NINE

Luca played his last hand, his body thrumming with the need to get the damn card game with Nico finished so they could move on to business. After dropping Gabrielle off at her house, and checking to make sure the contractors were doing their job, he had picked up Little Ricky and Mike and just made it downtown in time for the meeting in the private salon of the high-limit gaming room of Nico’s Casino Italia.

Poker wasn’t Luca’s game. He was a decent poker player, but craps was his addiction—a game of chance that gave the illusion of control. He had also been avoiding Nico’s casino since leaving the hospital, and particularly the private salon where he’d been shot. But when the boss wanted to talk over cards, you hauled ass, shut the fuck up, and tried not to look at the new plush carpeting that covered the spot where you’d almost bled out on the floor.

Exquisitely decorated in rich purple, gold, and brown, the ultra-exclusive private gaming salon was contemporary in a classic way, with expensive lamps, walls of books with neutral-hued spines, dark wood furniture and velvet sofas. On the other side of the stained-glass doors, the less-exclusive high-limit room boasted crystal chandeliers, rich, red leather furniture, and five-hundred-dollar-minimum slot machines.

Frankie glared as Luca drummed his thumb on the table. “You got a problem?”

Yeah, he had a problem. He had a lot of fucking problems—Albanians in his territory, a cop who wasn’t happy he’d stolen his girl, two bastards who had dared shoot up her house, and a beautiful, sexy woman who had become a bigger fucking addiction than the craps that had almost wiped out his savings the year after Gina died.

“No, dickhead. You got a problem?”

“Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, two?” Nico threw his cards on the table and gestured to his new casino manager to clear the room. “You got an issue, work it the fuck out before you come to a meeting.”

Luca didn’t know why Frankie was on his case, but Frankie was one of those guys who was always hiding in the shadows, and if he even suspected Luca had something going on with a cop, he wouldn’t hesitate to act, and in the most brutal of ways.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his emotions under control before Frankie picked up that something wasn’t right. His gaze fell on the spot where Nico had held him on the floor, trying to staunch the blood spilling out of Luca’s chest. At the time, Luca had almost been glad it was over. Gina’s betrayal had ripped him apart, and he was tired of the anger and the guilt and the pain, tired of resenting Matteo for being another man’s son.

He isn’t yours, Gina had said smugly, before she walked out the door. But damned if he could leave Matteo with her sorry excuse for a family after she died. He’d held Matteo when he was born, named him after his grandfather, shown him off to his family, taken pride in the fact that the Rizzoli family name would carry on and had the banner inked on his skin, ready for his son’s name. Matteo was his son in all but blood, and he was the only person alive who knew the truth.

“Luca.”

He looked up, saw the sympathy in Nico’s eyes and knew that he thought Luca was lost in the moment the bullet had sliced through his chest.

“It’s in the past,” Nico said.

“Yeah.” He lifted the glass of whiskey that had sat untouched for the last hour.

“I brought you all here to discuss the situation with Tony.” Nico looked at each of the five capos sitting around the table in turn. There was no love lost between Nico and his cousin, Tony, especially after Tony tried to force Nico’s girlfriend—now his wife—into marriage to gain an alliance with her family.

“Tony has allied with the Fuentes Cartel led by José Gomez Garcia,” Nico said. “He has been desperate to get involved in the drug trade, and this is his way in. Garcia was operating independently until he became the subject of an intense police investigation. He had to go deep underground, taking many of his senior lieutenants with him. He’s been using the Albanians for muscle and distribution, but, as we know, the Albanians are messy, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. They don’t respect territory.” He gave a brief nod to Frankie and Luca. “And they pay the price.”

Mike snorted. “You give them a new pair of shoes, Frankie?”

“Heaviest ones I could find.”

Nico lifted a hand for silence. “Tony is now providing the muscle, and in return Garcia is giving him distribution rights over key areas of the city. Garcia is flooding the market with a new kind of dope. It’s highly addictive, and people are paying double or even triple what they’d pay for the regular stuff. It can also be lethal, and two nights ago two of Sally G’s soldiers overdosed on Garcia’s new product and died.”

