Page 13 of The Italian Reckoning
I have to consider the possibility that her death was also ordinary. Not Mafia related, just a random act of terrible violence.
Not that her killer will receive any less of a punishment once I get my hands on him.
I just need to make sure I find him before Sarah does. Gio will never forgive me if Belle’s murderer ends up safe behind bars.
Pulling up to a stoplight, one foot rests on the ground while I lean back into my bike, and my mind wanders back to Sarah. She’s been a presence around here for a few years now and is often highlighted as the cop to avoid since she can’t be bought.
Pretty strict morals, that one.
But she’s had dealings with Cormac Gifford, the Irish Captain. And she was at the gala. As much as she tries to stay away from this life, something just keeps dragging her back. And now she’s assigned to Belle’s case. I did call one of my contacts at the precinct to try and get the case reassigned to someone on our payroll, but no one was biting. Apparently, no one wants to deal with the wrath of Sarah Gogs when she loses her case.
So I’m stuck with her.
Not that I mind. She’s quite the firecracker, and while her dislike of anything to do with the Mafia is well known, her hatred of me feels personal.
Maybe it’s because she has a crush on me.
MaybeIhave a crush on her and that’s why I can’t stop thinking about her.
Chuckling to myself as the lights change, I resume driving until the mouthwatering scents of takeout food across the city invade my helmet and my stomach flips.
I need food.
Pulling up to park on the side of the road, Sarah still entertains my thoughts as I pull off my leather gloves one by one.After she saved my life at the gala, my father was certain that would be a gateway into getting her in our pocket and ending the tiptoeing we have to do around her. But Sarah stuck to her morals harder than anyone I’ve ever met before.
She can’t be swayed and she certainly can’t be bought.
Is that why she hates me so much? Because she saved my life and to thank her, I tried to buy her?
The things I do for my father.
Tucking my gloves under my seat, the strap of my helmet nearly comes loose, but before I can take my helmet off, a female scream drifts through the air from nearby.
“Getoffme, you motherfucker!”
Nerves jump up my spine. Rotating on the spot, I scan my surroundings through the dark tint of my visor for the source of the scream when another one catches my attention. I break into a sprint across the parking lot to the mouth of the alley at the other end, making it just time to see two people brawling on the ground.
A man and a woman.
“Hey!” I yell, running full sprint down the alley toward the couple. “What the hell are you doing?”
The woman throws her fist upward and punches the man straight in the face, sending him sprawling backward with a grunt. Her handbag is clutched tight in one of his hands and as he lands, he finally notices me. As his eyes widen, he scrambles backward and picks himself up, turning and running toward the other end of the alley.
“My bag, you asshole!” yells the woman—who I recognize to be Sarah as I leap over her fallen form and continue sprinting toward her assailant. Questions about why she’s here and how she is are shoved to the side. I need to get her purse back.
Her mugger doesn’t get far. As soon as he reaches the other mouth of the alley, I leap forward and slam my shoulder into hischest, tackling him to the ground. He cries out and we fall into a heap, rolling over one another as we grapple for control of the situation.
“Getoffme!” he snarls, twisting and writhing in my hold like some kind of wildcat. We roll into the street where several cars screech their horns as they swerve to avoid hitting us.
“Attacking women in the street?” I yell while planting one knee on the ground and holding myself over him. “Think that makes you a big man, huh? You fucker!”
I punch him twice in the face, sending his head snapping to the side and blood spraying across the dark road. He reaches for me with both hands, but my helmet protects my face and neck from each of his blows. Punching him again dazes him, so I grab him by the collar and haul him to his feet as I stand. When his head lolls backward, his hood falls off his head, revealing a young teenage face.
Shit. He’s just a kid.
“It’s just a bag, man!” the kid yelps, his tears reflecting the orange glow of the streetlight overhead. “It ain’t that deep!”
Fuck.
