Chapter 2 Olivia
OLIVIA
I lean against the elevator wall, mentally replaying my exchange with Dominic Vitale.
The man is infuriating.
That smirk when I handed him the warrant, like he was actually pleased to see me. The way his eyes traveled over me, not lewd, but appreciative.
As if I were a particularly fine piece of art he was considering acquiring.
"Another bust." Agent Ramirez punches the lobby button harder than necessary. "Third time we've come up empty with Vitale."
"I know." I straighten my blazer, trying to shake off the lingering scent of Dom's cologne that somehow followed me out of his office. Spicy. Expensive. Distinctly him. "But we keep pressing. That's the job."
"Maybe Vitale's got someone on the inside." Agent Chen crosses her arms, her expression grim. "He seemed pretty relaxed for a guy getting his office tossed by the FBI."
I consider this. It's not the first time the thought has crossed my mind.
Dom always seems one step ahead, perfectly prepared for our arrival. But something tells me there's more to it.
"I don't think so," I say finally. "Vitale's smart. Too smart. He doesn't need a mole to stay clean."
The truth is, I've studied Dominic Vitale's file more times than I care to admit.
Until last year, he was the youngest member of La Corona. Graduate of Harvard Business School. Legitimate businesses that turn profits to the point I wonder why bother with the illegal activity.
Unlike the old-school gangsters, Dom understands digital footprints, paper trails, corporate veils. And he’s discreet.
He keeps his head down.
His father liked to flaunt not just his wealth, but his power to the point that at some point, I’m sure we’d have arrested him for murder, maybe for my father’s, who’d been killed in the line of duty as a New York police officer.
My disappointment is that he died before such an arrest could be made.
Aldo Vitale’s death won’t stop me from finding out what happened to my father and making someone pay.
"He's built his empire carefully," I continue. "Everything compartmentalized. Nothing directly traceable."
What I don't say is how much I respect his intelligence. His precision. The way he maintains eye contact just a second too long when we speak. The dangerous spark I feel whenever we're in the same room.
The elevator doors open, and I step out first, my team following behind.
"We'll get him eventually," I say with more confidence than I feel. I’ve never failed yet, but Dominic Vitale is giving me a run for my money. He could be the exception to that rule. The worst part of that thought is that a part of me hopes he is.
"Remember who we're dealing with," I say as we exit the building, the blast of cold November air smacking me in the face.
"Dominic Vitale isn't some street thug who stumbled into power.
He's third-generation. His grandfather started the business, his father helped establish the council, and Dom.
.." I pause, hating the grudging admiration in my voice. "Dom modernized everything."
Ramirez nods. "Crypto, tech startups, sustainable energy investments."
"Exactly. He doesn't make rookie mistakes."
We reach our vehicles, and I dismiss the team, watching them disperse across the parking garage.
Alone in my car, I finally exhale, allowing myself a moment of honesty.
These encounters with Dominic shouldn't be the highlight of my life. I should hate him, hate what he represents.
The Vitale family may present a cleaner image than most criminal organizations, but blood still stains their history. I've read the files, seen the evidence that never led to prosecutable cases.
Yet our verbal sparring matches leave me more intellectually stimulated than any conversation I've had in months.
The way his mind works, calculating, three steps ahead, wrapped in charm and wit sharp enough to cut.
Most men I meet are intimidated by my position, my ambition. Not Dom. He matches me, challenges me.
God, just my luck. The most interesting man I know is a criminal I'm supposed to be building a case against.
For one ridiculous moment, I allow myself to imagine a weekend in the Hamptons. No badges, no crime.
Just two people who can't seem to stop circling each other. What would Dom be like away from his empire? Would that intensity remain? Would those dark eyes still study me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to solve? Would the promise of pleasure I see in his eyes be as good as I imagine it would be?
I shake my head sharply, banishing the thought. This dangerous fascination needs to end. Dominic Vitale belongs in handcuffs, not in my daydreams.
Starting the engine, I pull away from his building, trying to leave these conflicted feelings behind.
I head down to lower Manhattan, returning to FBI offices.
I drop into my chair, scanning my desk covered with an organized collection of case files, most prominently, those on La Corona and Dominic Vitale.
