Her pale, freckled skin flushed a faint pink as she nodded before scurrying away.
I looked back over at Gia. Her gaped mouth slowly transformed into a teasing smile.
“What?” I asked, looking back over the room, avoiding her inquisitive stare.
“Don’t ‘what’ me, little brother. That girl was offering you more than a drink.”
I shrugged. She was a pretty girl, but not my type. At least, not anymore. Before, I might have taken her home at the end of the night or at the very least, entertained her flirting. Now, Lena was the only woman I’d ever have eyes for.
“Then it’s true.” Gia’s playful smile dropped as she sobered.
“What?”
“The reason you’re home…” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to an angry whisper. “Have you lost your fucking mind, Mario?”
“I don’t need your lecture, Gia.”
She scoffed, flinging her body back. “What happened in California?”
“I nearly lost my life. It put things in perspective for me.”
“Perspective,” she repeated.
“Yeah.”
“How? Did you decide you liked that feeling?”
“Stop, Gia.” I picked up my glass. “Let it go.” I downed the last of the whiskey. I already understood her fear. Growing up, our family had strong ties to the Cosa Nostra—the Italian Mafia.
“No,” she refused, leaning forward again, her eyes imploring. “You need to explain to me why you’d put your life at risk for this girl. Do you want to die?”
“Enough.” I slammed the empty glass on the table, rattling the ice. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
“You’re putting us all at risk. It is up for discussion.”
“You sound like Mother.”
“Well, for once we agree on something.”
Normally, her statement would come across as a joke, but all humor had left my sister, making me feel guilty for the second time today about disappointing the women in my life. I was being selfish with my decision, but things were going to be fine. I could take care of them and Lena.
I reached across the table for her. She stared down at my open palm, hesitating before placing her hand in mine. “You and Ma have nothing to worry about. Do you trust me?”
She blew a deep breath from her ruby lips. “With my life. But, Mario, there’s something you should know—”
“Vodka tonic?” a new waitress asked, showing up with Gia’s drink.
Gia lifted her hand and the woman placed the drink in front of her on a fresh cocktail napkin as my phone chimed with a new text message.
I retrieved it from my pocket, reading the text from Eric. He’d made things happen quicker than I expected.
“Who’s that?” Gia asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just work.” I tucked the phone back inside. “I’ve gotta go.”
“What? Are you serious?” Her mouth gaped open slightly.
“Yeah,” I said, getting up from my seat and adding more than enough cash to cover my drink and a few for her on top of the pile Eric had left. “There’s some things I need to take care of.”
Her bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout.
“I’m sorry.” I kissed her cheek. “You gonna be okay here?”
She waved me off. “Go. I’m fine. The girls are meeting me here soon. They’re going to be disappointed that you’ve left.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“I’m not so sure. I think they’re all holding out hope that you’ll realize Lena is nothing but trouble and fall madly for one of them instead.”
I chuckled. “I love trouble.”
“I guess you’re chasing the right girl, then.” She half-heartedly grinned, then latched onto my hand, halting my departure. “Be careful, Mario,” she warned.
“I will.” I squeezed her hand, then let it go, walking out the door.
2
Agent Rhodes
The warmth of the paper cups in each hand heated my palms, causing them to break into a sweat as I waited for the elevator doors to slide open. A call at four in the morning meant it was my turn to bring the coffee.
I surveyed the metal box taking me to the penthouse of an Upper West Side residence, impatiently watching the numbers increase while trying to slow my adrenaline-induced heartrate. The coffee was habit, a tradition for my partner and me. I didn’t need it to wake up. Knowing I was headed to a potential homicide was enough to get my heart and mind racing.
It happened every time I answered a call like this. I wasted no time jumping out of bed, dressing, and pulling my long, light brown hair back into a ponytail before rushing out the door of my small Brooklyn apartment. I almost felt guilty about loving the thrill this part of the job brought to me. Someone had to die for me to get this type of adrenaline rush. It was something I struggled with. I was constantly reminding myself I wasn’t the sick bastard who killed innocent—and some not so innocent—people. I was just the one who got pumped about catching those monsters.
It was in my blood. My dad had been a cop. Even as a five-year-old little girl, I knew I would follow in his footsteps. I was a tomboy who grew up wanting to play cops and robbers with the neighborhood boys, rather than play with Barbies or baby dolls like society expected.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped into the marble-tiled entry, eyes scanning, mentally taking notes of the scene, and then finally landing them on Agent Maxwell in his wrinkled, white dress shirt and gray slacks, waiting patiently on the sidelines while the crime scene investigators worked. He’d obviously been in a rush to get here, too.
I handed him his coffee, and he grunted a thank you before taking a long drink. I focused my eyes back on the unmoving body slouched on the designer couch that could likely pay a year’s worth of my rent. The medical examiner waited impatiently for the investigation team to finish with their pictures, lifting finger prints, and bagging the spilled pills on the coffee table in front of our victim. Not everyone got a thrill from being woken in the middle of the night and called to a scene.
