Page 1 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

Kirsten Hunt

“ G ood morning, Kirsten,” my paralegal, Vera, cheerfully greets me as soon as I walk into the office.

“You have the monthly administrative meeting with the ADAs this morning, then there are two appointments waiting for you before you have your morning briefing. It’ll have to be a quick one, since you have to be in court by ten.

Finally, this afternoon is the strategy session for your gun possession trials, followed by appointments with domestic violence victims and potential witnesses. ”

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of burnt coffee and preparing myself for yet another day filled with consoling victims of crime and their families while attempting to assure them there will be some form of legal repercussions eventually.

The slow-moving wheels of justice are an aggravating but necessary part of the process.

I’m about to head straight for the employee meeting to get it over with when the rest of the peppy brunette’s words finally dawn on me.

“Wait, what? Two appointments are waiting for me? There’s only one on my calendar.” Blowing a strand of blonde hair from my low bun out of my face, I double-check the calendar on my phone one-handed, since my briefcase is in the other.

“Yes, two. Ms. Bertelli is here to speak with you about her father’s case. She wouldn’t let me schedule her for an actual appointment time and insisted that she would wait for you in your office.”

“You left that woman alone in my office?” I exclaim.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s a trained assassin,” Vera whispers. “I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Pull up the new case assignment document and notify everyone while I get Ms. Bertelli out of my office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she quickly agrees.

“And if I’m not out in five minutes, send in the security guards to remove her.”

Vera nods and I storm down the hall to my office that’s in the back corner of the long, narrow hallway. Thankfully, the other attorneys are all gathered in the conference room, so no one will overhear this conversation.

The fact that there are constantly eyes and ears on me is exhausting.

Trust no one is my motto. Details about me and high-profile cases are constantly getting leaked to the media thanks to my untrustworthy colleagues.

I’m the only one in the office elected to my position.

And as everyone’s boss, there’s always someone bad-mouthing me, hoping to replace me in the next election.

Being the district attorney of the biggest city in the country is a coveted position. A powerful one I worked my ass off to obtain. I refuse to let anyone, even a known assassin, intimidate me.

That’s why, when I find Serafina Bertelli pacing around my perfectly organized space like it belongs to her, I tell her, “You can’t just come in here and demand to see me whenever you want.

” Setting my locked briefcase underneath my desk, I glance over my desktop to ensure nothing looks out of place.

It’s not like I leave files lying around on it.

Everything is right where it should be, so I try to soften the blow, since I don’t think she was in here snooping.

“I understand that you’re still mourning your father, but I have dozens of families waiting on me to give them closure as well. ”

“Closure?” the tall, lean blonde, who could pass as my sister, scoffs at me. “I would be happy with a single arrest!”

“Serafina, you know that I’m not in charge of making arrests. Obtaining warrants for suspects is the responsibility of the detectives assigned to the case. I’ll help expedite getting them signed by a judge, but I can’t personally have anyone arrested.”

“The police don’t care about my father’s death! They probably celebrated it because he was a mob boss.”

“The officers are sworn to serve and protect everyone in the city equally.”

“Oh, really?” she asks with a raised brow.

“Yes.”

“Have you even questioned the other mob families?” I force myself not to flinch at the mention of the ruthless criminals.

“The Ferraros are already on probation for gun charges. Do you think it’s a coincidence that my father, the boss of The Bronx was shot and killed in Manhattan, Creed Ferraro’s borough? ”

“Again, I don’t interview suspects. That’s the detective’s job. I’m sure they’ve followed all leads —”

“Bullshit. There are no suspects because nobody in Manhattan cares that my father is dead,” she huffs. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glares at me. “What if I told you my father mentioned that the bosses discussed having him hire a hitman to take you out in a meeting last summer?”

Holy shit.

Death threats are nothing new for me, but most come from angry criminals behind bars who can’t touch me.

The mob bosses of NYC are a whole different story. They have serious connections and money. Not to mention, they all think they’re above the law, so they probably wouldn’t have any qualms about killing me to get me out of their way.

“Your father told you that the bosses discussed killing me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm despite my internal turmoil.

“Yes! And that was before you even arrested the Ferraros.”

Tucking the loose strand of hair behind my ear, one of my annoying nervous gestures, I tell her, “That’s preposterous. Why would they want me dead before I ever arrested them?”

“Because you refused to take bribes from them to look the other way when some of their men got arrested for trafficking and shit.”

“I refuse to take bribes from anyone,” I assure her. “Every defendant brought before the judges in my court are all treated the exact same under the law.”

“Well, just so you know, my father refused to agree to kill you. Now, he’s dead.”

Dammit. That doesn’t bode well for me.

“Look, I know Weston wasn’t a good man, but he would never kill an innocent woman,” she asserts. “He lived by a set of principles, rules he taught to my brother and me. There was more to my father than his…profession. And someone took him from me.”

I know from the fact that she’s here, fighting to find her father’s killer, that Serafina loved Weston Bertelli very much. Despite being adopted, and regardless of who and what the man was, she still loved him. And that’s something I envy.

I never felt that kind of love for my own parents, who would never hurt a fly.

God, just the thought of facing my constantly nagging mother and never-impressed father stresses me out.

I was never hugged as a child. Or as an adult.

