10. Anders
Anders
M ick glares at me from across the table in the same room where we met. I can tell he’s not happy about being summoned to answer questions—treated as though he’s a suspect himself. But we haven’t had time to talk, just him and me.
And I have questions.
“You understand why I’m asking, don’t you?” I fix him with a stern glare, trying to pick apart any minuscule tell in his body language.
Like a true politician, though, I feel like he’s lying through his teeth, even if his demeanor is casual and he keeps saying he’s willing to cooperate in whatever way he can. “Of course I do. But I’m telling you, Kate has nothing to do with this. Kate adores Carmela.”
I can’t keep my lip from curling in disgust. He speaks in a tone one would use to describe an adult talking about a child. Not a wife talking about her husband’s mistress.
“Does she now? Tell me, Senator. Does your wife know about you and Carmela?”
A grin pulls his lips wide as his green eyes shine with mischief. “That Carmela and I are business partners? Of course, she does.”
“Cut the shit, Mick,” I snap, shoving my notepad away and tossing the pen I’m holding onto it. “It’s obvious she’s your mistress. The way I see it? That makes your wife a suspect.”
He has the fucking audacity to laugh as he settles back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Kate wouldn’t hurt a fly, Detective. Besides, do you really think she’s capable of murdering men double her size?”
“Maybe she isn’t working alone. After all, I’m sure you have the financial means to hire out for this kind of shit. What if she’s the one who put a target on Carmela’s back?” I’m starting to get frustrated. Mick’s wife is the only lead I’ve been able to come up with. Besides Luca—who I may not get along with or like very much, but I genuinely think he wouldn’t harm Carmela—Kate is the only other person with a reason. “She has the motive. She has the means. I think we need to get her down here so I can ask her a few questions.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mick bites out, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to make me more suspicious—a vein appears on his forehead as he pops his knuckles before flexing his fingers. “My wife has absolutely nothing to do with this.”
“What are you hiding, Mick? You and Carmela aren’t as discreet as you think you are. People know about you two. My bet is that your wife knows, too. Now, you flew me all the way across the country for this. Do you want this bastard caught or not? You told me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep Carmela safe. Shouldn’t that include looking into all possible suspects?” It fucking should, but the way he wants to keep me away from Kate is questionable.
“I think you should be focusing on Vinny Morroni. He planted his fucking son in the club to get under Carmela’s skin, and she’s blinded by his true intentions because she’s fucking him,” Mick snaps.
I want to tell him that, as far as I know, Carmela hasn’t slept with Luca recently. As a matter of fact, I want to tell him that I fucked her and have been fucking around with her, just to see his reaction. I don’t like Mick. Something about him just seems off to me.
But I can’t tell if it’s because of his relationship with Carmela or not, just like I feel about Luca.
“Why did you kick Vinny out of the club? What was he doing that you didn’t want to get caught up in?” I pull my notepad back toward me.
“Gun trafficking. I discovered he was having shipments brought to Désirer and dispersed through a back room during the shows when Carmela was distracted. I’m anti-gun, so I wanted him gone. I think he thought he’d trap me into keeping quiet about it, but I caught him before he could try to plant any damning evidence on me. There’s nothing linking me to this club directly. My money goes through the proper channels before it goes to Carmela—everything gets done cleanly.”
“Why did Carmela keep Luca and Vinny’s other men around?”
“Because they made up over half of our security team. The plan was to hire new men eventually, but then she and Luca started their little affair . That’s why she doesn’t want to get rid of him,” he says in disgust.
“Can you really call it an affair? She’s single, isn’t she? And you’re married. So what makes their relationship an affair?” I try to keep my tone even but can’t help the edge of anger that creeps in.
Mick’s demeanor changes instantly at my question. His lips turn down in a frown, and his eyes narrow shrewdly as he regards me. Finally, after a few moments of silence, he leans forward. Even though he’s sitting, he tries to keep his posture straight—tries to make himself look intimidating. I’ve seen men do it a hundred times before, and they always manage to make themselves look like idiots.
“Let me tell you something, Detective. And you’re a man, so I know you’ll understand where I’m coming from,” he starts with a smooth warning. “Carmela and I have been involved for fourteen years now. She belongs to me, just like my wife does. They know about each other. They coexist with each other. As far as I’m concerned, that gives me the right to be upset when my mistress decides to step out on me with another man.”
For the first time since I was brought into their fucked up world, the fact that Carmela is the other woman is solidified. Only, instead of being disgusted with her, I find that I’m angry for her. Because Mick treats her so callously, like she’s just an object he possesses.
Anyone who knows her knows she’s a hell of a lot more than that. She deserves better than whatever this jackass has promised her, and I wonder what he has on her that’s made her stay all these years. The Carmela I’ve come to know wouldn’t let a man walk all over her.
As soon as I open my mouth to tell him exactly that, my phone buzzes on the table, and I look over to see it’s Martin. Without looking at Mick, I pick up the phone and answer. “Brooks here.”
“There’s been an accident.” Martin’s voice is careful, tone wavering just barely but enough for me to pick up on it.
