Istare at the picture of Detective Johnâs beaten and bloody body as I sit in the passenger side of my fatherâs car while he drives us to the Oak Club.
Since the moment I woke up to this horror, I havenât been able to look away.
I donât know what Angelo was thinking, sending me something like this. The body on the floor is gruesome, and I keep thinking heâs dead, but I didnât see anything about a murdered detective on the news. I kept thinking about responding, but what am I supposed to say to that?
?
Itâs insane. Itâs unhinged.
And I feel better.
I know I shouldnât. This sort of thing should make me sick and scared. But knowing that Angelo hurt that bastard makes me feel like some justice was served in this, even if there wonât be any real justice for the kills. Detective John deserved to get beaten, even beaten to death, and I want him to limp around and think about Angelo anytime he moves too fast or twists the wrong way or so much as bends over to tie his shoes.
I want him in agony, mostly because he nearly hurt me and nearly hurt my baby.
âWhat do you keep looking at on your phone?â Dad asks.
I quickly turn off the screen. âNothing. Instagram.â
âSocial media.â His lips curl. âWell, daughter, youâd better keep your phone away. The club looks down on that sort of behavior.â
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Dad drops the car at the valet, and we slowly walk in together. I donât know why heâs bringing me tonight but when he said there was an important matter we needed to attend, I figured it was another discussion about my future. Dad likes to save the big stuff for fancy restaurants as a way to lull his victims into complacency, and I figure thatâs what heâs doing with me. Take me to the Oak, wow me with its majesty, and get me to agree to some new demand.
And I have to admit, it might work.
The place is beautiful. Marble floors, shining wooden details, antique chandeliers worth millions, and the tree in the lobby: an enormous oak, an actual living plant with massive branches and a trunk at least ten feet around, probably more. Itâs impossible, and itâs beautiful, and Iâm staring around like a dumbstruck kid as Dad takes me into the restaurant.
âNow, Sara, I want you to have an open mind,â Dad says as the hostess guides us toward a private booth in the very back. âI understand this will be a surprise, but believe me, this is for the best.â
âIâm sorry, what are we doing here?â I frown at him, and my stomach suddenly feels like itâs made of lead. My mouth waters and my fingers tingle with nerves.
A manâs sitting alone at the table. A man with gray hair, a straight back, a lined face. Heâs in his sixties, and heâs wearing a simple button-down shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and a bolo tie.
He nods to my father. âThanks for bringing her,â he says.
And my heart almost stops.
âOf course, Chief Corvine,â Dad says. âIâll be over in the waiting room when youâre finished.â Dad squeezes my arm and walks off.
Leaving me facing the Chief of the Dallas Police Department, Brett Corvine. He smiles at me, grandfatherly, his blue eyes sparkling, and gestures for me to join him. Thereâs a glass of water waiting. I donât know if thatâs a reference to my baby or if itâs just polite.
Chief Corvine sips a beer and tilts his head. Heâs looking at me like Iâm a long-lost friend and I bet thatâs part of his charm. âHow are you, Sara? Your father speaks highly of you, you know.â
âDoes he?â I ask, taken off guard, and as my initial shock wears off, itâs replaced by a cold and seething anger.
He set me up.
My own fucking father set me up.
He brought me to this club tonight to speak with Corvine as some political favor or something like that. Which means Corvine knows about the coverup, which means this case goes all the way up, all the way to the top, to this animal.
I am out of my depth here and Iâm tempted to run away. Maybe I could sneak off, hide in the bathroom, and call Carmineâif heâs in town, he could come here and help.
But thatâs stupid.
This is my case and weâre in a public place.
Iâm as safe as Iâll ever be.
âI bet youâre wondering why youâre here.â He tilts his head. âOr maybe not. Youâre a smart woman. Klein and Houndson? Straight out of law school? Thatâs not a small task. Thatâs a real nice firm, though I hear those guys are somewhat conservative over there.â
âConservative is a nice way of putting it, Chief Corvine, but thank you. Iâm very happy to be a part of such a good firm.â
âI bet you are, I bet you are.â He chuckles softly and leans back. The chief is known for his good old boy routine, but heâs not someone I can take lightly. A man like this only gets into his position by being absolutely ruthless. The chief of police is a political position as much as an administrative one, and any worthwhile chief knows how to play both sides. Heâs a hard man used to taking care of his cops and doing a hard job, and heâs a clever man used to playing the city hall games. Heâll roll over me if I let him.
âWhat can I do for you, Chief?â
âI understand you found an interview,â he says, still smiling like this is no big deal, but my heart patters fast in my chest. âSeems someone told you about our unusual filing system.â
âYes, sir, I did find an interview. It seems it was lost in the archives.â
âWell, you know how that goes. Sometimes things get shoved into boxes and folders and put away and, hell, it just disappears.â He laughs and sips his beer. âIâm glad you fished it out for us.â
âAre you, sir? Iâm happy to hear it.â
âItâs only that this puts us in an awkward position. Are you aware of the around this country right now? Are you aware of the threats my officers face daily? The danger they walk into every time they pull over a car for a routine traffic stop?â
âSir, I am very sympathetic to the police,â I say as carefully as I can, although I want to point out that being a cop isnât even in the top five most dangerous jobs, not even close.
