Twisted Fate: Dark Heart Duet, Book Two

by James, Ella

  “Madam D.A. It’s nice to see you. We’d like to coordinate with your team on something I think we both consider a priority,” he says.

  “Yes, well, we would like an invite on our Google calendar.” I arch a brow.

  “We’re moving fast, but I’m sorry about that. Our superiors need to make a decision fast about Aren Alexanian and some people who work below him. We’d like to be sure we aren’t overlapping with charges or shutting down better work coming from your team. We have an agent who has formed a relationship with Aren, and she trusts him. She would like to accept his evidence against the Arnoldi family and reduce his time. He’s going to prison either way, but he might not get as long if he can push this stuff through on Luca Galante. Anyway, Fatima”—he waves at her—“mentioned you have compiled evidence on the Arnoldi family. We thought it would be nice to compare notes.”

  My gaze shifts to Fatima, who’s doing the olive-skinned girl’s version of blushing. I frown from her to Captain America and back to her.

  “Oh, I see,” I say pointedly, although not rudely. “So you guys have a plan already.” I wiggle my brows at Fatima, who mumbles something that may be, “I’m sorry.”

  “Since you’re acquainted,” I say to the room, “perhaps you could talk about some of your common interests. Blake, we’ll talk in my office. I should let you know,” I say as I wave him toward the conference room door, “that I’m not a fan of Mr. Alexanian.”

  I’m amazed I don’t pass out as we shoot the shit, walking toward my office. Then we’re inside, and I’m sitting at my desk, and he’s taking a seat in front. I feel like a principal who’s called a student into my office, and I like that. This Blake kid looks no older than early twenties.

  “So, you are seeing Fatima…what, socially?”

  He looks down then back up, smirk-smiling. “Actually…we had a blind date. We both went to NYU. So…you know…mutual friends.”

  “Fatima has done some great work for our office. What made you decide to come over today?”

  “Well like I said, the people over us…they’re wanting as much verification as they can about the shit—I’m sorry, things”—he clears his throat—“that we have on Galante. One thing we’ve picked up on is that the two—Luca Galante and Aren—are not as friendly as they once were. So we’re interested in verifying that what Aren has on the Arnoldis isn’t fabricated. Although I doubt it is. We’ve heard rumors for years about the Houdini Don’s involvement in the trafficking of women and kids.”

  “What?” It just slips out.

  He nods. “Oh yeah. There’s some videos, and they look bad. Fatima said your office had them, too, so we looked at them together. Did you see them?”

  I frown as if I’m contemplating—when in actuality, I’m losing my mind. Fatima lied to him, presumably so he would show her what the FBI has; we definitely do not have these videos. “I’m not sure,” I say, going for absentminded.

  “I think you’d remember. It’s some fucked-up shit.”

  He pulls a phone from his pocket, and his brow furrows as he passes it to me.

  On the screen, I see Luca, wearing dark clothes. It takes me a minute to realize he’s in the apartment where he took me recently—the one near my place. I squint as my pulse quickens; I’m pretty sure there’s something on the bed. Okay, yes, there’s someone on the bed. Two women. One is on her side with her hands tied behind her back. The other is on her back. Luca wraps his hands around the upper arms of the woman lying on her back, and I see another man move into and out of the frame, at the right corner.

  “That’s the brother. Soren Galante.”

  The camera shifts slightly, showing Luca as he carries this limp woman into the bathroom. He hits her head on the counter—clearly an accident—and murmurs, “Fuck.” Then, with his body bracing hers against the counter, he turns the sink on and starts splashing her face.

  “Soren,” he calls, seemingly oblivious to the camera in the doorway. His brother comes in, helping him hold her. She’s got on a bra and blue jeans. Luca takes her feet and puts them under the water, and she wakes up fighting. He and Soren hold her down. The person with the camera goes back in the other room and seems to lie on the bed. The camera’s pointing at the woman right beside her, though. There are marks around her wrists and ankles…blood on her pants.

