Page 15 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

Kirsten

“ K irsten?” Natalie asks over the office intercom as soon as I sit down on a Tuesday morning.

“Yes?” I grit out.

“Your, um, I mean Detective Daughtry is here to see you,” she says way too loudly.

Crap. Bryan doesn’t have an appointment, and I’m certain he’s not showing up unannounced to fool around.

Unlike a certain mobster, he’s usually all business.

“Fine, send him in.”

My office door is open, so the tall man strolls in a moment later, dressed down in a white button-up with his department-issued weapon visible in his shoulder holster.

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in weeks.” I’m not sure why, but I blame him for my lack of sex, for why I couldn’t resist that asshole at the club. “Been busy?”

“Something like that,” he says when he reaches to shut the door.

“No, leave it open,” I blurt out. I’m not sure why, but I don’t feel the urge to be alone with him while he complains.

With a shrug and frown, he comes over and takes a seat in front of my desk. “What are you doing, Kir?” he asks, making me wince, not at his question but his awful shortening of my name. He says it like cur , as in the dog. I think I’d prefer bitch to cur.

I play dumb, annoyed with the man I used to look forward to having inside me for all of thirty seconds. “I’m trying to work, and you’re interrupting me. Are you referring to something specific? If so, cut the bullshit and spit it out, detective.”

“You know, that sharp tongue of yours and short ass temper is what earned you your nickname.”

He’s not referring to his little nickname but the one everyone calls me behind my back — DA Cunt.

“I’m well-aware of the nickname, and it doesn’t bother me.

I’d rather be a cunt than a gutless pushover.

” Okay, so maybe that’s a tiny dig at the detective for not ever manning up and fucking me like I wanted.

He’s a pussy. I’ve known that since we met, and I’m not sure why I put up with his subservient demeanor this long.

How did he manage to make detective so young when he probably asks his superior for permission to take a piss.

“Now, are you going to actually say what you want to say or not? I don’t have time for you to beat around the bush, Bryan. ”

“You’re a smart woman, Kir. I’m sure you know that the entire police department is furious with you for that stunt you pulled yesterday.”

“I don’t give a shit what the department thinks of my decisions. They botched that whole case.”

“Two cops died because of that fucking raid!” Bryan raises his voice at me for the first time ever, making me think he must be feeling some heat from his peers.

“Guilty consciousnesses killed those cops, not the defendants,” I point out.

“It was practically entrapment for ‘an anonymous source’ to warn the Ferraros that someone wanted them dead and then arrest them for carrying guns minutes later. Would it have been better for me to have gone in that direction than simply say it was evidence tampering?”

Bryan shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have dismissed the cases, period! Why did you, Kir? You swore in your campaign that you wouldn’t bow to the mafia. You said that you would lock them all up, get them off the streets.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for any of my fucking decisions,” I snap, since there’s no way I’m going to tell him the truth, that I got caught up in scandalous blackmail with a Ferraro.

“And why hasn’t your department made any arrests on the Bertelli murder, huh?

The man was shot in the middle of the street, and no one has been held accountable. ”

“Why do you give a shit about a mob boss going down? Shouldn’t you be celebrating his death? During your election, you promised your constituents that you would get rid of the mobsters, so what changed?”

“I didn’t take bribes from the mob, if that’s what you’re fucking inferring,” I assure him.

“Feel free to check all my bank accounts if you want confirmation. And my constituents don’t give a shit about three possession of firearm charges getting dropped.

Not when those guns weren’t used to hurt anyone.

The men were carrying for the sole purpose of protecting themselves.

The same reason I keep a loaded gun right next to my bed. ”

“You have a gun?”

“Yes. It’s no secret. Concealed carry permits are public record.”

“You’re more likely to hurt yourself with that damn thing than you are to hurt an attacker!”

“I like to be prepared for anything, since I’m a single woman living alone.”

“I could protect you.”

His offer makes me laugh. When his frown deepens, I mutter, “I don’t need a man to protect me. I only need one to fuck me until my legs shake. A job you’re obviously not qualified to fulfill.”

With that, he gets up and storms from my office.

“Pussy,” I whisper with a shake of my head. What did I ever see in him? Other than being big and classically attractive, I had no connection, no chemistry with Bryan.

Unbidden, the image of a different man enters my head, one who can make my toes curl with a single smirk on his handsome face.

If I’d known who Tristan was, I never would’ve been attracted to him. I would’ve steered clear of the asshole, and I certainly wouldn’t have let him lay a finger on me.

