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

Kirsten

“ A reporter with The Post is on line one. I think he said his name was Rob,” Natalie, the office receptionist says over the intercom on my landline phone.

I’ve just ended a call with the police department, asking for any updates on the Bertelli investigation, and I’m running late for court.

“Do you want to speak to him, or should I take a message?”

“I’ll take it,” I agree since Rob Reynolds is one of the few journalists who doesn’t trash me in every article reporting on my cases. Knowing my father reads every piece of news coming from the city, I could use all the help I can get.

“Hi, Rob. I’ll give you three questions if you can make me sound like a badass prosecutor who refuses to cower from threats while protecting the citizens of New York.”

“Deal,” he says. “First of all, have you increased your personal security measures for the upcoming trials against the Ferraros and rumored threats?”

“No comment.” Telling him I don’t have any personal security would paint a bigger bullseye on my back, inviting trouble, and saying I’ve considered it makes it sound like I’m scared of the mobsters, which I’m not.

“Understood, but I had to take my shot,” Rob replies. “Next question, are the trials still scheduled to begin in February?”

“Yes. One a month until all three trials are decided, now that one of the defendants is dead. Creed Ferraro’s trial is up first, followed by Tristan Ferraro’s in March, and concluding with Andre Ferraro’s trial in April.

The defendants’ attorneys have been notified, and Judge Waterford has made it clear that she will not be granting any continuances under any circumstance.

Based on my conversations with defense counsel, I don’t expect each trial to take more than a week. ”

“Great, thank you for those details. And finally, will you be asking for the maximum sentence if you get a conviction against Creed Ferraro in the first trial?”

“I typically only ask for the maximum if there are extenuating circumstances. Otherwise, with charges that have minimum mandatory sentences such as these, I’ll leave sentencing up to the judge’s discretion.”

“Got it,” he says. “Now, off the record, you really should be careful, Kirsten. I have a source who believes the five families have already discussed putting out some sort of hit on you.”

“I’ve heard the same thing, but I’m not too worried,” I remark, wondering if Serafina Bertelli is his source after she told me the same earlier this week.

“I live and work in secure buildings, and I have a license to carry because of my position, which is all public record. If anything happens to me, well, everyone will know who to blame. I just hope whoever takes over my job will not hesitate to pursue additional charges.”

I straighten my white stapler, penholder, and stack of sticky note pads on my desk to calm my racing pulse.

It’s been happening more and more lately, the rising panic in my chest as I consider how the mob would come after me.

I’d never see a sniper attack, and there’d be less chance of the shooter being caught.

Then again, if the assholes wanted to really send a message, they’d probably have a group of men jump me in an alley, ensuring I suffer from every single blow.

“Well, I hope you’ll be open to more questions once the trial starts,” Rob says. “I’ll be in the courtroom bright and early every morning to get a good seat during jury selection.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” I respond casually, pushing aside the thoughts of how I might die.

“Stay safe,” Rob tells me before ending the call.

Annoyed at how out of control having this particular threat hanging over my head makes me feel, I slam the phone back onto the cradle harder than necessary in frustration.

If I were a man, I doubt anyone would be asking if I’m scared of the mob’s retaliation. Not that I think the mobsters would treat a man differently. Would the Ferraros really risk a life prison sentence to get out of a couple of gun charges?

If anything, they’re probably the least likely criminals to make a move on me right now.

At least, that’s what I try to convince myself.

Maybe I should start carrying my gun in public even though handling firearms makes me so nervous I’d probably end up shooting myself before I put a bullet in an attacker…

“Is everything okay, Kirsten?” Natalie sticks her head in my office, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I huff. When the woman continues to stand in my door, I lift a brow. “Why?”

“Sorry, I just, I heard the rumor about the mob families wanting a hitman to take you out.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” I say as I gather up my files into my briefcase, even though I know it’s not just gossip.

“Right. It’s just…never mind.”

“What?” I snap when she starts to leave.

“I would be scared, if I were you. If you ever want to talk or get a drink, just let me know.”

“Maybe. I appreciate that,” I reply since she sounds sincere.

“Great! And I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but…”

“Go on.” I encourage her to spit out whatever she wants to say while I shoulder my briefcase.

“But it sounds like you could really use an escape, a way to blow off smoke and forget the stress of the job for a night.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I was just, I go to this club that’s very exclusive.”

“I don’t dance,” I tell her. “And I’m way too old to go clubbing or whatever it is people call it nowadays.”

Natalie smiles. “Right, no, it’s not that kind of club.”