Sally G, a senior capo who had been a good friend of Nico’s father, and was now a staunch supporter of Nico’s claim to lead the family, stood and declared a vendetta against Garcia. The room exploded in a cacophony of curses and shouts, calls for revenge and promises to slit Garcia’s throat. One of the benefits of becoming a made man was that the entire Cosa Nostra could be called upon for vengeance. And when that happened, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“They were both friends of ours and they will be avenged,” Nico said. “Their deaths and the shoot-out at Roberto’s Deli also give us another reason to go after Garcia. Not only is it a matter of honor, but if we take down Garcia, we’ll cut off Tony’s main drug supplier and weaken his power base in the city. In short, we’ll be able to take Tony out, reclaim our territory and get this fucking tainted shit out of our city.”

Cheers and shouts followed his statement. Nico silenced the room by thudding his fist on the table, an uncharacteristic show of emotion from an otherwise self-contained man. “I want Garcia. Alive. And I shouldn’t have to remind everyone in this room that drugs are not tolerated by Cosa Nostra. Drugs attract law enforcement, and we saw what happened in New York when the families broke that rule—wiseguys turning rat and selling out, empires crumbling, businesses lost, men in jail, and women and children left without support. That’s not what this family is about. That’s not what I’m about.”

Luca’s heart squeezed in his chest. The decimation of the American Mafia families had spilled into Las Vegas because of his father. His dad had broken the rule against dealing in drugs, lured by the huge profits and the promise of easy money. The feds had followed the drugs and caught his father in their net. Instead of honoring omertà, keeping his mouth shut, and doing his time, Luca’s father had agreed to wear a wire and rat on his crime family in a plea deal that would have seen him abandon his wife and children for a new life in witness protection.

Like that was going to happen.

Less than one week after jumping ship, Luca’s father was found in an FBI safe house wearing a Sicilian Necktie, the traditional Mafia punishment for rats His throat had been slit from ear to ear and his tongue ripped through the hole made in his neck, dangling as if it were a tie. Devastated and disgusted by his father’s betrayal, Luca had never mourned his father’s death, and he had been striving ever since to regain the family honor and clear the family name.

“Who’s going to lead the hunt for Garcia?” Nico asked.

“I will.” Luca didn’t hesitate to volunteer. Catching Garcia would go a long way toward regaining his crime family’s trust and reclaiming his blood family’s honor.

Nico nodded his approval. “It’s a big job, but you’ll have all the help you need, and Frankie can do the heavy lifting.”

Everyone laughed at his veiled reference to Frankie’s love of concrete footwear. Everyone but Frankie, who was studying Luca as if he couldn’t believe Luca had been given such an honor. Christ, was there nothing he could do to show Frankie that he wasn’t his father? That he would never betray the Cosa Nostra? Over the years, he had tried to be the best damn associate, soldier, and now capo he could be. He worked longer, fought harder, and followed every rule. If everyone around the table was Mafia, Luca was Mafia Xtreme.

At least this cemented in his mind the folly of asking Frankie to help him hunt down and whack the two bastards who had shot up Gabrielle’s house. He would have to handle the situation on his own, and with only the most trusted and loyal men in his crew.

And afterward, when he had avenged Gabrielle and ensured her safety, their relationship, such as it was, would have to end. There was no half way with the Mafia. You were in or you were dead, just like his dad. And he knew just who would be pulling that trigger. Not just on him, but possibly on Gabrielle, too.

“I heard Luca almost got arrested for beating on a cop last night,” Frankie said, silencing the chatter around the table.

Luca’s stomach tightened and he dropped one hand to his lap where it would be within easy reach of his weapon. Every Mafia family in the city had police informants—dirty cops, ex-cops, janitors, admin staff, or even just regular cops who’d made a mistake and wound up owing the Mafia a favor. Clearly someone had ratted him out to Frankie, and now he was being called to account. The question was, how much did Frankie know?

“Yeah?” Mike’s eyes lit up. “What was that all about?”

“He threatened my girl.”

Nico frowned. “Since when do you have a girl?”

“He always has a girl,” Mike said. “He has a new one every day of the week.”

“This one’s different.” He forced a smile, playing at being the manwhore he had been until he met Gabrielle. “I had her twice.”

Everybody laughed, which was what he wanted them to do. But Frankie didn’t even crack a smile.

*   *   *

Access denied. Classified.