âWell, something like this little interview, it can make my job that much harder. It can put the lives of my men in jeopardy. And I assume you donât want that.â
âNo, sir. I donât.â
âGood. Good. Thatâs really good.â Another sip. Another pause. He laughs quietly. âYou know, at a firm like Klein and Houndson, having a friend at the top of the police department might be a good thing.â
âIt would,â I say and lean forward. âWhat are you offering, sir?â
âIâm not offering anything. I donât make offers.â His eyebrows go up and he gives me an exaggerated innocent look. âI simply make observations.â
âAll right, then hereâs an observation for you, sir. Nicolas Cavallo is innocent. Heâs currently in jail for a crime he didnât commit and is facing serious time behind bars. Possibly life in prison. Thatâs a travesty if Iâve ever heard of one, and itâs not the kind of justice system I want in our country.â
âInteresting,â Chief Corvine says, eyebrows raised. âYou really give a damn about that gutter rat, donât you?â
âHeâs a human being, sir. An innocent one.â
He holds up a finger. âHeâs not . I know what Nicolas Cavallo is. That boy works for the Scavo Famiglia, which is a massive and growing organized crime family from Philadelphia. But you know about them already, donât you? Seeing as youâre friendly with Carmine Scavoâs wife.â
My blood runs cold. I have to grip the edge of the table to keep myself steady. âMy friendship with Brice has nothing to do with putting an innocent man in prison for life.â
âBut you know, donât you? You canât sit there and feign ignorance. You know what the Scavo Famiglia does, and you know why that Nicolas boy was down south meeting with members of a cartel to begin with. You know what he planned on doing. You understand the deal he was going to make.â Chief Corvine leans in, still smiling, like a snake. âYou think heâs innocent?â
I let the silence fall over us like a blanket. He drinks his beer, grinning away like this is some fun game. The sound of the dining room filters throughâforks against plates, the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversationsâbut I feel like everyoneâs staring.
Chief Corvineâs like everyone else. Heâs like Detective John, heâs like my father. Heâs like all the men in power that can only see what they want to see. They donât think of Nicolas as a person, but as a problem that needs to be solved, and who cares if they happen to fix another problem in the process? Nicolas is nothing to them.
Like Angelo. Like Carmine.
But I donât see that when I think about them. I see Angeloâs loyalty. I see the way Carmine looks at Brice, the way he kisses her, the way he loves her. I see Nicolas hunched over the desk in the visitation room with those ugly bruises on his face. I see people, and decisions, and the complicated circumstances that led them to these places.
Theyâre humans, human beings, with wants and fears and loves. Theyâre flawed, and they might be dangerous, but I refuse to give in and treat them like rats.
âHereâs what Iâll offer,â I tell him. âRelease Nicolas. Drop all charges. You do that and the interview I read will disappear. The truth will disappear with it. Maybe youâll have five dead bodies you canât account for and your stats will suffer, but oh, well, life is hard. Youâll manage it. Thatâs my offer, Chief Corvine. I wonât take less.â
His smile slowly fades. He turns his glass in circles, staring at the dregs of the beer, before he tosses it back. âYouâre really going to torch yourself for this kid? This lowlife fucking nothing? Your father said you were a reasonable girl. He said youâd do the right thing.â
â
what you think is the right thing, sir. All due respect.â I slide out of the booth, shaking. âBy the way, the worthless scumbag youâre so keen on throwing away noticed something else. There were dozens of shots fired into that room, but no shell casings, no forensics. Not to mention he was only in that room for a short period and thereâs no way a juryâs going to believe that lone kid somehow did all that violence and straightened up after himself in less than five minutes. Someone else was on the scene long enough to gather everything up, and I bet I can guess who.â
âYouâre playing a dangerous game,â he says slowly.
âYou have my offer, sir. Think about it.â
His eyes meet mine. âWhat if I just kill that thug of yours, huh? What if I do the same to you? Ruin your daddy? Ruin your momma too? Burn you all? Donât think I couldnât, girl.â
I take a slow breath and let it out. âI know you could, sir. But youâre smart enough not to take the risk over one man.â
âOver a worthless piece of shit. Over a criminal that deserves to spend his life on death row.â
âNo, sir, just a man, flaws and all.â
âYouâre fucking up, girl. You just lost a very important opportunity. You realize that if you walk right now, Iâm going to make sure every big firm in the state of Texas stays far away from you? Klein and Houndson doesnât want someone like you as a partner, girl. Think about your future.â
I smile at him. I give it some thought.
âGood luck, sir.â
I turn and walk away from the table on weak knees.
I donât know why I just did that. A smart person wouldâve played along, maybe even given in and did what he said. Chief Corvine really could be a good ally.
But Iâm not going to sell my soul to a man like that.
I want to pretend like Iâm doing this with my head held high, but honestly, Iâm scared as hell and worried I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
My fatherâs waiting for me. He grins as I step around the corner, but the smile slowly fades when he sees the look on my face. âWhat did you do?â he says.
I stop right in front of him and jam a finger into his chest. âYou set me up, you spineless asshole.â
His eyes go wide. âYou canât talk to me that way.â
âIâm calling a car. Iâm not coming home.â
âSara,â he hisses but Iâm already walking away. âSara, stop it.â
I keep going. Dad follows for a few feet, but he stops.
He must be afraid of making a scene.
I donât cry as I get out my phone and summon an Uber. I donât tremble as I stand outside alone in the darkness of the long driveway waiting for it.
I donât let myself despair thinking about what Iâve given up and whatâs coming for me now.
For once in my life, for the first time ever, I did the right thing.