“Then what kind of club is it?” I ask, curious.

“Um, it’s an adult one. You know, like where you can meet people with similar interests or opposite, if that’s your thing…”

“You’re a member of a sex club?” I guess. “They have those here in the city?”

“Yes, but it’s all underground. Invitation only from a current member. And there’s like an application and all to get accepted. Even a waitlist. Once you’re in, though, it’s completely anonymous.”

“How can it be anonymous if you have to apply using your legal name?”

“Oh, right, well that’s just to make sure there are no criminals sneaking in, you know. But everyone wears cute little masks, and there are different themes each night. Nobody’s allowed to ask anyone’s name either.”

“Wow. Well, that doesn’t sound like anything I would want to be a part of,” I tell her. “No offense.”

“None taken. And I’m sorry I assumed. I just thought that since you had a thing for Detective Daughtry that you were into like, handcuffs, or whatever.”

Well, shit.

Unfortunately, she’s not wrong. And she’s much more perceptive than I initially gave her credit for.

The thing is, despite always carrying the cuffs around, Detective Daughtry, Bryan, refuses to ever put them on me. Or do anything that could accidentally hurt me.

The forty-year-old prude doesn’t even like having sex in my office. But since I refuse to go to his place or invite him over to mine, I can usually convince him to give in. The face-to-face sex on the edge of my desk is…fine, not great. It certainly never lasts long enough for me to get off.

Am I sexually frustrated?

God, yes.

At thirty-five, it’s a frustration I’ve felt since I was a freshman in college, one that no man has ever been able to quench.

I thought the problem was me, or that I was dating the wrong kind of men — rich, attractive snobs who think they’re god’s gift to women. Selfish bastards who were usually too drunk to perform worth a shit.

Once I got to law school, dates were fewer and farther between because my classmates saw me as a threat, their competition, and I was constantly studying, needing to be at the top of my class to impress my father.

After I passed the bar and started practicing, well, most of the men I meet don’t want a woman who is more ambitious or more successful than them.

And the ones who do like smart, powerful women are far too…

submissive for my taste. I don’t want to be asked permission or give consent for every single little kiss or touch.

While I’m all for guys being gentlemen, it gets a little frustrating if they’re too worried about screwing up to get down and dirty.

I thought a fling with a blue-collar man might be different, more uninhibited than the workaholic snobs in suits.

If anything, Bryan is more of a sweet, gentle lover than any of the others.

What would one night of filthy, anonymous sex with a stranger even be like — if it were truly anonymous? I’ve never had a one-night stand before because of my trust issues and the reputation I have to maintain.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Natalie grins.

I dig my fingernails into the leather strap of my bag. “I don’t know. If anyone found out I was there…”

She shakes her head. “The owner is the only person who knows everyone’s identity, and he’s a crazy, hot, rich guy who has a spotless record.

I checked.” I mull that information over for a few seconds, and Natalie adds, “I’m a paying member, so I’ll cover your cost, and if anyone asks, you can say you were looking into a case, right?

Why don’t you just come check it out with me Friday night?

There’s no pressure to participate. You can just watch others behind your mask or have a drink at the bar.

It’s all very laid-back. Things only get more heated in the private rooms, which are super clean and classy. ”

“I want the owner’s name and their full background check.”

Nodding briskly, she says, “Sure thing. I’ll go send it to you right now.”

“Ah, wait, Natalie. Could you print it out instead? And hand it to me when I get back from court?”

“No evidence, right? Your secret is safe with me.” She winks, then leaves.

I can’t help but think she’s a little too excited about this club and having me tag along with her when we’ve never even had lunch together.

Maybe she just doesn’t have any friends with those particular kinks and needs a wing-woman?

Does she go to this club alone?

What kind of person would I be if I knowingly let her go to a place like that alone where she could be in danger?

And yes, I’m a little bit curious to see if this club may give me the one thing I’ve never had before with any man — passion and excitement.

With all the stress I’m dealing with, a temporary escape from my life is exactly what I need.

It’s the reason I got on the subway the other night going nowhere, just to pretend for a few minutes that I was someone else, someone without any pressing obligations, death threats hanging over my head, or requirements to constantly be perfect.

Deep down, I know it’s a huge risk to even think about showing up at a place where someone could recognize me.

But the thing is, if the clock is ticking on my life, I don’t want to go down with any regrets. And it’s not like I’m going to engage in any activities. For once, I want to look around and see other people who share my darker desires, to know I’m not alone.