As if my life hadn’t been torn apart over the space of twenty-four hours. Although my clothes fit just the same, my body felt warped, changed somehow. I managed to go through the motions in morning meetings, speaking to colleagues, my smile tight and toothless. Not that I was normally peppy or overly friendly. Many people in the office didn’t like me because I didn’t bend over backward, trying to be the accommodating, cheerful, kind female they’d come to expect. Pike, Grimes and Weathers was the most prestigious law firm in the city, had offices all over the country and billionaire clients. Which meant, for the most part, it was run by old white guys.
The world had changed drastically, but not in the upper echelons, not with the dinosaurs.
There were women and people of color here because the firm was smart and protective of their image. They didn’t want any lawsuits. But everyone knew that it was for appearances only. Those denied power and agency would never have any kind of control. Women knew that they needed to play a certain role in order to keep their jobs, if they wanted to be promoted. Be soft, wear tight clothes, stay trim and tolerate the sexual harassment from the dinosaurs. Wait for the asteroid to take them all out.
My mind didn’t stay on work or on playing some kind of part. No, it was plagued by Cristian.
I wanted his lips. His touch.
That was insane.
He was my captor, my fiancé. He was a fucking mafia boss, and he was the man who’d threatened to murder my closest friends if I did not give him what he wanted.
All of those things were true.
But I still wanted him to kiss me.
Beyond that, I wanted him to fuck me again. Every fucking night.
That burning realization was what had me blowing off work for the morning and doing my research on the Catalano family. The name was in the news plenty. For business deals, philanthropy. No hints of organized crime. Which, of course, there wouldn’t be. They owned everything. Except waste management, the stereotype mafia-owned business.
The restaurant and the venture capitalist businesses were just the tip of the iceberg. Because Cristian was now a client I had access to some of his records. His legitimate ones, at least. He owned a chain of funeral homes and crime scene cleanup companies.
The irony of that did not escape me.
The size and the power that Cristian wielded had not escaped me either. He ran the city. Subtly, without photo ops, without everyone knowing who he was. That only fed my fury, so I went back further, dove deeper into my research.
Then I found it. The article was over a decade old. A local newspaper article about a shooting at a restaurant. Downtown. Owned by the Catalano family.
It was only a snippet of an interview, but it was all I needed.
“We know who was behind this. Everyone knows organized crime is still alive and well in this city, but no one is willing to do anything about it. I will be doing something. I will be bringing these criminals to justice.”
They quoted him by name in the interview, and it took less than five minutes to find that he was still employed.
Without hesitation, I dialed.
“Hi, I’d like to speak to Officer Greg Harris, please,” I said when the operator answered. “I have some information that might interest him.”
Officer Greg Harris
He was too old for this shit.
Too old to be chasing leads, fighting with his superiors and getting pushed on to murder cases that had absolutely no ties to the Catalano family. Though that was hard to do. In some way, shape or form, they were always connected to misdeeds, murder and crime. But despite the hatred Harris had for the family and the results of their actions, he had to admit that human beings had a capacity to be terrible even without a notorious last name. Murder was not something only committed by the mafia.
There were jealous boyfriends, angry family members, abusive husbands, straight up evil human beings. So despite the fact his superiors almost always shoved him away from any cases involving the Catalanos, he was busy.
People were fundamentally terrible.
This attitude was why he was twice divorced and had two daughters who didn’t speak to him. He’d taken his anger at the system, at the Catalano family, and he’d consumed it. He’d let it seep into his veins and corrupt every aspect of his life. Which only meant that he could not fail. He could not retire without destroying Cristian Romano and his entire organization. Otherwise, his life would’ve been for nothing. Missing his daughter’s recitals, birthdays and graduations would’ve been for nothing. His whole fucking life would’ve been for nothing.
At least if he caught them, he could present that to his daughters, show them that their father did something. Then maybe he could sleep at night. Maybe he could look in the mirror without fucking hating himself, regretting the day he walked onto the Catalano compound, causing this hatred to truly bloom.