Page 9 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

SARAH

M atteo Barati stands in front of me, wrapped up in a three-piece pinstripe suit with a thick, dark mustache hugging his upper lip and a sleek black and silver cane resting under his right hand.

I’ve never seen him in person, although his picture is constantly circulating for the numerous arrest warrants on him for criminal activity.

Arrest warrants that will never be dealt with because no one around here has the balls, or the means, to arrest him. He pays so many of the cops here that he can just waltz right into interrogation and rescue his son like he isn’t messing with a murder investigation.

“Sir!” I try to speak, but Brant silences me with a single look that threatens my entire career.

My stubbornness rises. I was so close to getting something out of Rocky, something that would have been concrete enough to keep him here for much longer, but fate, it seems, is not on my side.

“I said he’s free to go,” Brant repeats, arching one brow. “Release him.”

It takes me a second to move as every fiber of my being screams silently about how unfair this is. Powerful men helping other powerful men out of shitty situations. It makes my blood boil.

The smirk on Rocky’s face as I unlock his cuffs feels like a threat, and if I weren’t under the watchful eye of my captain, I’d wipe that smirk off his face with a swift punch.

Unfortunately, all of this is out of my hands and I have no choice but to unlock his cuffs and watch him stand up looking like some kind of arrogant peacock.

“Thanks, love.” Rocky smirks, rubbing one of his wrists as if the cuffs were too tight. “You’re a doll.”

God, I hate him .

I step back, but Rocky chooses to walk around the far end of the table so he has to pass me to reach the door. His father grunts and swiftly exits the room, followed by my captain, and Brant’s hurried apologies fade with his footsteps.

“See you next time.” His eyes flash briefly, and he leans close enough that the spicy musk of his aftershave invades my lungs and the briefest hint of his body heat warms my folded arms.

“Stay the fuck away from my case,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

Rocky winks at me and vanishes, leaving me in the cold silence of the interrogation room.

Fuck .

All I’ve done is buy Belle’s ex some time and myself a heap of trouble.

Deep down, I know I shouldn’t have arrested him, but he was saying the worst things possible.

Accusing me of letting criminals walk on technicalities cut a little too close to home, and I reacted without thinking about the consequences.

But if Matteo had arrived just a second later, then I would have had Rocky’s threat on recording, and I would have had weight behind me to dig my heels in about his release.

If only .

My walk to the captain’s office is haunted by sneering looks from those accepting Barati paychecks and worried glances from the few who are too old or useless to be of interest to the Mafia.

My captain is on the warpath and one of the biggest criminals in the city just waltzed through our doors to pick up his son.

I’ll be lucky to keep my badge.

“Close the door,” Brant says stiffly as I enter his office.

He stands with his back to me, staring out the window across the city toward the park that hosts its fair share of cop events.

The last time I was there was the Christmas bake sale.

It’s a nice distraction from the tense, tight line of my captain’s shoulders.

As soon as the door clicks, Brant explodes.

“Sarah, what the hell were you thinking?” He whips around to face me with fury blazing in his eyes. “Arresting Rocky Barati? Are you fucking stupid?”

“I had cause,” I snap back, fighting to keep the anger out of my voice. I’m not losing my job because of that asshole.

“Cause? What fucking cause? You snatched him from the street for making a shitty remark, a remark that we have to face daily from the general public. It’s petty insults, that’s all. What kind of precinct would we be if we arrested people for something as dumb as that?”

“He threatened my witness?—”

“Your witness? Do you have a record of it? Proof? Did the actual words come out of his mouth or did you just make an assumption because you didn’t like his attitude?”

“No, he?—

“Did he say the words?” Brant storms around his desk. “Did he say the fucking words that justify your dragging Rocky Barati into fucking interrogation?”

“No, sir.”

“No!” Brant throws a hand in the air, then pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s counting to remain calm. “No. He didn’t. And you arrested him and we had fucking Matteo come down here… Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”

Brant opens his eyes and points at me.

“Not only does your work look fucking sloppy, but we had Matteo Barati in our building freeing his son. You have no idea the amount of ammo you’ve just given every criminal in this city because of your recklessness. Do you not think, Sarah? Do you not look two, even three steps ahead?”

