’s quite the firecracker, and while her dislike of anything to do with the Mafia is well known, her hatred of me feels personal.

Maybe it’s because she has a crush on me.

Maybe I have a crush on her and that’s why I can’t stop thinking about her.

Chuckling to myself as the lights change, I resume driving until the mouthwatering scents of takeout food across the city invade my helmet and my stomach flips.

I need food.

Pulling up to park on the side of the road, Sarah still entertains my thoughts as I pull off my leather gloves one by one.

After she saved my life at the gala, my father was certain that would be a gateway into getting her in our pocket and ending the tiptoeing we have to do around her.

But Sarah stuck to her morals harder than anyone I’ve ever met before.

She can’t be swayed and she certainly can’t be bought.

Is that why she hates me so much? Because she saved my life and to thank her, I tried to buy her?

The things I do for my father.

Tucking my gloves under my seat, the strap of my helmet nearly comes loose, but before I can take my helmet off, a female scream drifts through the air from nearby.

“Get off me, you motherfucker!”

Nerves jump up my spine. Rotating on the spot, I scan my surroundings through the dark tint of my visor for the source of the scream when another one catches my attention.

I break into a sprint across the parking lot to the mouth of the alley at the other end, making it just time to see two people brawling on the ground.

A man and a woman.

“Hey!” I yell, running full sprint down the alley toward the couple. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman throws her fist upward and punches the man straight in the face, sending him sprawling backward with a grunt.

Her handbag is clutched tight in one of his hands and as he lands, he finally notices me.

As his eyes widen, he scrambles backward and picks himself up, turning and running toward the other end of the alley.

“My bag, you asshole!” yells the woman—who I recognize to be Sarah as I leap over her fallen form and continue sprinting toward her assailant. Questions about why she’s here and how she is are shoved to the side. I need to get her purse back.

Her mugger doesn’t get far. As soon as he reaches the other mouth of the alley, I leap forward and slam my shoulder into his chest, tackling him to the ground. He cries out and we fall into a heap, rolling over one another as we grapple for control of the situation.

“Get off me!” he snarls, twisting and writhing in my hold like some kind of wildcat. We roll into the street where several cars screech their horns as they swerve to avoid hitting us.

“Attacking women in the street?” I yell while planting one knee on the ground and holding myself over him. “Think that makes you a big man, huh? You fucker!”

I punch him twice in the face, sending his head snapping to the side and blood spraying across the dark road.

He reaches for me with both hands, but my helmet protects my face and neck from each of his blows.

Punching him again dazes him, so I grab him by the collar and haul him to his feet as I stand.

When his head lolls backward, his hood falls off his head, revealing a young teenage face.

Shit. He’s just a kid.

“It’s just a bag, man!” the kid yelps, his tears reflecting the orange glow of the streetlight overhead. “It ain’t that deep!”

Fuck .

“Give me the bag.”

He obliges, trembling as he does so. As soon as her bag is in my hand, I release him and shove him away. “Get out of here.”

“What?” The teen stumbles over himself as he backs up, but the surprise is clear on his bloodied face.

“I said get the fuck out of here, kid.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The mugger sprints away across the street, narrowly dodging cars and melting into the darkness of the alley opposite me. Only when he’s out of sight do I turn back to Sarah and my heart punches up into my throat.

She’s still on the ground.

Shit .

“Hey!” Bag in hand, I sprint back into the alley toward her prone body while my pulse races.

Please don’t tell me I made the wrong choice! If I let that fucker go and he’s seriously hurt her, then I’ll ? —

“Ow.” A long, low groan rises up from Sarah as soon as I reach her, and relief pours through me like water breaking through a dam.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She’s lying on the ground in a puddle with her hair spread across the ground like some kind of creeping vine. Blood dots the corner of her mouth next to a swelling on her lower lip, and her eyes flutter before they look at me. In one glance, I can tell she’s drunk.

“He took my bag,” she whines softly. My heart jumps. Never in all my interactions with her have I ever heard Sarah sound soft. She always sounds like she’s a second away from ripping my head off.

“No,” I say as I lean over her, my brows furrowing. “It’s right here. I got it back.”

As soon as she clocks her bag dangling from my fist, her eyes widen and a large smile spreads across her lips until the pull of her lower lip amplifies the painful swelling. She winces immediately and groans.

“Let me help you up.”

Sarah doesn’t resist as I take her hand, then her elbow, and pull her up onto her feet.

Upright, she wobbles uncertainly, so my arm automatically goes around her waist to keep her from falling back to the ground.

Her eyes close briefly, one hand resting against my leather-clad arm while the other presses to her forehead. “Ouch.”

“Are you alright? Should I take you to the hospital?”

She gently pulls her lower lip into her mouth as she shakes her head, making a negative noise in the back of her throat.

“It’s no trouble.”

“No, no, I–I’m fine.” Her head shakes briefly and then she opens her eyes, looking directly at me. Well, as directly as she can since I never had a chance to remove my motorcycle helmet.

This close, the shadows around us make her eyes look as dark as the stormy clouds that roll through New York every summer there’s a storm. Her body leans into mine even though she’s regained her balance, and her hand remains clasping my bicep.