I received criticism and an array of tutors, hired to ensure I excelled at everything I did so I wouldn’t embarrass them.

Rather than ask how many men her father is responsible for killing, leaving families without closure, I go the sympathetic route. There’s enough heat on me with the mob. I don’t need to make another enemy.

“Serafina, I’m sorry you lost your father in such an unexpected way, without having a chance to say goodbye to him.

I can’t imagine how tough that must have been.

But murder cases take years to solve when they’re done the right way.

And just because you don’t hear any updates from the police, doesn’t mean that they aren’t working hard on the case. ”

Two security guards, thankfully, appear in my doorway, and I almost roll my eyes. Did Vera really think just two, out-of-shape, retired police officers would be enough to throw a known assassin from my office?

“I see that my time is up,” Serafina remarks when she also notices the men in uniform.

“You’ll be the first person I call if there’s an arrest,” I promise her.

As soon as she exits the office, I grab my laptop and leather portfolio from my briefcase, then stride toward the largest conference room in the building.

That’s where twenty-four assistant district attorneys in cheap, stuffy suits are not so patiently waiting for me around the length of the long, wooden table.

“I apologize for the delay. There was an assassin in my office which took priority.”

That finally has some of the frowns changing into shocked surprise.

“Has Vera provided you with the new case assignments?” I ask.

A few heads nod.

“Great. Well, I don’t want to stand here and listen to an hour of bellyaching. If you can’t stomach a case, then find someone to trade with you. Only once they’ve agreed on the trade in writing will I officially reassign it. Is there any other business?”

“Not to sound like a broken record, but we desperately need more private investigators,” Janice Bowers, one of the older veterans, declares.

Since she is mainly assigned to our homicides, I understand where she’s coming from.

“All of ours are working overtime, unable to keep up with all of our cases. And you know the cops are stretched too thin as well.”

I nod in agreement. “I would love to give you all the PIs you could dream of, Janice, but I’ll have to look at our budget to see if we can hire one or two more. I’ll try to give you an answer by the end of the week. Anyone else?”

“I still wasn’t assigned any felonies,” Tyler Boyd complains.

“You’re not ready for felonies,” I tell him, causing some of the other guys to snicker. “You’re too soft on DWIs. So, until I feel that you’re ready to handle the burden of a felony conviction without a bleeding heart, you’re stuck with misdemeanors. No more DWIs either.”

“But —”

“Intoxicated drivers have the highest recidivism rate of all crimes,” I remind him. “And they usually don’t receive any consequences until someone dies. I would prefer to keep them off the streets and avoid those unnecessary deaths.”

“The office’s policy for first offenders before you came along was a hundred hours of community service, loss of license for a year, and weekly AA meetings, with a deferred dismissal as soon as all those requirements are met,” Dylan Rhodes, one of the frat bros and Tyler’s mentor, chimes in his two cents.

“Yes, well, my policy is to not be so lenient. The traffic in the city is bad enough as it is without drunks on the streets.” I hold up my palm before he can protest further. “Consider this, Dylan. How many times do you think someone drives drunk before they’re ever pulled over by an officer?”

He shuts his mouth and looks away, thankfully, dropping the topic.

“Anyone else?”

“Are you still planning on starting the Ferraro trials next month?” Chris Walker, a bald man a few years older than me, asks. He hates taking orders from a woman more than the others, since he had seniority in this office before I was elected.

“Yes. Why?” I reply through gritted teeth.

“No reason. It’s your funeral.” He grins. “What kind of flowers should we leave on your grave?”

Several others laugh with him, making my back teeth nearly crack.

“Yes, death threats for doing my fucking job are hilarious, aren’t they?

” I declare sarcastically while raising my voice.

“I made a promise to the people of this city that I would treat every criminal defendant the same. And I mean everyone . The law is black and white, free of feelings and emotions. There are no gray areas. And if my integrity gets me killed, then so be it. I just hope the rest of you have enough balls to do the same if you’re ever in my position.

” I give the room a minute to let that sink in before hitting him back.

“But I guess, you need more time for your balls to drop, Chris. Until that happens, keep your mouth shut, do your job, or I’ll give you nothing but speeding tickets from now on. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbles while glaring daggers at me.

“Great, meeting adjourned.”

God, I’m so tired of dealing with assholes like Chris who doesn’t ever take anything seriously. The only reason I haven’t fired him is because he’s actually a decent prosecutor, and it’d take too much time to find a replacement when everyone is already swamped with their case load.

Before I can catch my breath or waste time worrying about death threats, I’m off to my next appointment.

For the next hour, I’ll be sitting down with a criminal defense attorney attempting to convince me to give his spoiled client a dismissal on a shoplifting charge in exchange for paying a big fine.

I’ll endure the blustering even though I have more important things to do, like prepare for the Ferraro trial. But I already know I’m not going to budge on either case. If you get caught breaking the law in my city, you have no choice but to deal with the consequences.

And while I suddenly feel the need to start looking over my shoulder and carrying a concealed gun everywhere, I refuse to bend or break regardless of the pressure the mob families try to put on me in the coming weeks.

I have everything I need to ensure a conviction for all three Ferraro men on the gun charges. I just have to make sure my presentation of the case to the jury is flawless, which means long nights of finalizing exhibits and cross-examination prep are ahead of me.