I set the folder containing today's search warrant paperwork on my desk, already knowing the report I'll have to file.
Nothing found. Again.
It’s not a great way to start my day back at work after missing a couple due to a debilitating sinus infection the last two days.
Thank goodness for antibiotics and nasal decongestants. I’m back on my feet, but not happy about having to search Dominic Vitale’s office on my return, partly because I don’t feel completely on my game and partly because the warrant was weak and Dominic knew it.
Agent Thompson passes by, coffee in hand. "Vitale clean as a whistle?"
"As expected." I force a smile.
The truth stings. I'd argued against this search warrant in our strategy meeting last week. "Dom's legitimate businesses are pristine," I'd said. "We're wasting resources on a public show that only alerts him to our focus."
But my supervisor, Victor Blackwood had insisted, and his word carries more weight than mine.
“You’ll get ‘em Ricci. You always do.” Thompson continues on to his desk.
I glance toward Blackwood’s office. He’s the bureau's crown jewel in organized crime operations. He has a reputation of being ruthless, but effective. Committed to ridding the city of every mobster. The man has built his career on bringing down crime families.
My phone rings. Blackwood's extension.
"Agent Ricci, my office."
I straighten my blazer and grab my notes with the search results. Blackwood's office is meticulously organized. Awards and commendations line one wall, case maps on another. He doesn't look up when I enter, focused on something on his computer screen.
"Nothing actionable from Vitale's office?" he asks, finally meeting my gaze.
"Not a thing."
Blackwood leans back, fingers steepled. "Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless." He stands, moving to the case board where La Corona's structure is mapped out. "The pressure is the point, Ricci. We keep pushing until someone makes a mistake."
"I'm not sure that strategy works with La Corona. Especially not with Vitale." I step closer to the board. "They haven’t lasted this long by making rash decisions. Vitale is calculated, patient."
"Everyone breaks eventually." Blackwood traces a line between the families on his board. "La Corona isn't special. They're criminals who've gotten comfortable. Comfort breeds carelessness."
Something in his tone bothers me, a certainty that feels misplaced given our lack of progress over the last few years.
"Perhaps we should consider a different approach with Vitale," I suggest. "The frontal assault isn't yielding results."
Blackwood's mouth curves into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps we've been overlooking our most valuable asset in this operation." He gestures vaguely toward me. "Vitale clearly has a particular interest in you."
My spine stiffens. "Sir?"
"It hasn’t escaped your team’s notice that Vitale has an interest in you.” Blackwood leans against his desk. "Maybe it's time we leverage that interest."
Heat rises in my cheeks, not embarrassment but anger. I’m not sure which bothers me more.
That he’s talking about me to my team or suggesting that I pull a honey trap on Dominic.
"Are you proposing I seduce a suspect, sir?"
He looks at me with amusement. “Honey traps are nothing new. Men like Vitale have egos. They love conquests. I'm suggesting you use whatever tools are at your disposal to get close to him
"With all due respect, sir, my breasts are not a tool.” I keep my voice level despite the fury roiling inside me. "It's not just ethically questionable, it's ineffective. Dom Vitale didn't build his empire by thinking with his dick."
Blackwood's expression hardens. "All men think with their dicks. I might add that your team seems to think you like Vitale’s attention.”
“Observing and assessing him is part of my job,” I counter. "And my professional assessment is that Dominic Vitale won't fall for such an obvious play."
“Well then, we continue to poke at them, figure out their weak spots.”
I know from the past that weak spots are usually people we’ve identified as potential informants, but that hasn’t gone so well.
Nearly everyone I’m aware of is dead or missing, likely at La Corona’s hand.
We targeted some of the women in the family, who ended up becoming more loyal to the families, marrying into them.
I leave Blackwood's office with my jaw clenched so tight it aches. Back at my desk, I unlock my bottom drawer and pull out my personal case notebook, the one filled with observations I don't trust to our digital systems.
Flipping through the pages, I trace the timeline of La Corona investigations over the three years.
Something doesn't add up. Hasn't for a long time.
My thoughts drift to the Rocco Vitale Monti kidnapping nearly a year ago.
Six years old. Snatched from the winter festival La Corona families participate in each year.
Someone had balls of steel to even attempt that.
The family didn’t call the police or FBI for help. Of course they wouldn’t.