“Dammit.” Gabrielle threw her mouse across her desk. She was locked out of the Garcia case. Even her personal hardcopy files where she had jotted down notes, thoughts, and random pieces of information had been moved to Agent Palmer’s office where they were accessible only with his permission and after he opened the locked filing cabinet with his personal key. The security setup was unprecedented, and she wondered if Garcia was something more than just a drug lord with ties to the Fuentes Cartel.

She pulled down the first of a stack of slim manila files from the shelf in her cubicle. There were no offices in the Theft department. No windows either. Most of her new colleagues spent their days visiting businesses and homes to take down details of items that would only rarely be recovered. The Theft bureau hadn’t gone high tech and her new case files were all paper records—everything from stolen jewelry to cars, and from casino winnings to a prize poodle with pink fur. Her heart sank. This wasn’t a transfer; it was a punishment. And now Garcia was out there thinking he could intimidate her. How could they take her off the case?

With a sigh, she opened the first folder and stared at the thick bundle of police reports all documenting cases of lost, missing, or stolen phones. Her new supervising sergeant thought a crime ring was operating in the area, targeting phones that would be stripped of their SIM cards and shipped overseas. It was a “dog file,” he’d said, with no hint of apology in his voice. Missing phones rarely turned up, and they were easy cash for any criminal whether linked to organized crime or not. Still, they had to make a token effort to track them down. She pulled out the most recent report and threw it across her desk.

No. She couldn’t just sit here and pretend like it was all okay. For two years, she’d followed the rules while she worked on the Garcia case, and what had that gotten her? Nothing. No justice for David. No vengeance. No Garcia behind bars. No streets clean of drugs. She buried her face in her hands, catching sight of the faint bruises on her wrists from her night with Luca.

Luca who flaunted the rules with his cavalier attitude. Luca who refused to wear a hospital gown, had sex with her in a public place, illegally accessed the Glamour database to find her address, tracked her down, and then attacked a police officer on her front lawn. Luca was a rebel. Why couldn’t she be one, too? She had said she was going to talk to Agent Palmer. So why not do it now?

She buttoned her suit jacket and made her way down to Agent Palmer’s office. Part of her—the part that was sweating profusely into her shirt—hoped he wasn’t there. But the other part—the part that had turned Jeff away in favor of a man she barely knew, a man with whom she had willingly committed “open or gross lewdness” and “indecent exposure”—was looking forward to the challenge.

Good thing. Because there he was.

“Do you have a minute?” She took a step into Agent Palmer’s office, imposing herself into his space.

Agent Palmer looked up. If anyone had to guess his job, they would get it right away. Slicked down black hair, black suit, dark gray tie, white shirt, and bland face. All that was missing were the dark glasses.

“Ms. Fawkes. What can I do for you?”

“Garcia sent two of his goons to shoot up my house.”

He nodded. “I heard about the shooting. How do you know it was him?”

She opened her mouth to respond, hesitated. How did she know it was him? After two years of investigation, she felt like she knew Garcia. He was a man who stayed hidden, sending others to do his dirty work so he could keep his hands clean. He was quick to react when he felt threatened, eliminating any opposition or competition in the most brutal way, which suggested he was ruled more by emotion than logic. David got too close, and he paid the price. And if she was right about the identity of the shooters, it meant she’d uncovered something in those files Garcia did not want her to see.

“Who else would shoot up my house? I haven’t been working on any other case.”

“You tell me, Ms. Fawkes. I’m not privy to your personal life.”

She hadn’t liked Agent Palmer when they first met, and she liked him even less now. He wasn’t even like a real person. He didn’t lean back, fold his arms, sigh, yawn, or twiddle his thumbs. Unlike Luca who was very expressive, he showed no emotion, no hint he was even alive. She wondered if he was even breathing.

“For the sake of argument, let’s assume I haven’t pissed anyone else off so that they would bring a couple of AKs to my house for a target-shooting party,” she shot back. “We can’t let Garcia think he intimidated us. I need to be on the case again, doing something visible so he understands we’re not afraid of him.”

“No.”

“That’s it? No?”