My heart pounds like a drum nearing its limit and tears warm behind my eyes each time Brant screams in my direction. I did overreact, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m actually trying to protect people.

“With all due respect, sir,” I say, fighting the quaver that bleeds into my voice from how hard my heart is pounding, “I had reasonable doubt. He was outside waiting for my witness to leave. He even claimed he was going to get answers out of him, and we all know that Rocky is Mafia?—”

“Not another word!” Brant’s face turns an alarming shade of purple as his pointing finger curls into a fist. “Not another damn word.”

“But sir! Belle deserves?—”

“No!” He steps forward, his neck flushing red as his lips press into a thin line.

“Enough. I’ve given you more than enough time on that case and I want it wrapped up immediately.

Belle was an unfortunate casualty in an ongoing gang war.

That’s it. Nothing more.” Another argument rises on my tongue, but Brant turns his back on me. “End it, Sarah.”

“ End it, Sarah ,” I mutter mockingly a few hours later, perched on a barstool at The Black Ox. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“Your captain?” Hazel, the woman who runs the bar, sets a rum and Coke down in front of me then leans her elbows on the bar. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“My captain .” Rolling my eyes, I take a long drink and focus on the subtle burning of the alcohol as it travels down my throat.

Then I set my glass down and lock eyes with Hazel.

“It’s fucking bullshit, that’s what it is.

How can I, in good conscience, close this case when her killer is still out there? ”

“Is there a chance he’s right? That she really was just collateral damage?”

My thoughts drift back to the Saran Wrap and perfectly stained makeup, and a chill steals down my spine sending a flush of goosebumps up my arm. “No. It was too…” My mouth twists as I seek out the right words. “It was too staged. And it felt personal. Familiar.”

“Familiar to another case?”

I nod slowly, unwilling to get into the details.

“Well, around here, familiar killings usually are the result of gang warfare. I hate to say it, honey, but your captain might be right.”

“But my gut tells me there’s more to it, like there’s something I’m missing, and I can’t shake that feeling. I did talk to my captain about the previous case I thought it could be linked to, and he accused me of chasing old ghosts.”

“Is he right?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“You are my paying customer.” She chuckles. “So you’re right, he’s a dick and there is a connection.”

Despite her attempts to lift my mood, my shoulders slump. “Maybe. Honestly, he was kind of right. What I thought was a connection to something old was just me jumping at shadows. Like the reminder of an ex that you regret letting get away.”

“Oh, I have no regrets.”

“Of course not.”

Hazel bursts out laughing and straightens up. “So, what are you going to do?”

I shrug one shoulder and lower my attention to my glass. “I don’t have a choice, but I’m going to put off closing the case as long as I can. I’ll squeeze out every last drop of chance I can get. If only that fucking guy hadn’t screwed things up.”

“Rocky?” Hazel sets about polishing a nearby glass.

“Mmhmm. I almost had him. I feel like I’m in a competition with him to prove the competency of police work because he’s so sure his way is better.”

“Honey, not that I don’t love having you here, but given your profession and your rather intense hatred of the Mafia and Rocky Barati, why do you drink here?

” She raises one hand and indicates around the empty bar.

“You know what this place is. Are you hoping to run into a particularly dashing Italian man?”

“Ew, no.” I gag softly, rolling my eyes at the very thought of running into the cocky, arrogant, frustratingly handsome Rocky Barati. “Honestly?”

“Please.”

“This is the one place where I ironically won’t be bothered by criminals. Whether it’s because of your peace agreement or because no one wants to bother me, I can actually be me here. I mean fuck, last night, I got dragged to a new bar for birthday drinks and I got mugged on my way home.”

“What?” Hazel immediately sets down her towel.

“I’m okay!” I assure her quickly, motioning to my lip. “Nothing I can’t handle. My point is, nothing like that ever happens here and I don’t need to worry about it. So I kind of like it. Is that weird?”

“We don’t always get to choose where we feel safe.” Hazel smiles softly. “So no, I don’t think it’s weird. I’d only complain if your presence was affecting my business, but you’re not the first cop to drink here and you won’t be the last. You sure you’re okay?”