And then I would’ve missed out on so much mind-blowing pleasure that I passed out for hours.

Why did he have to be so good with his tongue and his manipulation?

While I’ve given significantly more oral sex than I’ve received in my thirty-five years from self-consciousness, I hopped right up in that swing and spread my legs without any hesitation, so eager for him to go down on me.

I may hate the asshole, but Tristan Ferraro has an undeniable air of authority about him that makes him hard to resist.

While I feel guilty about being stupid enough to let him make a fool of me, I don’t think I regret the actual acts.

Not that I’d ever admit that to the smug bastard.

His authority comes from being a criminal, doing as he pleases in the world without any repercussions because of his name and the family he was born into.

Those are the types of people I wanted to take down when I became a prosecutor. Why should anyone be free to do as they please, break the law without consequence, when the rest of the world can’t do the same?

“Kirsten?” Natalie’s annoying voice calls from my intercom again.

“What now?”

“You have a delivery.”

“A delivery? And?”

“It’s flowers. Do you want me to sign for —” She huffs. “He says you need to sign for them personally, so he’s bringing them to your office.”

“Fine,” I agree as I smooth my palms over her my hair, since it feels like my meeting with Bryan set it on end.

The non-descript delivery guy in a Yankees’ hat and black leather jacket places an odd combination of bright orange, pink, and white flowers on my desk.

I have no clue what kind they are as the man wordlessly thrusts his clipboard toward me.

I sign for them and then reach for the card.

The delivery guy momentarily lurks in my doorway while I read one sloppily handwritten sentence.

What was that prick doing in your office?

That’s it. No name.

I immediately know Tristan sent the flowers and exactly who he’s referring to as the ‘prick’. Which means he must have been watching the courthouse this morning. That still doesn’t explain how he could’ve gotten the flowers here so fast…

“Who sent these?” I finally ask when I’m capable of speaking again, but the delivery guy is long gone.

“Natalie!”

“Yes?” she asks from the hallway. When she appears in my doorway, she says, “Pretty flowers. Who are they from?”

“Who do you think?” I huff. “Close the door.”

“But if the phone rings —”

“Close the damn door!” I whisper yell at her. As soon as it shuts, I ask, “Did you tell him Bryan was here?”

“Who? What?”

“Did you tell Tristan Ferraro that Bryan was in my office.”

“Oh. No. I swear! He hasn’t called me today.”

Today.

“Then he must be sitting outside stalking me again.”

“He never sent me flowers,” Natalie remarks as she stares at the vase. “Odd arrangement, but pretty. What kind are they?”

“I don’t know.”

She whips her phone from her slacks and snaps a photo. Quicker than it should be possible, she says, “The search says those are orange lilies and pink gardenias. The lilies represent…hatred and the gardenias, ah, folly? Is that like stupidity?”

I consider that information for a second. “So, they mean stupid hate?”

“Or if he hates someone stupid?” she offers with a brow raised.

“Get out of my office. Don’t make me subpoena your phone records to verify that you haven’t been talking to him.”

“Fine, we spoke last night!”

“You talked to Tristan last night? Why? I told you to stay away from him.”

“He just sent me a text. I didn’t respond.”

She taps on her phone and then spins the screen around to show me the message log. It’s his local number that I recognize from the videos he sent me.

He asked, How pissed was she today ?

Natalie typed back, Kirsten knows I was helping you. If you don’t leave me alone, she’s going to fire me, so stop!

That was early yesterday. Then last night, he said, Tell me if that detective fucker makes an appointment to come to see her. $5k if you tell me before he gets there.

“You could’ve called him instead of texting him,” I remark.

Rolling her eyes, she pulls up her call log to show me as well. “I haven’t called him.”

“On the landline?”

“Check the records, Kirsten. I didn’t call him! I don’t know how he knew. Do I wish I had five thousand dollars? Hell yes. But it’s not like I even knew the detective was coming until he just showed up!”

That is true. Bryan didn’t make an appointment today. He didn’t call and tell me he was coming either.

“Fine. I believe you. Let me know if he reaches out again. And screenshot all his messages.”

She nods her head in agreement. Then, with one last lingering look at the vase of flowers, she leaves my office.

I should throw the weird orange and pink bouquet straight into the garbage.

But I don’t.

Nobody’s ever sent me flowers before. And I hate that Tristan fucking Ferraro is the first.