  “Oh my God. Who has the camera?”

  “It’s our person. She went undercover as one of the victims.”

  “What are they doing?”

  I gag, and he grabs the phone. “Are you okay?”

  I hold my face, squeezing my eyes shut until the barfy feeling passes. “I’m sorry. I’m pregnant. No one knows, so keep that to yourself, please.”

  He smirks. “A pregnant D.A.”

  “Yes, and a young guy from FBI who came over uninvited, brought a party, and showed confidential FBI materials to my employee.”

  “Whoa now. I was just—”

  “Don’t say anything about what I just told you. That is all I’m asking.”

  “You got it. Anyway.” He slides the phone back into his pocket.

  “So what did your undercover agent report? About the operation?”

  “She went in to that situation set up as someone trafficked to the Armenians, and then to Galante. Luca and his brother ‘bought’ her, and since she seemed drugged, they took her to this place, where I guess the sick ones can get an IV from a nurse. That woman they have in the bathroom died. Someone doped her up too much.”

  “Who?”

  “I assume who had her first, or Aren’s crew, or maybe the Arnoldis. I don’t know. I think it was someone before Galante got her.”

  “How’d your agent extricate herself?” I ask, trying to comprehend this situation.

  “She left when they unlocked the door—there’s a lock on the inside—for someone to come get the dead woman’s body.”

  I feel like I’m going to be sick again.

  “It’s pretty fucked, I know. Sorry if it’s making you…” He waves his hand.

  “So why do you need to know what we think?”

  “I was doing a favor for Fatima. She said if you guys move forward, it’d be a big break for her. So I thought I could give her a chance to collaborate with us.”

  Oh, okay, so he’s wooing my employee. I can barely resist rolling my eyes. “That’s not how this works.”

  He jiggles his phone in his pocket, looking down at the floor before meeting my eyes.

  “Is that the only video?”

  “No. She’s got one from the truck, too, where all the women and a kid or two were tied up and stacked. There’s a lot with Aren and his guys, but Luca is the one who moves them into a van. He and his brother, sometimes his associate Alessandro. Everyone has guns. I mean, it’s clearly a swap off. And Soren Galante used to help Aren with investments in foreign markets. So we know they have some ties to one another.”

  “Used to?”

  “He stopped last year.”

  I nod. “Well, I’d like to see the other videos. Then I’ll let you know if any collaboration—even informal—seems logical for our office.”

  31

  Luca

  That Thursday, after work, she doesn’t go to her house, and she doesn’t take her car from its spot in the garage. When I can’t get her on the phone after two hours, I call her dad.

  “Have you talked to Elise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m looking for her. Where is she?”

  “I’m not sure she’d like you to know.” He sounds strangely guarded. Panic rises in me.

  “Why not? Did something happen?”

  “She’s…angry, I believe. Upset.”

  “About what?”

  “She believes you’re purchasing women and children. Trafficking them. Which I hope is not true. I don’t think it is.”

  I squeeze the phone till my hand hurts. “You know it isn’t.”

  “I can’t verify that.”

  “You could have told
her that I wasn’t.”

  “It’s not my place,” he says sharply. “You shouldn’t be speaking with her at all, Luca. You could never keep her safe.”

  I drag air in through my nose and blow it slowly out my mouth, so I don’t fucking scream at my future father-in-law. “I’m doing everything I can to keep her safe. Aren’s got a hard-on for her, and he makes threats all the goddamn time.”

  “Why do you interact with him at all?”

  “You already know. I know Roberto tells you this shit.”

  “Roberto told you that all of this was risky. As I remember.”

  “Roberto’s living on a yacht and spending all his money in casinos. Your brother isn’t here. I am.”

  “He says you’re spending all the money and waded into more risky waters so you can engage in this…pet project of yours.”

  “You’re a father. I can’t believe you’d have a damn thing to say about something like this.”