I’m instantly on alert, knocking my chair over as I rush to my feet. “What happened? ”
“Carmela was attacked. We’re taking her to New York-Presbyterian.”
Fuck. That will take forever to get there.
Stealing a glance at Mick, I cover the mouthpiece and tell him, “Carmela was attacked. We need to get to New York-Presbyterian.”
To his credit, the blood drains from his face. He shoots out of his chair and heads for the exit. I may not like him, but it’s obvious he does care about her, even if their situation is completely fucked up.
“We’re on our way. What happened? Is she okay?” Flashes from six years ago filter through my mind as I follow Mick through the building—images of impossibly blue eyes and dark hair staring up at me lifelessly because I was careless.
Was I careless to entrust Carmela’s safety to Martin and Nikolai? Their job was to have eyes on her at the club. Outside of it is a new thing the three of us decided was necessary, much to Carmela’s dismay. Clearly, they didn’t do their job if she got hurt. Which means I didn’t do mine by trusting they could keep her safe.
“Whoever it was got to her before we could reach her. Silly thing decided to walk an alleyway on her own. Her attacker roughed up her face and got a few kicks in before they took off. We tried to keep her awake, but she lost consciousness.” Martin sounds like he’s trying to keep it together. It’s the least together I’ve ever heard him .
Fear eats away at my insides like acid has been poured down my throat. Since I met her, a battle has been raging inside me over my feelings for her. I try to treat her like she’s just a job, but when I’m around her, she ignites a fire in me that I want to let burn. Arguing with her makes me feel alive . Even if I’m having difficulty accepting our situation, I can’t deny that I want her.
Now that someone has tried to take her away from me, that realization floods my veins, and a primal rush of possessiveness pours through my body.
How dare anyone touch her.
After I hang up with Martin, I fill Mick in, recognizing the same sense of urgency to get to her in his eyes. His wife may still be on my list of suspects, but at this moment, I genuinely believe Mick wouldn’t let anything happen to Carmela.
Even if that means selling out his wife.
Raspberry paints Carmela’s left cheek and around her swollen eye, while the other side has pink speckled dots from where gravel dug into her skin. Though she looks like she got the shit beat out of her, she’s doing an awfully good job of glaring at the entire room as everyone talks about her like she’s not right here.
Our eyes connect, and though I’m pissed as hell that she got hurt, I try to hold back a laugh at how funny she looks—like a kitten all puffed up, hissing at everyone who tries to come near it.
“Her ribs are bruised and sore, but otherwise, there’s nothing wrong with them. Even though she swears she heard something crack, we didn’t see any hairline fractures, and nothing looked broken. She has a mild concussion, but overall she’s alright. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation. She’ll be good to go home tomorrow,” the elderly nurse rambles on in a monotone voice that grates on my nerves.
“I want to go home now ,” Carmela grumbles from the bed. She crosses her arms over her chest, wincing before trying to school her features. Trying to act like she’s not in pain when it’s obvious she is.
“Sweetheart, we’ve been over this. You said you lived alone. We can’t risk something happening overnight, now can we?” the nurse tells her.
Before my brain catches up with my mouth, I say, “I’ll stay with her tonight. You can discharge her.”
All eyes turn to me. Martin and Nikolai—the fuckers—share a smile. Mick comments on it not being a bad idea.
Carmela, however, looks like she wants to pull the IV from her arm and crawl across her bed to stab me with the sharpest object she can get her hands on. “Absolutely not.”
“Yes. And don’t argue, Mellie. Who better to stay with you than the detective?” Mick moves to her bedside, mumbling quieter words that I can’t hear, all while she continues to glare at me.
The way the nurse watches Mick and Carmela makes me think she probably spends her free time watching true crime documentaries in front of a TV. She watches them like they are a complex puzzle she needs to figure out. It’s no secret Mick shouldn’t be here. He’s going to draw attention to himself and her, and if he isn’t more careful, they’ll find themselves splashed across the gossip columns.
Wanting to pull her attention away from them, I touch her elbow and motion for her to follow me out of the room. “You’ll need to get me information on what to do if anything happens tonight. And get her ready to be discharged.” Leaning closer, I look around to ensure no one is watching us. “And we’d appreciate your discretion, if you get what I mean.” I flash my badge, watching as her gray eyes widen.
“Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be back soon with those papers.” As she hurries off, Mick appears in the hall, muttering about an NDA as he chases her down.
Martin and Nikolai slip out behind him, looking like a pair of puppies who got out of their pen and tore up the couch. “We can follow you back to her place to debrief, if you wish?” Nikolai offers .
“Why don’t you head back now. Make sure her apartment is ready, and sweep the perimeter for anything unusual. Whoever attacked her had to have been following her. When you’re done there, see if the businesses on the other street have cameras. I want to see if anyone caught the cab's license plate she got out of. Carmela normally has a driver, so find out where he was and why she wasn’t using him,” I bark out orders like they’re my subordinates, but they take it in stride and nod before leaving to complete the tasks I’ve given them.
As I walk back into the room, Carmela narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t want you staying at my place.”
“Tough luck, baby girl.” I grin. “Looks like it’s you and me tonight.”