So it’s odd that I got the call about the child’s location.
The child was alone and thinking I could help his mother, Elena Vitale, escape mafia life with Rocco and her two other children, I arranged to reunite them. But she didn’t want out.
She’d brought Luca Monti, the children’s father, and Dominic, her cousin to the meeting.
At that time, Dominic looked at me like I was a burr up his butt.
With the child returned, I went to file my report, but Blackwood told me not to. “It wasn’t an official investigation. No report is needed.”
I'd followed orders, but it has never sat well with me. A child kidnapping is federal territory, regardless of who the family is.
And the directive not to document it?
That violated every protocol I knew. Especially since we knew La Corona has their own sense of justice. If they found whoever took the boy, that person is dead and gone.
Did Dominic pull the trigger? Dispose of the body? The whole incident disappeared as if it never happened.
I turn to a fresh page in my notebook and jot down today's date, then bullet points of my conversation with Blackwood.
His fixation on La Corona.
His suggestion about using me as bait.
His dismissal of more strategic approaches.
I’ve got to cover my ass if something goes sideways.
There's a pattern forming that I can't quite define. Tactics that push ethical boundaries. Information compartmentalized in ways that prevent agents from seeing the full picture.
I've built my career on instinct and observation. Right now, both are screaming that something's wrong.
The question is: am I seeing genuine problems, or is my uncomfortable attraction to Dominic Vitale clouding my judgment?
Am I missing important information because I’m intrigued by him.
Am I becoming sympathetic to a criminal organization I should be focused on dismantling?
My father would be horrified to learn I was attracted to a suspect. He was a career NYPD cop killed on the job.
I highly suspect it was Aldo Vitale, Dom’s father, who killed him but of course could never prove it. It’s why I volunteered to work the case.
I suspect it’s why Blackwood was eager to give it to me.
Something like a personal vendetta is another “tool” he’d be willing to use to end La Corona. The ends justify the means with Blackwood. I suppose that’s my concern.
I’m not aware of anything he’s done that is outside the law, but I wouldn’t put it past him and that’s why I need to protect myself.
For two years, I’ve worked the case doggedly. I was more like an annoying gnat to Dominic. And then something changed.
When I first discovered Dominic stalking me last year, I was concerned. But I wasn’t going to let him know that, so when I found him breaking into my building, I confronted him.
I was prepared to arrest him.
Yet somehow I didn’t.
The electricity that snapped, crackled and popped between us took me by surprise. For a minute I thought he might kiss me. For that same minute, I thought I’d let him.
Ever since then, we’ve played this game. Dancing around each other. The tension building. We never go over the line, but how long can we engage in this dangerous game before something snaps?
I blow out a breath and push the past behind me. Dom Vitale isn’t my only case, so I pull out folders for a cartel case.
I drag myself home after eight, stopping for Thai takeout. My apartment feels too quiet, the silence amplifying my circling thoughts about Blackwood, La Corona, and Dominic Vitale.
I change into leggings and an oversized FBI Academy sweatshirt, pouring a generous glass of cabernet to swallow my antibiotic pill while mentally cataloging the inconsistencies in Blackwood's approach to La Corona.
The wine helps dull the edges of my frustration as I curl up on my couch, case notes spread across my coffee table.
The TV drones in the background, some mindless cooking competition providing white noise while I work.
A sharp knock at my door cuts through the quiet. I freeze. It's nearly ten. I'm not expecting anyone.
My hand moves instinctively to my service weapon on the side table. I approach silently, peer through the peephole, and my heart stutters.
Dominic Vitale stands in my hallway, hands in the pockets of a charcoal overcoat that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
His dark hair is slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his fingers through it.
I hesitate, weighing my options. Protocol dictates I shouldn't engage with a subject outside official capacity. But curiosity and something else I refuse to name pulls my hand to the deadbolt.
I open the door just enough to create a barrier between us, keeping my weapon hidden behind my back.
"Mr. Vitale." I keep my voice neutral despite the adrenaline flooding my system. "This is crossing a line."
His eyes take in my casual attire, lingering briefly on the FBI logo across my chest. A slight smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
"Agent Ricci." He meets my gaze directly. "Don’t you think it’s past time we cross the line?"