If he bothers keeping track of me. I don’t say that aloud, and Ree changes the subject. It’s not because she isn’t interested. It’s because she hates my first love with the fire of fourteen hells. I’m sure she’s already worrying about what will happen if he ends up in my crosshairs in any real way.
And maybe he will. I’m not holding my breath for it, though. I’ve heard people at the FBI call him The Houdini Don because he’s got a knack for staying off cameras and keeping himself and his people away from wiretaps. The D.A.’s office has long suspected there’s a mole on one of our teams, but it could just be lots of dirty cops in his court, helping him avoid detection on the pre-D.A. level.
We’ve got some data rolling in on some of the Armenians—enough that we have evidence that the Arnoldi family farms out certain hits to the Armenians, and the Armenians rely on Luca’s younger brother Soren for some of their financial services. It seems like the groups are somewhat symbiotic, but I’m not sure how far that reaches or how deep their loyalty runs. Probably not very.
“Maybe it was Isa who wanted to go.” I blink, startled by Ree’s voice in the quiet car—and by the reminder that Ree saw her with Luca.
“Uh, I kind of doubt it.”
“I think she’s more political than she lets on in that frou-frou Instagram of hers.” Ree looks affronted as she says the word “Instagram”—as if the whole platform is pure junk for only the most frivolous humans—but I note that she’s seen Isa’s big-deal profile.
I think about what little I’ve seen—gorgeous professional shots of gorgeous Isa climbing out of infinity pools in Spain and sprawled on yachts in Morocco—and my stomach tightens. “Who knows. For now, I’m taking it at face value. Just a newly elevated mob don and his predecessor’s model daughter seeking some excitement in good Gotham.”
Ree gives me a radiant smile, leaning her head against her chair’s headrest. “You’re pretty fly, Ms. D.A. Anybody ever tell you that?”
I look down at my lap, shaking my head. “Only the nicest, most supportive people.”
She laughs. “I still kind of can’t believe it. Goldfish in the big sea, baby.”
I look at my dear friend’s face—at her eyebrow ring and violet lipstick, at her high cheekbones and pert nose and wild halo of soft coils—and feel almost teary with gratitude for her—for the devotion, love, and genius that is Ree, a friend I’ve gotten to call mine since middle school. “Please never stop swimming with me.”
She reaches out and throws an arm around me. “Never ever.”
Our car pulls into the circle drive in front of the tall, beige stone Courts Building, and I squeeze her hard. “Thank you, Ree. For everything. Be nice to Cian when Dani sends her car to bring you to the TV interview this afternoon. You know he gets nervous when you evil-eye him, even if he can’t see your eyes. He can feel them.”
She bats her lashes. “These eyes don’t do evil.”
I laugh as I step out. “We both know that’s just a bald-faced lie.”
She squeezes her boobs discreetly, lifting an eyebrow, and I’m cracking up as I greet my escort.
“Hey, Jacey.” He smiles down at me, and I kiss his cheek. “You smell good this morning.”
He gives me a discreet sniff. “You smell even better…esquire.”
He winks before his arm encircles my lower back, and I lean against his chest for a long moment.
“How was last night after I left?” he asks softly.
“It was late.”
“I missed movie night,” he says.
“I missed it too. Next week for sure.”
We fall into our normal chatter as we pass through security and ride the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. It’s not until we step out into the wax-polished hall that I realize something feels weird.
“It’s really quiet in here.” I frown up and down the long, wide hallway. Jace shrugs, and we keep talking till we reach the double doors that mark the official domain of the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.
“I’ll open this for you,” he says, pushing one open as if I’m a damsel in distress. I look around the sparsely appointed lobby, and my stomach flips—because it’s definitely empty, too.
There’s a little pop sound, like a balloon busted. Then my colleagues jump out from behind the furniture.
“Congratulations, D.A.!”
5
Luca
Two Weeks Later
“You’ve got calloused hands, bro.”
Max gives me a big smile as his forefinger thumps the inside of my palm.
I return the phony grin, even as I curl my fingers and hiss, “Shit, that hurt.”
With a black beanie covering his ears and forehead, and splotches of windburn on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, Max looks like some kind of arctic explorer. Which works, since we’re floating in the middle of Central Park Lake on the last day of the rowboat season, drifting between ice chunks.
“Yeah, no shit they’re calloused. What do you think I’ve been doing while you’re fucking your way through that harem and driving sports cars?”
I give him a look of shock, exaggerated but sincere.
“Sorry.” He ducks his head as another gust of frigid wind blows our boat toward a mini iceberg. “I guess that was too crass for your refined sensibilities.”
I arch a brow.
“Hey now, I’m the good guy,” he says. “Don’t forget it.”
I snort. “Sure you are.” Dude did a tour of Iraq and then went back again as some sort of private security worker. He’s been a cop with the NYPD for going on four years now, and I’m pretty sure he’s no more a good guy than the rest of them. Although I will concede that if they got paid good wages, maybe cops would be less hungry for dirty money.
“You wanna fuck this date up, brother?” Max asks. “Who you think’ll take you for a margarita?”
I laugh. “Hopefully nobody. I don’t like that weird green mix shit.”
He chuckles, and I let go of one of his hands to fuck with my scarf. Fuck, it’s cold. I rub my eye with one of my numb fingers. Even my eyeball feels half frozen. “So whatcha got for me on this fine Sunday?”
“Not that much,” he says, leaning in a little. He’s chewing spearmint gum, but I can still smell smoke on his clothes. “Just more of the same.” A white cloud of his minty breath floats into my face, making my eyes water. I blink and nod, because I’m eager to hear what he says next. “Like I told you Halloween, it’s a pretty decent treasure trove but not the best, I guess. Plenty on the…err, assets”—I side eye him, and he rolls his eyes—“and the movement all along your old route. I know you’re not using that now.”
I nod. Since he came to me with this about a month ago, I’ve had to change the whole damn system for my pink ops.
“I know that’s not trouble, not how some of the other shit is,” he says. “What they’ve also got is lots of money stuff, all tied to Soren, but there’s nothing like a smoking gun. They’re finding patterns, though, with certain accounts. They’ve got a couple logs of evidence surrounding all those pills you guys were bringing down from Canada in early ’19, info about one of your big ‘clients’—who they’re approaching about turning, by the way—and the start of something focused on where you’re getting all that good new PH.”