Page 2 of The Italian Reckoning
And Rocky? He wants all of me?—
Even if it means burning down his father's kingdom to keep me.
I swore I’d never fall for a criminal.
But now I’m staring down the barrel of the truth?—
Is he my salvation… or the end of everything I am?
When the reckoning comes, whose side will I die on?
Author’s Note:This dark and forbidden mafia romance features a morally torn detective, a dangerous mafia heir, serial killer suspense, enemies-to-lovers fire, forced proximity, kidnapping, and a ruthless Don who wants her erased.Sinful, suspenseful, and deliciously twisted.Not for the faint of heart.
1
SARAH
Ilove dancing.
It’s eleven o’clock at night, relatively cool for the middle of April, and across the street, three floors down, an elderly couple embraces one another with a hold perfected over the decades they’ve been together. They rock and sway in each other’s arms, shuffling back and forth across their balcony to music that carries on the breeze above the hum of the traffic even further below. They dance in their own world, blocking out the sounds of the city and focusing only on each other.
The beautiful sight makes the rest of the city fade into the background. The hum of traffic becomes an undercurrent to the music and the mingling scents of exhaust fumes, restaurants, and city life get carried away in the next gust of wind.
The way the elderly man gazes down at his partner with complete adoration in his eyes makes my heart ache.
I love dancing.
I miss it.
Having someone hold me like that and dance with me any time, any place, without a care in the world, would be the dream.Sadly, my only company is half a glass of box wine and some dusty scraps fallen from the beak of a passing bird.
The roof of my apartment building is where I come to think, usually spending hours unpacking the ins and outs of a case I’m stuck on or trying to unravel the thought process of the latest scumbag I’ve got in lockup. Although in this city, they don’t stay there for very long. I might have a badge and a gun on my hip, but the police aren’t the real power in New York. I learned that not long after I arrived here from Montana.
The Mafia run the show.
Each criminal I drag into the precinct on air-tight charges usually walks within twenty-four hours. I ask for names, dates of birth, and place of residence while my colleagues ask what family they’re from so they know whom to call. When the Mafia line the fat pockets of the corrupt cops walking the street, is there any real justice to be had in this fucking city?
The wine doesn’t taste as good as it did twenty minutes ago when my glass was full, souring my mood further.
Life was simpler when all I wanted to do was dance with someone, buy a little house somewhere, and focus on helping people. Now, I’m carrying scars from the city’s yearly gala after it was blown to smithereens by the very man I was trying to arrest. If the Irish aren’t tearing the city apart looking for a murderer, the Russians are blowing it up trying to kill each other. In any other city, the site of the explosion would still be a smoldering wreck for at least another two years, but the Russians moved in almost as soon as the fire was put out and got that shit rebuilt.
I was still in hospital recovering from burns when I got an invitation to the grand reopening of the hotel. It felt like an insult last year and still feels like one now.
I refuse to be bought, so I’m toyed with instead.
I didn’t move from Montana, leaving behind a whole host of deserving criminals, just to end up in the fat pocket of whatever Mafia scumbag wants to pay me the most.
Although on nights like these when my mind is quiet and the city hums with the music of companionship and dancing, I’m tempted.
What a life I could have with dirty money.
My reality is different. My only company these days is my wine and my cat.
“Meow?” On cue, Iris hops up onto the roof’s edge alongside me and wraps her thick, fluffy tail around her body, staring up at me with eyes as big as the moon above.
“Iris, you’re not supposed to be out here.” Her thick fur is warm to the touch, and as soon as she starts purring deeply, my soul settles.
I’ve spent six months trying to figure out how she sneaks out of my apartment and gets up here, but it seems I’m not a very good detective because I have no clue. Luckily, she’s far too lazy to parkour across the rooftops and only ever comes up here to see me.
