Page 43 of Secrets in the Dark

Gianna Bianchi sat handcuffed in a plush velvet chair, her elegant composure finally shattered. Her ice-blonde hair had come loose from its perfect chignon, and her designer dress wasstained where someone had spilled a drink during the takedown. Across from her, two men I recognized as Licata associates were being processed by officers. A third man—unknown to me—sat bleeding from a head wound, likely having resisted arrest.

On the central table lay the prize we'd spent months tracking: three leather-bound ledgers and an electronic tablet detailing the Licata money-laundering operation. Beside them, cases of cash and bearer bonds—evidence that would ensure RICO charges stuck.

"Over two million in untraceable currency," Aria said, joining me at the evidence table. "Plus complete documentation of their shell company structure. The DA's going to have a field day with this."

I nodded, satisfaction warring with exhaustion. "How did you know the exchange was happening tonight? The intel suggested Friday."

"We didn't," she admitted. "Your signal came in right as we were setting up our surveillance perimeter. When you transmitted 'Queen of Hearts folds,' we mobilized instantly. Perfect timing."

Not perfect, I thought, remembering the knife at Celia's throat. But close enough.

"And the woman?" Aria asked, her tone carefully neutral. "Nova Sinclair—or should I say, Celia Marshall?"

I tensed. "What about her?"

"Do we need to prepare a containment protocol—for her safety or yours?"

The question carried layers of meaning. In our work, civilian entanglements often required management—witnesses to be debriefed, statements to be taken, emotions to be handled. But the professional language couldn't disguise thereal question: Was Celia more to me than just a case-adjacent civilian?

"She was targeted by Tommy Lace because she discovered evidence that convicted his brother," I said, keeping my voice even. "She's been in protective hiding as Nova Sinclair. Her identity and safety are priorities."

Aria studied me, her experienced eyes missing nothing. "And that's all?"

I met her gaze directly. "No. That's not all."

To her credit, she didn't push further. Instead, she nodded toward the evidence. "You did good work, Kane. Eleven months deep cover, and you brought it home. The lieutenant's already talking about commendations."

The praise felt hollow compared to the weight of unfinished business with Celia. I'd maintained my cover at the cost of her trust. I'd protected the operation while leaving her to face Tommy's threats partially alone.

"I need to find her," I said, already turning toward the door.

"Official debrief in two hours," Aria called after me. "Don't be late."

I found Celia in her dressing room, methodically removing the remnants of her stage makeup. The midnight-blue costume lay discarded on a chair, replaced by the simple street clothes she'd arrived in days ago—dark jeans and a burgundy blouse that complemented the highlights in her hair. All traces of Nova Sinclair were disappearing.

I knocked on the door frame, though it stood open. "May I come in?"

She glanced up, her reflection meeting mine in the mirror. "Detective Kane."

"I think we're past formalities, don't you?" I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The small room smelled of cold cream and jasmine perfume, with an undercurrent of the theatrical makeup that had transformed her night after night.

"Are we? I don't know." She set down her makeup wipe, turning to face me directly. "I don't actually know who you are."

The accusation stung, especially because it held truth. "My name is Roman Kane. I'm a detective with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, assigned to a joint task force investigating organized crime. I've been undercover at the Jade Petal for eleven months, tracking the Licata family's money-laundering operation."

"That's your resume," she said quietly. "Not who you are."

I took a deep breath. This wasn't an interrogation or a debriefing. This was something far more personal, and for the first time in nearly a year, I could speak without calculating every word.

"I grew up in Dallas. My father was career military. My mother's a retired ER nurse. I served six years in military intelligence before joining the police force. I love vintage motorcycles, blues music, and baseball. I keep a copy of Hemingway'sThe Old Man and the Seain every go-bag because it was the last gift my father gave me before he died."

Her expression softened slightly. "Why didn't you tell me you knew who I was? You could have said something when I showed you Tommy's photo."

"Operational security," I began, then stopped myself. "No, that's not entirely true. At first, it was protocol—I couldn't risk compromising the larger investigation. But after... after things changed between us, I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That you'd think everything had been calculated. That you'd believe I'd used you as part of the operation." I moved closer, close enough to see the faint tremor in her hands. "I never expected you, Celia. You weren't in any briefing or case file. You weren't part of my mission parameters. You were..."

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