Chapter Twenty-Five #2
I take a breath, then tell her everything Sin told me.
“He remembered a poker chip you gave him when he was eight. Said you came home one night with caramel candies and told him he was worth more than money.” I watch her reaction, the way her shoulders curl inward as if she’s being stabbed in the heart with my every word.
“By thirteen, you were gone. He thought the Alliance dumped your body in the desert. He survived on the streets. Learned to disappear.”
Her lips tremble. Tears spill over, and she doesn’t bother wiping them away.
I scroll, swipe, and show her another photograph. This one is zoomed in on the poker chip sitting on the nightstand.
Maria’s breath shudders. Her hand covers her mouth.
“God, I can’t believe he still has it,” she whispers.
With shaking hands, she yanks open a desk drawer.
Pens, paperclips, scraps of detective life clatter aside until she pulls out another chip.
She places it on the desk between us, her hand lingering on it like it might vanish.
“I kept its match,” she says thickly. “To remind myself why I survived.”
The two chips, decades of distance erased in plastic and memory.
“I clearly didn’t die in the desert,” she says, her story coming out jagged, shards pulled from an old wound. “The Alliance took me. That part was true. But I escaped… with help. A man from a rival gang, someone who pitied me. I don’t know why he did, but he saved me.”
Her voice steadies as she continues, “I cleaned up. Got sober. Reinvented myself completely. Joined the police academy so no woman would suffer what I had. Worked my way up. Beat cop, detective, Chief Detective.” Her chin lifts, a fragment of pride slicing through the grief. “I never quit. I never backed down.”
Her gaze drops again, shame flooding her expression.
“I looked for Diesel. For years. Every back alley, every lead. But he was gone. The streets swallowed him.” She swallows hard, her voice lowering.
“Eventually, I told myself maybe it was better if he believed I was dead. Better than him knowing I’d abandoned him. ”
The weight of her words hangs heavy between us.
Finally, she looks at me, eyes burning with guilt and something fierce underneath. “Is he in trouble, Victoria?” Her voice steadies, that detective armor sliding back into place. “What have you found?”
I take a deep breath and decide… Whose side am I really on?
“What’s your view on Captain Rourke?”
Her reaction is immediate—her face twists like she’s tasted something foul. “It’s hard to tolerate that asshole at the best of times.” Her jaw tightens. “Why?”
“Because he killed Marcus.”
The color drains from her face. “What?”
I press forward, my words sharp and deliberate. “He pulled Marcus over. Shot him. Planted drugs and made it look like a DUI. Pulled out a tire iron and wrecked his bike for good measure.”
Moretti’s hand flies to her chest, but it doesn’t stop the tremor in her voice. “No… no, that’s not possible. That’s—”
“There’s proof,” I cut in. “A voice recording Ghost pulled from Marcus’ phone. It’s not admissible in court, but it’s real. Rourke’s voice is there. Clear as day.”
She grips the edge of her desk like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “Dear God…” Her voice fractures. “He murdered a civilian… and then covered it up?”
I nod once, my throat tight. “Rourke’s not just dirty, Moretti. He’s the Alliance’s inside man. Their shield. Their protection. He makes sure their trafficking operation runs through the casinos unchecked. Gives them whatever leeway they need. A pass whenever they want it.”
Her eyes widen, fury sparking under the betrayal. “That son of a bitch.”
“That’s not all,” I say quietly. “The Alliance tried to take Millie, a hangaround at the club. Twice. Once as collateral for her father’s gold mine, and again at the casino, just when she was having a night out with friends. The club rescued her both times.”
Moretti stiffens, clearly processing. “And no reports were filed. Of course not. Rourke buried them because she was going to be trafficked, right? And any reports would ruin their agreements… Jesus!”
“Exactly.” I lean forward, my voice low.
“The attack on the clubhouse was retaliation. The club stepped foot on Alliance territory to save one of their own. Rourke green-lit the hit on the club. He’s been feeding the Alliance information for years.
Moretti… Rourke wants the club wiped off the map because they’re getting too close.
Because they know about his incident with Marcus. ”
She shakes her head, fury rising, making her cheeks flush.
“Fuck me. This is bigger than I thought. Taking down a police captain…” Her hand slams the desk, rattling the poker chip between us.
“If what you’re saying is true, he’ll have people on his payroll, he has to, which means he’s compromised half the department. ”
“We need to figure out who we can trust,” I tell her. “Rourke has connections everywhere. People who owe him favors. People who look the other way.”
Moretti exhales, sharp and bitter, then lets out a short, humorless laugh that’s closer to a groan.
“The irony isn’t lost on me. I crawled out of hell to build a life in law enforcement, thinking I’d be the one to root out men like him, and all along he’s been sitting in my house, poisoning it from the inside.
” Her fingers curl into fists on the desk, her knuckles white. “But not anymore.”
“It’s going to be hard to get people to trust us… considering,” I state, tilting my head at the shitty circumstances Moretti and I find ourselves in.