  “It’s a business, Luca. The Arnoldi family enterprises…nothing but a business, and this isn’t business. What you’re doing here is charity. Doing it with—”

  “With what we’re paying you, you’d do well to remember charity can be a good thing.”

  I hang up the phone before I realize that I need to call him back. Find out where the fuck Elise is.

  He answers on the first ring, which gives me perverse satisfaction.

  “Where is she?”

  He says, “I’m keeping her confidence.”

  “No you aren’t. I stayed away from her for years, but she’s in this now as much as I am. I’m not gonna hurt her, and you fucking know that. Tell me where she is so I can make her understand. I bet she’s mad at you, too, by association. I can fix that. I can fix this. But I’m not requesting her location.”

  He sighs, and then he gives me an auspicious address.

  * * *

  I spend the morning, after the chat with Elise’s father, talking to the FBI, letting them know what I found out from Soren: that one of their agents—some supposed bad-ass spy/infiltrator type—has been fucking Aren. We have a long, productive discussion, and I feel like I won this round, at least. They’re not recognizing my “pet project” officially, but who gives a shit? They won’t be gunning for me either. Not right now.

  I don’t know how Elise knows about any of this, but that doesn’t matter right now. I’ll find out when I see her. Turns out she’s at her old friend Dani’s place in SoHo.

  Once I’m in the area, I park in the cab lane beside a flower stand. No matter what the status of things is between us, I’m bringing roses for la mia rosa. I buy two dozen, get to my car, and turn back for another dozen—a yellow bouquet for the baby.

  The sky is darkening when I pull back into traffic. There’s someone tailing me who won’t turn their fucking brights off. Fucker rides my ass all the whole way to SoHo, even changing lanes when I do, which I regard as kind of weird. Good thing Elise isn’t with me.

  I give my car to valet and walk into the gleaming lobby with the roses, taking care to keep my face partway behind my scarf. I tell the check-in desk I’ve got a delivery, and the client has requested that I hand it off in person. I lay on the charm, and the woman—a pretty thirty-something in a white shirt and a black vest—lets me up.

  After an elevator ride and a short walk down a short hall that leads to only one door—Dani’s—I knock, my pulse thrumming as I hear footsteps. After a long moment, the door cracks open, revealing a slice of Dani’s face. She looks familiar. Also, shocked to see me.

  “Luca,” she whispers.

  “E’s dad said she was here.”

  She opens the door slightly more, blinking a few times as she looks me over. “This is too strange. Oh my God. But yes, she’s here. What were you hoping for…in dropping by?” she asks me in an almost-whisper.

  I waggle my brows, and she smiles softly. She looks nice. Like someone who’s on TV a lot—and I know she is, for her job.

  “You look just the same,” she says, as if she read my mind. She touches her face. “With a light beard.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you. Sans beard, of course.”

  I hear something behind her, and she looks over her shoulder. When she looks back at me through the cracked door, her face is tense. “Elise is…in need of a little space right now. If what she thinks of you is true, then you should go now, Luca. Respect her feelings.”

  “What does she think?”

  Dani presses her lips together, looking anguished. “I don’t even think that I can say it.”

  “Whatever it is, she’s wrong. I can explain it.”

  “Can you?” Her dark brows notch.

  “Yes, I swear.”

  Dani leans in closer, so she’s almost got her mouth through the door’s crack, and her lips purse as she holds my gaze. “Luca—do not hurt her. She’s been through a lot this past year.”

  “I know.”

  She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before she turns partly away from me. “Let me talk to her.”

  Dani disappears—leaving the chain on the door—and I rub rose petals with my thumb and then look at my shoes because peering into the space on the other side of the door presents too much suspense.

  Elise appears moments later. She’s wearing a pale pink button-up and a pants-suit kind of navy blue skirt. I can see the swell of her belly. Her hair is piled atop her head, and I can tell she’s been crying.

