Page 22 of The Italian Reckoning
“Mmhmm. I almost had him. I feel like I’m in a competition with him to prove the competency of police work because he’ssosure his way is better.”
“Honey, not that I don’t love having you here, but given your profession and your rather intense hatred of the Mafia and Rocky Barati, why do you drink here?” She raises one hand and indicates around the empty bar. “You know what this place is. Are you hoping to run into a particularly dashing Italian man?”
“Ew, no.” I gag softly, rolling my eyes at the very thought of running into the cocky, arrogant, frustratingly handsome Rocky Barati. “Honestly?”
“Please.”
“This is the one place where I ironically won’t be bothered by criminals. Whether it’s because of your peace agreement or because no one wants to bother me, I can actually bemehere. I mean fuck, last night, I got dragged to a new bar for birthday drinks and I gotmuggedon my way home.”
“What?” Hazel immediately sets down her towel.
“I’m okay!” I assure her quickly, motioning to my lip. “Nothing I can’t handle. My point is, nothing like that ever happens here and I don’t need to worry about it. So I kind of like it. Is that weird?”
“We don’t always get to choose where we feel safe.” Hazel smiles softly. “So no, I don’t think it’s weird. I’d only complain if your presence was affecting my business, but you’re not the first cop to drink here and you won’t be the last. You sure you’re okay?”
Mysterious motorcycle man drifts into my mind and my smile softens. “Yeah. I was fine.”
“Well, Happy belated Birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“Your next drink is on me.”
“Oh, no, one is enough after what I drank last night. But I’ll take a rain check on the next one.”
“Deal.” Hazel sighs deeply and leans next to me once more, her eyes darting about my face. “Listen. I can’t tell you what to do. At the end of the day, you’re a cop and you have your own rules, but I can tell you something. In good faith and off the record, of course.”
My curiosity spikes. “Oh?”
“You’re on the right path, I think. No one in my world thinks this was a gang killing. No one’s claimed it, and from what I understand, Belle was the most unproblematic kid to ever come out of this shitty world. So Rocky thinks it was a random act of violence.”
I hate that it makes my heart lift to hear I’m not wrong and that Rocky and all his criminal ways reached the same conclusion as me. “So he thinks it was random?”
Hazel nods and stands. “So out there is some asshole whose days are numbered because when someone from outside of these circles commits a crime like that? There’s nothing to protectthem. When Rocky finds the bastard, it’ll be like a feral wolf in the hen house.”
“No,” I say as frustration builds. “Whoever it was should face court. They should be punished the right way and locked up for the rest of their lives so Belle's family will get justice.”
“They will get justice, honey.” Hazel pats the back of my hand. “Italian justice.”
“But that’s not right.”
“Why?” She looks at me with such concern that my heart aches.
“Criminals shouldn’t be allowed free reign to do whatever the fuck they want! They shouldn’t be allowed to pick and choose what happens to people and face no consequences. They deserve to be caught and held up for the entire world to see so that their victims know they aren’t crazy!”
Hazel’s look of concern melts into one of worry as my voice rises. “Honey, that’s not?—”
“Forget it. I’m sorry. Thanks for the drink.”
I replay that conversation in my mind for the entire Uber drive back to my apartment. Hazel didn’t deserve my snapping at her, but it’s a sore topic. Men who think they’re above the law, who can do whatever they want to people and slip away without a single drop of justice because they simply disregard the law—it cuts too close to home.
My Uber driver attempts to make small talk, but my heart isn’t in it so instead, I distantly listen to him talking about his next family holiday until we finally reach my apartment. I thank him and wait for him to leave before I approach my building. Just as I reach the door, a box placed at the top of the steps catches my attention.
It’s addressed to me.
“Oh, God,” I murmur softly. “Don’t tell me I was drunk online shopping again.”
Tucking the parcel under one arm, I head into my building and climb up to my apartment. I’m slightly breathless by the time I slot the keys into the lock and let myself in, greeted by an excited Iris who leaps over all the furniture in her desperation to greet me.