“What do we know so far?”
“Not much. Suspected suicide,” Maxwell supplied.
My eyes darted from the body to his face, making sure he wasn’t messing with me. It was too damn early for his crappy jokes.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He shook his head, taking another drink.
The man was addicted to caffeine. His coffee was already more than half gone. I hadn’t even touched mine and with this news, I suddenly wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to chuck it across the room in a fit of rage. Half a year’s work down the drain if this guy seriously took his own life.
Dennis Farrell was our deceased. A forty-eight-year-old, single male, and the co-founder of Technix, one of the fastest growing cyber security firms in the nation. The latest word on the street was they were planning to expand globally.
To the public, he was a nice, white collar American with a clean record. Coming from nothing and becoming one of the richest men in New York, he was the epitome of the American dream. In my eyes, he was a potential informant for busting one of the last big Italian crime families in New York.
“Who found him?”
“The maid. She’s with the responding officer in the building manager’s office.”
“Does she know anything?”
He shrugged a single shoulder. “Not talking. Doesn’t seem to know much English. We’re working on getting a translator.”
“Or she’s afraid to talk,” I muttered.
He finished off his coffee and shoved his empty cup at the chest of a young officer in blue passing by on his way out. The man glared at him. Maxwell smirked in a challenge. Wisely, the officer didn’t take the bait and kept walking with the cup to dispose of it.
Proud of himself, Maxwell looked back at me with a wide smile.
“You’re an ass,” I stated with a grin.
He chuckled, looking back at the scene, w
here the medical examiner had finally started preparing the body for transportation. We both silently observed what we could on the outskirts, waiting for our turn to enter the scene.
“Well"—he tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels—“looks like it might still be a while. You want to give the maid a shot?”
“Yeah. Something’s not sitting right with me.”
As much as it appeared like a suicide overdose, it didn’t add up. With the success of his company, the future growth, the man was at the top of his game. In my opinion, the only thing that seemed plausible was a homicide, especially considering his recent known dinner companions.
I pushed the call button for the elevator. We stood side by side, waiting for it to arrive.
Maxwell’s eyes shifted from the metallic doors to the untouched cup of coffee in my hand. “You gonna drink that?”
With a small laugh, I handed it to him. “Have at it.”
A breeze whipped a few loose strands of hair across my face as I moved quickly from the crowded, bustling sidewalk into the much calmer and quieter lobby.
“How’d you find this guy anyway?” I asked Maxwell as he followed me through the revolving door into the massive skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan, where we had a meeting scheduled with someone who could potentially be a break in the Farrell case.
He took the lead to the bank of elevators. “His boss is an old friend.”
“And you trust him?”
“I trust Eric. We’ve known each other for nearly twenty-three years. He’s helped me out on a few cases.”
The doors slid open, silencing us both. We hung back, allowing the occupants to exit before stepping inside. Maxwell hit the button for the fortieth floor, then took a step back, placing his hands in his pockets as he stood beside me.
“Look, Ally, I know you have trust issues, but we don’t have a ton of options. The maid couldn’t give us anything to go on, the autopsy from the other day came back clean as far as foul play, and the security cameras don’t show anybody entering or exiting Farrell’s residence other than the maid. We have nothing. Either you accept that it was a suicide, or you go out on a limb and trust Eric’s guy to do what we need him to do.”
He was right. We had nothing. Even Alex Prescott had admitted to us it wasn’t a surprise to him when he learned his long-time business partner at Technix had taken his own life a few weeks ago. He’d said despite how it appeared in the headlines, their company was nearly bankrupt after a few bad financial decisions made by Farrell. Taking the company global was going to be a last-ditch effort to recover their losses. But my instincts still told me this wasn’t a simple case of suicide from the pressure and stress of his life. The man had literally made a dinner reservation for two at Nouveau for later in the week only hours before his death.
“He may not agree to do it.” As I voiced my fear, the doors opened to the reception area of EAM Security. I had a lot riding on this meeting.
Mario Leoni was exactly the man we needed for the job. He was an even better option than Farrell had been. And if my suspicions were correct, he may be the key to proving Farrell was somehow connected to the Moretti family and they were responsible for his death, among other crimes.
“I guess you better pray that he does.”
3
Mario
“What do you know about this other agent?” I asked Eric as we walked together to the conference room for the meeting.
“She’s good. Young. Eager. Raised by a single father, who was killed in the line of duty when she was nineteen,” he listed off, telling me what I’d already gathered.
“Following in his footsteps.”
“Surpassing them. He was a beat cop. Never even moved up to detective. According to Maxwell, never had the drive she does.”
I reached for the door handle to the conference room when Eric stopped me with a firm grip on my arm. I lifted my eyes to his, waiting for him to say what was on his mind.
He glanced around before meeting my gaze and lowering his voice. “Whatever choice you make in there, I’ve got your back.”
I nodded my appreciation, unable to put it into words, then pressed forward, pushing open the door. The two federal agents’ hushed conversation ceased as they stood to greet us.
