Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

I nod slowly. Ree was prepping for one of her weekend wars when she ran right past Luca…mm, I guess it was about six years ago. She went through a marathon phase right before we all turned thirty.

“My question is, was he a donor,” she says, “and we didn’t know?”

“If he was a donor, or even if he wasn’t—” I shake my head. “Does he think I’ll…favor him?”

Ree laughs harshly. “If he does, then he’s a fool. You got detailed for that work on the Armenian airport trafficking, so it’s clear to everyone who pays attention that you’re in this with your sleeves rolled up. If you were going to be lenient on someone, I don’t know why he thinks it’d be his ass.”

I nod again, brushing my thumb over one of my freshly manicured nails. Last year, when I was working under our outgoing D.A., I headed up a drug-trafficking task force which resulted in charges brought against some members of the Armenian mob. I found a threatening note taped to my car a few weeks after, which led to me being “detailed”—getting my own security detail—for nine weeks.

“Yeah…I guess he should know that.”

If he bothers keeping track of me. I don’t say that aloud, and Ree changes the subject. It’s not because she isn’t interested. It’s because she hates my first love with the fire of fourteen hells. I’m sure she’s already worrying about what will happen if he ends up in my crosshairs in any real way.

And maybe he will. I’m not holding my breath for it, though. I’ve heard people at the FBI call him The Houdini Don because he’s got a knack for staying off cameras and keeping himself and his people away from wiretaps. The D.A.’s office has long suspected there’s a mole on one of our teams, but it could just be lots of dirty cops in his court, helping him avoid detection on the pre-D.A. level.

We’ve got some data rolling in on some of the Armenians—enough that we have evidence that the Arnoldi family farms out certain hits to the Armenians, and the Armenians rely on Luca’s younger brother Soren for some of their financial services. It seems like the groups are somewhat symbiotic, but I’m not sure how far that reaches or how deep their loyalty runs. Probably not very.

“Maybe it was Isa who wanted to go.” I blink, startled by Ree’s voice in the quiet car—and by the reminder that Ree saw her with Luca.

“Uh, I kind of doubt it.”

“I think she’s more political than she lets on in that frou-frou Instagram of hers.” Ree looks affronted as she says the word “Instagram”—as if the whole platform is pure junk for only the most frivolous humans—but I note that she’s seen Isa’s big-deal profile.

I think about what little I’ve seen—gorgeous professional shots of gorgeous Isa climbing out of infinity pools in Spain and sprawled on yachts in Morocco—and my stomach tightens. “Who knows. For now, I’m taking it at face value. Just a newly elevated mob don and his predecessor’s model daughter seeking some excitement in good Gotham.”

Ree gives me a radiant smile, leaning her head against her chair’s headrest. “You’re pretty fly, Ms. D.A. Anybody ever tell you that?”

I look down at my lap, shaking my head. “Only the nicest, most supportive people.”

She laughs. “I still kind of can’t believe it. Goldfish in the big sea, baby.”

I look at my dear friend’s face—at her eyebrow ring and violet lipstick, at her high cheekbones and pert nose and wild halo of soft coils—and feel almost teary with gratitude for her—for the devotion, love, and genius that is Ree, a friend I’ve gotten to call mine since middle school. “Please never stop swimming with me.”

She reaches out and throws an arm around me. “Never ever.”

Our car pulls into the circle drive in front of the tall, beige stone Courts Building, and I squeeze her hard. “Thank you, Ree. For everything. Be nice to Cian when Dani sends her car to bring you to the TV interview this afternoon. You know he gets nervous when you evil-eye him, even if he can’t see your eyes. He can feel them.”

She bats her lashes. “These eyes don’t do evil.”

I laugh as I step out. “We both know that’s just a bald-faced lie.”

She squeezes her boobs discreetly, lifting an eyebrow, and I’m cracking up as I greet my escort.

“Hey, Jacey.” He smiles down at me, and I kiss his cheek. “You smell good this morning.”

He gives me a discreet sniff. “You smell even better…esquire.”

He winks before his arm encircles my lower back, and I lean against his chest for a long moment.

“How was last night after I left?” he asks softly.

“It was late.”

“I missed movie night,” he says.

“I missed it too. Next week for sure.”

We fall into our normal chatter as we pass through security and ride the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. It’s not until we step out into the wax-polished hall that I realize something feels weird.