“I’d hate to walk away and then read about you in the news tomorrow as having died behind some trash bins.”

Sarah snorts softly, an amused smile curling across her lips. “I’m alright. He just took me by surprise, that’s all. Although I suppose that’s their whole schtick, right? What mugger wants to announce themselves?”

Her head tilts softly to the side, resembling a puppy studying something out of curiosity.

As her eyes dart over my helmet, it strikes me suddenly that she doesn’t recognize me.

If she did, she certainly wouldn’t let me hold her, never mind make small talk.

With the helmet hiding my face and muffling my voice, it’s not surprising.

“You should still get that looked at. It looks nasty.” It’s like my body has a mind of its own because suddenly, I’m cupping the side of her neck and tilting her head back to get a better look at the swelling on her lip, along with the faint rise of a bruise just below.

“I’ve had worse,” she says, waving one hand up at me but not tilting her head away. As she does, I spot the raw graze on the palm of her hand and quickly catch her wrist with my other hand. Her palm is red raw and dotted with blood, little stones and gravel embedded into it.

“Shit.”

“What, you’ve never had a graze before?” She finally pulls herself out of my hold, her cheeks flushed from the attack. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, though. For stepping in. And for getting my bag back. There’s so much important shit in there, you have no idea.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I reply, watching her attempt to brush the dirt from her clothes. Each swipe of her hands amplifies the unsteadiness of her footing, which I’m confident is due to her drinking and not the attack. “Come with me.”

Sarah follows like an obedient puppy, and I lead her back to where I recklessly parked my bike.

The Sarah I know would threaten me with a ticket or some bullshit regulation, but drunk Sarah happily leans against my bike and smiles at me as I uncap my water bottle and gently pour it over her gravel-embedded palms.

“Ouch.” She hisses softly through her teeth.

“I’m sorry.” I’m as gentle as I can be with the water and my fingers, brushing out the gravel with slow, careful strokes of my thumb. “This shit can get infected really quickly, so when you get home, make sure you treat them, okay?”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“You see what I ride.” I smirk behind the helmet. “I’ve had my fair share of grazes.”

“Makes sense. So do you make a habit of saving random women at night?”

“You hardly needed saving.” I snort. “If you didn’t have a drink in you, I bet he would have been on his knees the second he tried to take your bag.”

“How do you know I’ve been drinking?” Sarah’s eyes widen and her lips part as if she’s genuinely shocked at the suggestion.

Then she sways slightly and breaks out into the sweetest fucking giggle I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Maybe one or two. It’s my birthday. Fuck.

” She sobers up suddenly. “I got mugged on my birthday. How shit is that?”

“At least you didn’t lose anything.” I motion to her bag resting on my bike. “That’s a positive.”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes close briefly.

It’s late. I can’t leave her here.

“Let me take you home.”

Sarah’s eyes snap open. Under the streetlight, her iris takes on a more caramel hue and I can’t take my eyes off her. They’re beautiful.

She’s beautiful, especially when she laughs.

“Give my address to a stranger?”

“A savior ,” I correct with a soft laugh. “Or let me call you an Uber.”

She glances down at my bike, running one of her now clean and gravel-free hands over the seat. “I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.”

“It is your birthday,” I prompt gently.

Her eyes light up and when she looks back at me, she’s smiling widely, swollen lip and all. “Okay. Take me home, motorcycle guy.”

Sarah reels off her address although I already know it.

I’ve known it ever since she saved my life.

Then she sits on the back of my bike with her arms wrapped tightly around my body, and it takes all my concentration to keep my attention on the road and not how good it feels to have her pressed against me.

It’s late and I don’t have time to teach her proper bike etiquette, so I drive slower to ensure she doesn’t fall.

My concentration nearly falters, though, when she rests her cheek between my shoulder blades and squeezes me with her arms.

We remain like that until I pull up outside her apartment and she slides off with a satisfied sigh. She walks in front of me, and her hair is wild from the drive, her eyes sparkle like gemstones, and her smile is wider.

“Wow,” she breathes. “That was exhilarating.”

“Big word for a drunk person.”

“Fuck you!” She laughs and leans forward, pressing her lips to the edge of my helmet in a sudden, surprising kiss.

“Thanks for the ride, motorcycle guy. And for getting my purse back.” As she holds it aloft, she leans back and then her brows dip.

“Oh,” she says softly, cupping my helmet. “I left a mark. Sorry.”

With that, she turns and wobbles up the steps to her apartment building.

I stare after her, rooted to my bike in shock. In the wing mirror, a red lipstick stain graces the edge of my helmet where she kissed me.

“Happy birthday,” I murmur under my breath.

If she knew who I was, I know for a fact that never would have happened.

Should I have told her?

Nah. Seeing Sarah like this is eye-opening. It’s like seeing who she really is for the first time, without the badge and the bullshit.

I remain there until she makes it inside and vanishes into the building with the door firmly closed behind her.

Yep. I definitely have a crush.

And I can’t wait until she learns that it was me, Rocky Barati, who saved her tonight.