Eric and the older gentleman shook hands first, giving each other wide smiles and slaps on the back like old friends, while the younger woman and I surveyed each other in a single look.
She didn’t look like much to fear. But I knew better. Her looks were deceiving. She was petite and beautiful, giving someone the false sense that she’d be easy to dominate in a fight. The woman graduated at the top of her class at Quantico. She was intelligent, a sharp shooter, and a scrappy fighter. She was moving up the ranks quicker than anyone in her field office.
“Mario Leoni, this is Senior Special Agent Garrett Maxwell,” Eric said, stepping aside to introduce us.
“Nice to meet you.” He extended a large, open hand.
I gave him a firm shake. “Likewise.”
“And this is—”
“Special Agent Ally Rhodes,” the woman eagerly interrupted Maxwell, stepping forward to shake Eric’s hand first and then mine. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us today.”
“Of course,” I said with a smile meant to soothe her intense demeanor. It was obvious she wasn’t the one to arrange this meeting, even if Eric hadn’t already told me that Maxwell was the one to give him the call. From what I had deduced, she distrusted out of habit.
With introductions out of the way, Eric gestured toward the table. “How about we take a seat and you can let us know how we can be of help.”
After we were all seated, as expected, Agent Rhodes took the lead, getting straight down to business. She pulled out a series of photos from a file.
“Do you know this man?” she asked, directing her question to me as she placed a photo on the table in front of me.
“Sure.” I shrugged, easing back into my chair, crossing my arms. “He’s been on the news over the last few weeks. The Technix founder who committed suicide.”
“Dennis Farrell. And suspected suicide,” she corrected.
“You believe it wasn’t?” I asked.
“I believe it’s best not to conclude anything until all possibilities have been thoroughly investigated.”
I kept my eyes trained on her as she slid another few photos across the table.
“And what about him?”
I dropped my gaze to the new photo as I leaned forward, picking up the picture to get a closer look. My eyes didn’t go to the man getting out of the limo, but to the woman waiting for him on the sidewalk. I flipped to the next photo, where his hand was on the small of her back as he escorted her inside a building, the hammering in my chest violently increasing.
My lips flattened in a hard line. Controlling what the sight of her in the photos with him was doing to me was a feat. His hands were on Lena. My Lena.
It’d been months since I’d laid eyes on her, since I felt the warmth of her body. The last time had been when I broke things off and jetted to California. I’d been home for weeks, trying to rectify that, but she’d been out of my reach, closely guarded by her father’s men.
“What about her?” Agent Rhodes’ voice interrupted my spiraling mind.
Reeling in my emotions and putting on an impassive expression, I sat back once again in my seat, pushing the photos away. “Why don’t you cut to the chase, Agent Rhodes, and stop asking me questions you already know the answers to. I’m sure you’ve done your research, or you wouldn’t be here. What do you want?”
Her eyes slid to her smirking partner and then back to me. “As you may know, Lorenzo Ricci”—she poked her index finger at the man in the photo with Lena—“is supposedly next in line to take over the Moretti family. For obvious reasons, we’ve been running surveillance for the last six months, building a case on him, Matteo Moretti, and other known major players in the Moretti crim
e syndicate.” She tossed a few more photos my direction. This time they were of Moretti and Farrell having what appeared to be a meal together in a restaurant. “Five months ago, Moretti made a new friend. A couple weeks ago, that friend ended up dead, appearing to have taken his own life.”
I examined each of the photos for a moment before looking between her and Agent Maxwell. “What would Moretti be doing with Farrell?”
“That’s what we’d like to know… We need an inside man, Mario.”
“I’m not part of the family,” I pointed out, still waiting for them to spit it out.
“Your father is. Your uncle is. You could be.”
“You want me to join the family…” I confirmed, remaining emotionless, the request unsurprising. “Why not send one of your own undercover?”
“We would if we thought it was a possibility,” Maxwell interjected. “But we all know it’s not that easy anymore.”
I did know. It was harder these days to become part of the family—a made man. In the past, the oath family members took was respected. Loyalty meant something. The family came first, even before your own wife or children.
My father was one of the few men who still abided by Omerta—the code of silence—even though these days it was no longer a strong virtue. The infestation of rats in the families was more prominent than ever, making them more selective about whom they trusted and let into the fold.
My old man’s loyalty and silence were why he’d been rotting away in a prison for life and why my mother, sister, and I were still alive. He kept his mouth shut when he was arrested twenty years ago by the man sitting across from me now. Maxwell was a rookie at the time, but the arrest and conviction helped propel his career. I was only nine the day he showed up to my house with a search warrant.
No matter what Maxwell and his fellow agents threw at him during interrogation, my father only ever uttered four words: “I want my lawyer.” He kept his mouth shut. In turn, the mafia let his family live and still protected us and my father on the inside. It was the only option my father had seen. A traitor would be killed, along with his loved ones.
Honor (Made Book 1) Page 2