Carmela’s apartment is everything I imagined it would be. Clean, luxurious, and screams, ‘ I have money .’ The walls are dark, maybe navy or possibly black—it’s hard to tell with the low lighting. Simple, but elegant, lighting fixtures hang from every room, but since light can trigger a headache, we don’t turn the light dial up more than two clicks.
The floors are white oak in a herringbone pattern. Cream crown molding matches the cabinets in the kitchen. It’s a large apartment, open concept, with a foyer, living room, and two bedrooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom.
Real plants—large and leafy—are tucked in every corner in ornate vases. Pretentious artwork hangs in silver frames, and the living room houses expensive-looking white leather furniture and an interesting-looking dark wood and glass coffee table on a large ivory sheepskin rug.
While the common areas of the apartment smell like light citrus, her room smells like her—rich chocolate notes that mix with the sweet, fresh scent of her bedding. After she changes into a pair of pajamas—a silk shirt and pant set that I can’t help but imagine peeling off her under better circumstances—she allows me to help her into bed, grumbling the whole time about how she can do it herself. But her bed is higher than most, on a platform that makes me think it might have been picked out by someone taller than her.
I pull the tufted, rich purple duvet back, revealing silky cream sheets she looks mouthwatering against as she sits back against the mound of pillows on the bed. Even with the bruising on her face, Carmela still looks like a million dollars. And when she catches me staring at her, she flushes a pretty deep rose and pulls the blanket around her with a frown. “What are you staring at?”
“A mouthy little girl who needs to be punished for convincing her watchdogs to leave her side today.” I don’t skip a beat as I walk around to the other side of the bed and hop on.
“Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing, Anders?” She looks at me the same way she did that first night we met when I slipped into her cab. All shock and astonishment, but underneath it I don’t miss the way her eyes darken a fraction or how she sinks into her pillows with no real intention of making me leave.
“Would you stop your yammering? How am I supposed to keep an eye on you if I’m out in the doghouse?” I pull my shirt over my head, hearing her breath hitch as I set an alarm on my watch in case I fall asleep.
“You’re not sleeping in my bed. Get. Out.” She really tries her best to sound so severe, but the command comes out breathy and laced with contradiction. I just link my hands together behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.
“In all seriousness, you really need to calm down. Stress isn’t good for a concussion. Just rest, why don’t you? Put on a movie if you want. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Fuck, go to sleep if you’re tired. I’ll wake you in a few hours to check on you. But calm the fuck down. I’m not going anywhere, Cara.”
“Go sleep in the other room. This is too intimate.” She scoots down and lies on her side, facing me.
Mirroring her position, I reach out and pull the duvet up to her chin. “Baby girl, my fingers, tongue, and cock have all been inside you. It doesn’t get more intimate than that. I think we can handle spending a night in the same bed.”
With a deep sigh, she huffs but doesn’t turn around. “I’m going to be so glad when you go back to California.”
“Sure you are, baby girl.”
“Stop calling me that!”
My chuckles fill the room. Carmela tries to keep glaring, but eventually, her features smooth out. “Mick is going to want someone with me all the time now.” It’s not a question, but a statement in a tone of defeat.
“Whether he asks for it or not, I’m not leaving your side. You should get used to having me around, Cara. Forget fake fucking. We’re gonna be fake dating now. From here on out, you introduce me as your new boy toy.” I don’t know why I say it. It’s the worst possible decision I’ve made since coming to New York. Pretending to date her isn’t going to make whatever this is between us any easier—on either of us.
Surprisingly, she shrugs and cuddles further into her massive pillows. “I guess it’s not the worst idea.”
Wrong, baby girl. So fucking wrong.
“Maybe whoever is sending the notes will see me in a relationship and think they made a mistake? I’m not a cheater.” She pouts .
I want to ask her, but I stop myself. Cara notices, though, asking me a flat, “What?”
Shrugging, I turn onto my back again so I don’t have to look at her. “It’s a bold question.”
“I’m coming to realize that’s just your way, Anders. What is it?”
I bite my lip before deciding just to ask the damn question. “Have you been with either of them recently?”
Them being Mick and Luca, but I know I don’t have to spell it out for her. I hate how my heart beats rapidly while I wait for her to respond, pounding against my rib cage so hard she can probably hear it.
“No.” The simple word has me turning my head to see her watching me earnestly. “I haven’t been with either of them for a while. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m only with them when I’m feeling lonely and need a familiar touch. There’s been no one but you recently.”
Relief hits me in the gut so hard it takes my breath away for a second. It makes me realize that if I don’t tread carefully, I’m going to get myself into trouble again. What Carmela and I have is a sizzling mess of chemistry. But there’s someone out there actively threatening her life. I can’t allow myself to get distracted with feelings.
Yet, I close the distance between our bodies until there are only mere inches between us. As we lay on our sides, staring at each other, I reach over to brush a lock of hair off her face. Her eyes follow my hand, cheeks growing red at the contact of my fingertips brushing against her skin.
“Anders…”
“Go to sleep, baby girl. You can go back to hating me in the morning.”
It takes a moment, but she smiles and nods. “Promise?”
Against my better judgment, I lean over and place a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I promise.”