Detained: Chapter 1

I duck under the yellow police tape and head over to my lieutenant, Alex. Forensics is busy sweeping the scene around us.

A female, late twenties, throat slit, ditched on the driveway of a house owned by Dante Capri. We watch in silence as they zip the pale body into a bag. I turn my nose up as I look at the dried blood covering her neck.

“Let me guess, mafia?” I ask Alex.

He looks at me warily and gives me a sharp nod.

These assholes think they own the streets. It’s been escalating rapidly the last few weeks.

There was a shooting at a church. Warehouses burned to the ground. I’ve seen firsthand the destruction they cause.

My dad, the commissioner, works with Luca Russo, the head of the Russo family. Recently, I have been keeping tabs on the whole organization to report back to my dad. It’s why I am here today. I can still see the piles of men outside the church. It seems now they’ve reduced themselves to killing women.

“Are we making an arrest?” I don’t know where to start with this mess.

Alex stands from where he was examining a bloody handprint. “We have to now. It was called in by the public.”

I hide my smile. I’ve wanted to bring one of these criminals in for months. My dad always dismisses the idea to keep the peace.

“Why would they just leave her here in broad daylight? Seems pretty dumb to me.” I gesture at the row of suburban homes facing us. It is completely out of character for this tight-knit family.

He rubs a hand over his face, his tattooed forearm peeking out from his jacket.

“Probably to make a statement. If I’m correct, the stiff is Romano’s daughter. This is her brother’s home. They think they’re above the law. With your dad on their side, they are the law.”

Monsters. All of them. My fists clench as my heart picks up a gear. “So, this guy will actually get put away?”

He shakes his head, which deflates me.

In the six years I’ve been doing this job, no matter what their crime seems to be, they always get away with it.

Staring at the body bag as the guys lift it and carry it into the van, I wonder what she did to deserve such an end?

I wrack my brain, trying to think of who we can bring in for this. Years of cases, I almost feel like I’m on a first name basis with the big players. Luca, the big boss, is certainly a no. Keller and Grayson are his right-hand men, but their alibis are always flawless, covered by their lackeys from their gym. There is always one name that sticks out to me, an anomaly for the group. Frankie Falcone. He’s a ghost. Long distance, grainy pictures are the best I’ve seen of him. Maybe he’s my weak link.

As I look back at Alex, I see him wiping away the large handprint.

“What the hell are you doing, Alex?” I hiss.

“What I have to.” His dark eyes peek over his sunglasses.

You have to be kidding me.

“A woman dies and the cops cover it up–fucking perfect.” I nod over to the body being wheeled into the back of the van and glare at Alex.

He sighs. “They’ll all end up killing each other, anyway. It’s only a matter of time.”

He rubs his hands together and heads off to his car, just as a bunch of cops walk onto the scene.

After what I’ve seen the last few weeks, one of these assholes needs to pay for this. Alex is clearly hiding something. It looks like I can take matters into my own hands.

I call over Chad as I make my decision.

“We need to make an arrest, okay?” I ask.

“Well, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. I bite back my grin.

“Get all units out. This has Mr. Falcone’s name written all over it.”

He stares at me blankly, registering my words.

“Frankie Falcone. Call it in.” I press. Alex won’t, but Chad, as far as I’m aware, doesn’t work alongside my father.

I was told we need to make someone pay, and Frankie Falcone seems like the perfect fit.

I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my seat with a huff. “I’m not letting him free.”

Just because my dad is the commissioner of the NYPD, doesn’t mean I won’t stare him down.

“Zara, how many times do you want me to explain this? You don’t have a choice, sweetie.”

I turn my nose up at his nickname for me. We both know that’s far from the truth.

“Okay, so tell me, did he do it?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his gray hair. “Zara, you need to understand something: you do not mess with the mafia. This isn’t a request, it’s an order.” He raises his eyebrows.

“He killed that woman and dumped her in a driveway. You saw the pictures on the crime report, right? Not only that, but the guy is rumored to have murdered his own brother, for Christ’s sake! It’s so easy to pin this on him!”

He shrugs, sliding the report I had slammed down away from him. “Mafia business is mafia business. We get paid well to turn a blind eye. I’m not prepared to risk myself for the sake of one body. You just arrested the new fucking mafia boss, Zara. Now you need to clean up your mess!”

“And where do we draw the line? When they start killing kids? Innocent people on the streets?” My arms fly out in exasperation.

His lips go thin. “This isn’t up for discussion. I am your commissioner, and I’m giving you a damn order, Zara. Now suck it up, go in there, and release him.” His coffee splashes as his arm jerks into a point.

I stand and rest my palms on his oak desk. “This is the last time.”

It’s becoming more and more. I thought to start with he just turned a blind eye, after seeing Alex at the scene, and now this outburst, I’m not so sure.

“With Frankie Falcone,” he chuckles. “But this won’t be the end of it.”

“I thought Luca was the head?” I sneer.

“Luca handed the reins over to Frankie after the wedding fiasco. He asked me for this favor, and I don’t have a choice. We have to stay on the winning side here.” Pulling a napkin from his drawer, he dabs at the brown droplets on the cover of the report.

“Hmm. I suppose this is where the money is coming from for Mom’s new fancy treatment?” I know Mom needs treatment for her heart. I’ve seen the way she’s deteriorated over the last year and it breaks my heart. But at what cost is my dad paying to do this?

For a man who has berated me for the last six years for what I did, when he’s no better than me. He made me become a cop to sort myself out and drag me off the path I was on. Or basically, to keep an eye on me, so he doesn’t have to clean up anymore of my problems.

I watch as he balls his fists and his eyes narrow. Taking a step back, I straighten my jacket. “I am doing what I have to do to keep your mother alive, Zara. Now, roll down your sleeves. No one needs to see those god awful tattoos of yours, either.” He drops his head back to focus on the paperwork in front of him, dismissing me.

Slamming the door shut, my middle finger sticks up as I leave. He has no clue about half of the ink that covers my body under these suits.

Storming towards the questioning room, I get there just as the door opens.

“You need to stay out of this,” Alex warns, running a hand through his mop of dark hair.

“I got the message,” I snap.

He leans against the wall, nearly blocking the narrow hall. “You sure you want to go in there on your own?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” One of my hands lands on my hip.

“He’s a dangerous man, and he’s going to be pissed at you.” His lips thin as he watches me.

“Is that so? Then why are we releasing him?” I straighten my spine. If one more man tries to tell me what to do today, I am going to scream. I hate this fucking place.

He stands in front of the handle as if to block me.

“Move, Alex. I have work to do. I am quite capable of dealing with Mr. Falcone on my own.”

He throws up his arms and slides out of my way.

I hold back rolling my eyes as he slips away, and I stroll into the questioning room, shutting the door behind me.

My feet stop moving when Frankie swivels in his seat to face me. His icy gray eyes burn into mine.

Okay. This part of my investigation I appear to have brushed over. I’ve always kept my distance when keeping tabs on these men. I’ve missed one key detail.

The fact this man is drop dead gorgeous.

I don’t know what I expected from the low-quality surveillance photos. All I’ve ever seen has been a partial profile or the back of his head.

Sitting at that table, handcuffed in a navy suit, is probably the sexiest guy I’ve laid eyes on. His dark chestnut hair is slicked back, and a tidy beard frames his chiseled jaw. With that moody, yet mysterious, look in his eye that tells me he could fuck me seven ways to Sunday.

I need to get a grip, not imagine the murdering asshole in front of me touching me in any way.

Dammit.