“That’s it,” he said evenly. “You’ve just proved to me that I made the right decision pulling you off the case in the first place. This is emotion talking. You’re angry. Your home was violated. Just like when your husband was murdered, you are devastated and want revenge. Emotion gets in the way of an investigation, Ms. Fawkes. It prevents us from being objective, and if we’re not objective, we can’t do our job, which I believe for you now involves the retrieval of stolen property.”

She folded her arms, pressed her lips tight together. “This is nothing like what happened to David. And I think you’re making a mistake.”

“Of course, you do.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Unless Garcia has stolen something, I don’t expect we’ll need to talk again. However, a word of advice, Ms. Fawkes. For the sake of argument, if Garcia was behind the incident at your house, it would make sense to accept the department’s offer of police protection until the shooters are caught. I understand you turned it down.”

“I agreed to drive-bys of my house and non-work locations—the gym, bars, restaurants, places like that—for the deterrent effect. But I don’t need a twenty-four-hour bodyguard. I know Garcia. If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. That was a warning. He feels threatened. And if you really wanted to catch him, you would try to find out what made him feel that way.”

“Gabrielle Fawkes?”

She turned to see a department courier in the hallway, holding an enormous bouquet of delicate pink and white roses. “Yes?”

“Delivery. You’ll need both arms. I’ve never delivered a bouquet this large.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked back at Agent Palmer as she took the bouquet.

“Personal life, Ms. Fawkes.” His thin lips quivered in what she was sure was an FBI version of a smirk. “Also compromises our objectivity.”

Gabrielle fought back the urge to retort. No point getting on the bad side of the FBI, if she wasn’t there already. “Thank you for your time.”

She stepped out into the hallway, closing Agent Palmer’s door behind her. “Are you sure they’re for me?” She couldn’t imagine who would send her a bouquet of flowers. It wasn’t her birthday or any special occasion.

“Card is stapled to the paper,” he said. “Your name is on it.”

Gabrielle returned to her cubicle and breathed in the delicate scent of roses. The soft petals brushed her cheeks and for a long moment she just drank them in. She counted at least forty, but she had a feeling there were more. She lay the bouquet down on her desk and pulled off the card.

Happy First Day of Theft.

Someone stole my heart. Maybe you can find it.

—L

A powerful wave of emotion swept over her. It wasn’t just because the flowers were exquisite or that the size of the bouquet took her breath away, and it wasn’t because he’d remembered the story she told him, or that he’d made good his promise to send her flowers; it was because in this moment, when she’d been feeling so utterly down and defeated, he’d lifted her spirits and made her laugh, without even being there.

“Gaby. You have to see what I found. I never got a chance to show you the other day.” Jeff walked up to her cubicle and froze. “Who are those from?”

She stroked a finger over a soft pink bud. “Luca.”

Jeff’s jaw tightened. “I figured there had to be some reason you picked him over me. I saw the Maserati outside your place. What does he do? Billionaire? Business tycoon?”

“He owns an Italian restaurant.”

Jeff snorted a laugh. “I guess pasta is in high demand these days.”

She looked up and sighed. “Jeff. Please. Don’t be like that. There’s no need to be snarky.”

“Would you look at me the way you looked at him if I sent you fifty roses?”

“Jeff…”

He held up his hands in mock apology. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry for what I just said, and I’m sorry for what happened the other night. I was way out of line, but this isn’t easy for me. I care for you, and I really think we would be good together. And I’m worried. This guy … You never mentioned him before. He was fucking out of control. Maybe he had something to do with the shooting. He could even have been the target. How much do you know about him?”

“Enough.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Maybe not.” He held up a phone. “I found this outside your place. I’m pretty sure it belonged to the guy who threw the rock at my windshield. It might have been him.”

“You think Luca hid behind a bush, threw a rock through your windshield, ran away, and then returned a few hours later in a Maserati to knock on my door?”

Jeff’s smug expression wavered. “Who else? He wanted you. He was in the area. He must have been stalking you and got jealous when he saw us together.”

“He had his phone with him at my place. I saw it.”

“Maybe he bought another one, or maybe he had two phones.”

She looked at the beautiful bouquet of flowers on the desk and then at the phone in Jeff’s hand, but she couldn’t reconcile a man who could be so thoughtful with a man who would hide behind the bushes and throw a rock through Jeff’s window. Luca wasn’t the type to skulk around.

I want to fuck you.