Mysterious motorcycle man drifts into my mind and my smile softens. “Yeah. I was fine.”

“Well, Happy belated Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Your next drink is on me.”

“Oh, no, one is enough after what I drank last night. But I’ll take a rain check on the next one.”

“Deal.” Hazel sighs deeply and leans next to me once more, her eyes darting about my face. “Listen. I can’t tell you what to do. At the end of the day, you’re a cop and you have your own rules, but I can tell you something. In good faith and off the record, of course.”

My curiosity spikes. “Oh?”

“You’re on the right path, I think. No one in my world thinks this was a gang killing. No one’s claimed it, and from what I understand, Belle was the most unproblematic kid to ever come out of this shitty world. So Rocky thinks it was a random act of violence.”

I hate that it makes my heart lift to hear I’m not wrong and that Rocky and all his criminal ways reached the same conclusion as me. “So he thinks it was random?”

Hazel nods and stands. “So out there is some asshole whose days are numbered because when someone from outside of these circles commits a crime like that? There’s nothing to protect them. When Rocky finds the bastard, it’ll be like a feral wolf in the hen house.”

“No,” I say as frustration builds. “Whoever it was should face court. They should be punished the right way and locked up for the rest of their lives so Belle's family will get justice.”

“They will get justice, honey.” Hazel pats the back of my hand. “Italian justice.”

“But that’s not right.”

“Why?” She looks at me with such concern that my heart aches.

“Criminals shouldn’t be allowed free reign to do whatever the fuck they want! They shouldn’t be allowed to pick and choose what happens to people and face no consequences. They deserve to be caught and held up for the entire world to see so that their victims know they aren’t crazy!”

Hazel’s look of concern melts into one of worry as my voice rises. “Honey, that’s not?—”

“Forget it. I’m sorry. Thanks for the drink.”

I replay that conversation in my mind for the entire Uber drive back to my apartment.

Hazel didn’t deserve my snapping at her, but it’s a sore topic.

Men who think they’re above the law, who can do whatever they want to people and slip away without a single drop of justice because they simply disregard the law—it cuts too close to home.

My Uber driver attempts to make small talk, but my heart isn’t in it so instead, I distantly listen to him talking about his next family holiday until we finally reach my apartment.

I thank him and wait for him to leave before I approach my building.

Just as I reach the door, a box placed at the top of the steps catches my attention.

It’s addressed to me.

“Oh, God,” I murmur softly. “Don’t tell me I was drunk online shopping again.”

Tucking the parcel under one arm, I head into my building and climb up to my apartment. I’m slightly breathless by the time I slot the keys into the lock and let myself in, greeted by an excited Iris who leaps over all the furniture in her desperation to greet me.

“Hi, baby, hi! Hi! You have a good day—oof!” She leaps up from the floor, claws out, and lands in my arms, giving me a face full of fur.

She purrs so deeply that stress immediately melts away from my shoulders and I head into the kitchen to deposit the parcel.

Iris remains in my arms by climbing up onto my shoulders and shoving her gigantic fluffy tail under my nose, then she leaps up onto the top of the fridge as I pass.

“Did you eat all your dinner? Oh, you did! Good girl, good girl. I’m sorry I’m home so late. Bad day. You know how it is.”

Iris chirrups in reply and purrs deeper when I grab some of her cat treats out of the bottom cupboard.

As she eats her fill on top of the fridge, I stab into the parcel and rip it open with a sharp knife.

If I’ve ordered another DVD boxset, I’m in trouble.

I have no more room for another copy of the thirteenth season of NCIS—my favorite.

Cardboard and tape crumble under my hands but when I open the lid, my heart stops dead in my chest.

Inside, nestled in some bubble wrap and paper, sits an unopened makeup palette and some very neatly folded Saran Wrap.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!

The room begins to spin as thin, weak breaths fight to get past the overwhelming tension flooding my chest.

I can’t breathe.

Fuck.

I lose my balance and stumble back into the fridge, much to Iris’s complaints, and my entire world clouds with darkness. Nothing exists but that box and the contents glaring at me like a beacon in the dim light of my kitchen.

I was right.

It’s him.

The Painter.

He’s back .