“That my son is the president of the MC we’re investigating.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “God, the universe has a sick sense of humor.”
The weight of it settles over both of us. Her son. My brother. A corrupt captain. A trafficking ring. All the pieces on a chessboard, and we’re trying to figure out how to play without getting checkmated.
“So, we’re doing this?” I ask, my voice hesitant. “Protecting the MC and going after Rourke and the Alliance?”
Maria pushes to her feet, her eyes blazing with intent, her voice sharp as a blade.
“We’re not just doing this, we’re tearing the fuckers down, brick by bloody brick.
Nobody touches my family and walks away breathing.
Not Rourke. Not the Alliance. Not anyone!
” Her chest heaves, and for a moment the detective falls away, leaving only the mother—the woman who lost her son once and refuses to let him be taken from her again.
Her voice softens, but the determination never leaves it. “Diesel may not know it yet, but he’s still my son. And I’ll be damned if I stand by, while the same monsters who broke me try to break him too.”
The raw fire in her eyes, the venom in her promise, it’s the same ferocity I’ve seen burning in Sin when he vows no one touches what’s his. The same dark edge in his voice when he’s ready to destroy anyone who threatens his club.
For the first time, I see exactly where he gets it from.
But then she fixes me with a hard stare. “But this is risky business, Delaney. Captain of the Las Vegas Police Force? We need to be careful. Strategic. One wrong move and we’re both finished… or worse.”
“I’m in… for Sin, for Marcus. I’m in this, ma’am.”
She slowly smiles, the recognition dawning on her face. “I think we’re a bit beyond ma’am now, aren’t we, Delaney. Call me Maria.” I let my weakness for her son show just now, and she knows it. This is her way of telling me.
“Yes, ma’am… Maria, ma’am.” I try to relax. “Sorry… I’ll get better at that.”
But she says nothing, simply smiles as we get to work. We begin preliminary planning right here in her office. Who in the department can be trusted. How to document evidence without tipping our hand. Building a case that’s airtight, that can’t be dismantled by Rourke’s connections.
Timing is everything. We both know it. Move too soon, and he’ll slip through our fingers. Wait too long, and more people die.
It’s getting late, and I know Sin will be wondering where I am, so I get ready to head home, where I can call and fill him in on my day at ‘work.’ Before I leave, Maria stops me, her hand on my arm.
“Is he…” She struggles with the words, the mother warring with the detective. “Is Diesel happy? Does he have people?”
I smile despite everything, despite the guilt eating me alive from the inside out.
“He has a family,” I tell her honestly. “The club… they’re his brothers.
They’d die for him, and he’d die for them.
” I pause, thinking of Sin in all his complexity.
“And yes, I think he’s happy. Or as happy as someone with his past can be. ”
Maria nods, tears glistening in her eyes, but the ever-stoic woman she is, she holds them back. “Good. That’s good.”
“He carries your chip everywhere,” I add, and her breath catches. “Flips it between his fingers when he’s thinking. When he’s making decisions.”
“He does?” The words are barely audible.
“Every day. You’re still with him, even though he thinks you’re gone.”
Maria’s composure finally breaks completely. She covers her face with her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I want to comfort her, but I’m not sure I have the right. I’m the one who brought this pain to the surface, after all.
I’m the one who took the photograph without permission.
After a moment, she composes herself, wiping her eyes and straightening her spine.
“Thank you,” she says simply. “For showing me. For telling me.”
I nod, unable to speak, then I turn and walk out of her office to head home. I leave the precinct with a new ally but heavier guilt. Each step toward my car feels weighted, like I’m carrying stones in my pockets.
I showed Sin’s picture to the police without his permission. Photographed him while he slept, vulnerable and trusting. Shared his story, his pain, his most sacred memory—all without his knowledge.
But I also found his mother.
Isn’t that worth the betrayal?
I tell myself it is, but doubt gnaws at me like a rat in the walls.
The justifications I’ve been feeding myself, that I’m protecting him, that I’m helping, they ring hollow.
Now I need to figure out how to tell Sin.
How to explain that his mother is alive, that she’s been in Las Vegas this whole time.
That she’s the Chief Detective investigating his club.
Or maybe I shouldn’t tell him at all.
Maybe some secrets are better left buried.
The drive back to my apartment is a blur. I grip the steering wheel and try to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. The secrets are piling up, layer upon layer, and eventually they’ll collapse. They’ll bury me, bury Sin, bury everything we’ve built.
When I finally park outside my building, I sit in the car and stare at my phone. Sin’s face looks back at me from the screen, peaceful and unaware.
I should delete the photo.
Erase the evidence of my betrayal.
But I don’t.
Because I need to remember this moment.
I need to remember the cost of the choices I’m making, the lines I’m crossing, the trust I’m violating.
I need to remember that love and duty make for terrible bedfellows.
And I’m caught between them, drowning in both.