He was direct.

Spread your legs for me.

When he wanted something, he let nothing stand in his way. Jeff pissed him off, and he punched him in the face. “That just sounds crazy,” she said.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Jeff put a hand on her shoulder. “I wasn’t going after him or anything. I was just trying to catch the guy who vandalized my car, and I found the phone.”

“It wasn’t him.” She leaned forward and breathed in the fresh perfume of the roses.

Jeff shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve been trying to crack the password, but it’s got six digits so I’m going to see if anyone in the crime lab can help. As soon as I find out who owns it, I’ll let you know.”

After he left, Gabrielle found a vase in the break room and arranged the flowers on her desk before texting a picture to Luca.

Gabrielle:	I think someone raided every florist shop in the city.
Luca:	You like?
Gabrielle:	They’re beautiful. Thank you.
Luca:	Pleasure.
Gabrielle:	They’re my favorite colors.
Luca:	I know.

She laughed. He could be smug even by text.

Gabrielle:	Aside from having been in my bedroom, how did you know?
Luca:	Your panties.

Her cheeks heated when she remembered that he’d watched her pack before she went to his place. She hadn’t realized he was paying such close attention.

Gabrielle:	Did you lose your phone the other night?
Luca:	If I did, I wouldn’t be texting you. Why?
Gabrielle:	I’ll tell you next time I see you.
Luca:	I want to see you now.

She laughed again. So impatient, and yet it felt good to be wanted that much.

Gabrielle:	I’m at work.
Luca:	After work.
Gabrielle:	I’m going to the gym. I have to stay fit to apprehend the criminals who have stolen goods.
Luca:	What do you wear at the gym?

Hmm. Naughty Luca. She flipped through her photos until she found one of her at the end of a 10K she’d run to raise money for the local addiction center. Not her best picture, but her damp hair was hidden beneath a charity cap, and her sports bra top and spandex running shorts were her usual workout attire. She texted the picture, and his response came in a heartbeat.

Luca:	Hot. Don’t wear in public.
Gabrielle:	Why?
Luca:	I’ll have to come to the gym and fight the guys off. I know what they’ll be thinking.

Her hand slid into her shirt and she undid the top two buttons as she settled in her chair.

Gabrielle:	What will they be thinking?
Luca:	They’ll want to fuck my angel.
Gabrielle:	Your angel?
Luca:	Sei il mio angelo.

God, even the things he texted made her hot. She glanced around to make sure she was alone in her cubicle, and slid her hand farther into her shirt to caress the top of her breast. Beneath her desk, she parted her legs, imagining he was there, pushing her thighs apart. If anyone came by, she figured she just looked like she was hot and trying to cool off.

Yeah, right.

Luca:	Gabrielle? Are you still there?
Gabrielle:	Yes.
Luca:	What are you doing?

It was like he could see into her head. For a moment, she thought about pretending his words hadn’t affected her, but she saw no harm in being honest with him. He was direct, and as far as she knew, he had been honest with her.

Gabrielle:	Being naughty.
Luca:	Naughty in your police uniform?
Gabrielle:	No uniform. Is that a fantasy of yours? Women in uniform?
Luca:	Gabrielle in uniform in her pretty pink bedroom.
Gabrielle:	It’s not an easy access uniform.
Luca:	It will be when I get through with it.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she gave serious consideration to going to the restroom to relieve the throbbing ache between her thighs. But why get herself off all alone in a restroom stall when she could have the real thing?

Gabrielle:	Are you free tonight? I’m usually finished at the gym around seven.
Luca:	Are you asking me out on a date?

A date? They’d slept together, been shot at together, and shared details about their pasts. That took them past date territory, but not into relationship territory. Maybe they could be friends with benefits, or fuck buddies. Something that didn’t involve emotional ties.

Gabrielle:	I’m asking if you want to have sex. I’m not into the whole dating thing.
Luca:	I want to take you on a date. I’ll pick you up at nine.

Gabrielle typed a few words into the search engine on her phone and ran them through an online translator. She didn’t know if she had the grammar right but it looked like sesso meant sex and fai meant to do.

Gabrielle:	No fai sesso?
Luca:	Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere.
Gabrielle:	What does that mean?
Luca:	Something naughty.