  She bites her lip, looking into my eyes for a second before planting her gaze on the door jamb between us. “You can step inside,” she offers quietly.

  She unfastens the chain, steps back, and I step into Dani’s foyer, still holding three bouquets of roses. Elise eyes them without remark. “Who told you where I was?” she asks the floor.

  “I called your dad.”

  She closes her eyes.

  “Rosa, what do you think I did?”

  Her gaze flies to mine. “I don’t know. I think you’re—well, I hope—you’re not a human trafficker! But what do I know? I didn’t notice that apartment we met at had a lock that locked you inside.”

  My heart pounds. “It doesn’t. Why do you think it does?”

  “I heard it from an FBI agent.”

  I give her a puzzled look, and she looks maybe abashed.

  “What do you think, rosa? Let’s get the air cleared. Why don’t you tell me what you heard and who you heard it from. Let’s talk it out.”

  * * *

  Elise

  I blow a breath out, looking at the gleaming floor of Dani’s foyer. “If you’re such a good guy, like you are with me, why don’t you walk away from all of this kind of stuff?” My heart’s pounding, and my eyes are on the verge of welling over. “Now I found you again, and I can’t have you. Tell me why, so I can understand. Why can’t you just leave the mob now, Luca?”

  His face twists in anguish. “Because…there’s a contract.”

  “You signed a contract?” My voice sounds thin and shrill.

  “It’s not a physical thing. It’s built on promises and offers. Plans…and obligations. And relationships.”

  Relationships with other people—not with me. Tears spill down my cheeks as something in my chest twists. I wipe my eyes. “I know that. I’m not being fair. I just feel like you’ll never pick me.”

  His mouth tugs downward as I start to lose hold of myself.

  “Rosa…fuck. You’re being just fine.”

  “I just hate that I can’t be with you! And I was so upset…seeing this video. I saw a video. And you were on it.” More tears fall. I breathe deeply. “You were at the place where you and I went—where I told you.” I’m holding my baby bump, feeling like my life is crashing down around me—for so many reasons. “The FBI had it, and I was so scared and upset. For me and for…” I shake my head, unable to say “the baby” without sobbing.

  “I talked to them today.”

  I wipe my face and brave a look up at him.

  He nods, l
ooking blank-faced. “I know someone there. Max knows someone,” he clarifies. “He helped set up a talk.”

  I swallow back a sob. “What did they say?”

  “I’m not in trouble.”

  “You’re not?”

  For a second, he looks exasperated…or maybe hurt. Then he just looks solemn. “What do you think I was doing? Selling people?” His voice tells me that’s ridiculous. That he’s offended that I’d wonder. I watch as he inhales deeply, blows the breath out. Then he reaches in the pocket of his dark denim coat.

  He unfolds a piece of paper, holds it out. I take it. Then I frown down at it, trying to understand.

  “Paperwork for a 401c3?” My stomach flips. “The Rose Garden.” I look up at him. “What is this?”

  I can see him biting on the inside of his cheek. He inhales slowly. “It’s this…thing I do.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  He takes another deep breath, and then he’s holding my gaze. “It’s a rescue for human trafficking victims. Almost like a rehab. They work with florists and gift shops once they’re…ready. We have contacts in that industry. Some of them stay with the organization, helping other ones recover. We also have some contacts with area colleges. So they get help with tuition.”

  I blink back tears.

  “The big catch here,” he says slowly, “is that…I’m in the process. I’m the buyer. I get them from Aren.”

  I can feel my mouth drop open. “You buy them? From Aren, like Aren who runs the Armenians?”

  He nods, flexing his jaw.

  “But why? There are arms of the government that do this.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes that works. But lots of times, it turns out they don’t get enough of them, and it’s too slow, or there might be one sting but there are dozens—thousands—more people that slip through the cracks. And who gives a shit, because whose job is it really? Whose job is it to cut through red tape and get shit done?”