Chapter 3 Dominic
DOMINIC
I lean against Olivia's door frame, savoring the shock on her face. Her FBI-trained composure slips for just a moment making this little detour worth my while.
"Agent Ricci. Lovely place." I step forward without waiting for an invitation.
She blocks my path, with one hand, showing that she’s holding her service weapon in the other. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This is my home, Vitale."
"Funny thing about that." I brush past her anyway, my shoulder grazing hers. The contact sends a now familiar current through me. "You invaded my space this morning with your little search party. Thought I'd return the favor."
Her apartment is modest but tasteful. Clean lines, minimal decor. A lot like her.
"I had a warrant. You’re trespassing." Her voice holds steady, but I catch the slight flush creeping up her neck. "You need to leave. Now."
I finish scanning the place she spends her time in when she’s not hunting criminals. "A warrant you knew would turn up nothing. Waste of everyone's time." I give her a conspiratorial smile. “Makes me wonder what you paid the judge to sign it. Or do you have something on him?”
She gapes. “That’s not how we work.”
I laugh. “Come on now. Surely you know that warrant was weak.” I shrug. “Perhaps the judge is willing to stretch and bend the law just like you.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. “I don’t—”
“Then Blackwood. Someone was very liberal with the law. Don’t deny it.”
“Why are you here?” Her giving up the argument tells me she knows I’m right, which begs the question, why did she follow through knowing the warrant was a piece of shit?
“I told you. I have an investigation of my own. I don’t have a warrant, but I can give you a worthless piece of paper if you want.” I drop onto her sofa, stretching my arms across the back.
“You’re trespassing, Vitale. I can arrest you.”
“Then I might have to evict you.”
“What are you talking about?”
I have to admit, I like it when she gets rattled. “I own this building.”
She freezes. "What?"
"Oh, didn't you know? I acquired this building about... nine months ago. Bellevue Properties is one of my subsidiaries."
The color drains from her face. "That's impossible. I would have—"
"Known? How? Everything is the same except of course I own the company now." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "I own quite a bit of Manhattan. Including this charming little building."
Her eyes narrow. I can practically see her mind racing, wondering what other aspects of her life I might have infiltrated.
"Is this supposed to intimidate me?" She’s still holding her gun. I wonder what her breaking point is. When is she going to point it at me?
"Not at all. Consider it evening the playing field."
“Then why?”
I shrug. “Investment. Like I said, I own a lot—”
“Why this building?” she says on an exasperated breath.
I laugh. “For this.” I gesture between us indicating I like our little tete-a-tetes. “And, to find out why the obsession with putting me behind bars? Out of all the criminals in New York, you've dedicated years to me. If you like me—”
Olivia squares her shoulders. "Don't flatter yourself, Vitale. You're just another case file."
"A case file you can't close. Four years is a long time to chase someone. Almost feels... personal."
"We have evidence of your money laundering operations through your restaurant chain." Her voice gains confidence as she shifts to work mode. "Tax evasion. Suspicious cash flows through your import business."
I smile, enjoying how her eyes flash when she's angry. "Allegations without proof."
"We'll find it eventually. People like you always slip up."
"People like me?" I stand, closing the distance between us, noting the gun she still holds to her side. "Successful businessmen who create jobs? Who revitalize neighborhoods? Donate to worthy causes?"
She doesn't back away. "Criminals who think they're above the law."
"Here's something to consider, Agent Ricci. Everyone, and I mean everyone, bends the law when it comes to money."
"That's not—"
"Your boss does it. Your neighbors do it. Hell, I'd bet good money even you've taken a few liberties on your tax returns." I raise an eyebrow. "Ever write off that home office that's really just a desk in your bedroom?"
She rolls her eyes and moves away, storing her gun in a table drawer near her door.
A thrill runs through me that she’s decided to let me stay.
That we’re going to have this out.
"There's a significant difference between claiming an extra deduction and laundering millions through shell companies."
"Is there? Really? What is the price point in which committing tax fraud isn’t really fraud? A hundred bucks? A thousand?”
She purses her lips telling me she understands how ludicrous her argument is.
Once you’re over the line, the law is broken whether it’s by an inch or a mile. "Tell me something. You joined the FBI to pursue justice, right? To put the bad guys away?"
"That's the job," she answers cautiously.
I look her directly in the eyes. "Then why isn't anyone in jail for Rocco's kidnapping?"
Her head jerks slightly, indicating she wasn’t expecting the question. "That's not...the family didn't want to involve law enforcement officially. You know that."
"Bullshit." I keep my voice calm, but firm. "A six-year-old boy was taken. Traumatized. His mother still has nightmares. And you're telling me the FBI just... what? Decided it wasn't worth pursuing?"
She shifts uncomfortably. "The family handled it internally."
“I might buy that except someone did call you to inform you where he was. Who was that? Do you know?”
The guilt in her eyes tells me she doesn’t.
“You found him. Brought him to his mother and then tried to turn her against her family—”
“I did no such thing.” Her eyes flash with indignation. “I wanted to protect her.”
“From what? From who?” My amusement drops for a moment as I again crowd Olivia’s space. “I protected her. Her and the kids.”
Her eyes widen like she’s truly surprised by the level of emotion I feel about this situation.
"You and I both know something wasn't right about that situation. The way your boss shut down the investigation before it started."
Olivia's eyes widen even more. "How do you know about that?"
"I have my sources." I shrug, working to rein in my irritation. "But I'm more interested in how you reconcile it. The FBI agent dedicated to justice, working for a man who blocked an investigation into a child's kidnapping."
She turns away, moving to the coffee table where her wine glass sits half-empty. "It's not that simple."
"It never is." I follow her, maintaining enough distance to not feel threatening. "But you felt it too, didn't you? Unease? That voice in your head saying something wasn't adding up?"
Her silence is confirmation enough.
"You're so certain I'm the villain here, Olivia. So convinced that your side wears the white hats." I keep my tone gentle, almost sympathetic. "But what if the lines aren't as clear as you think? What if the people you trust are the ones bending the rules beyond recognition?"
She takes a long sip of wine before meeting my eyes. "Even if I had... concerns... about how certain cases are handled, that doesn't exonerate you."
Those words tell me she’s suspicious of her boss as well.
The question is, what is she doing about it? "I'm not asking for exoneration. I'm asking you to question your certainty. To consider that maybe we're not on opposite sides of this particular story."
"The FBI operates within the law," she says, setting her wine glass down. "We have oversight, regulations, protocols. Yes, sometimes we push boundaries, but we can't get convictions otherwise."
I can't help but laugh at her naivety. "Is that what helps you sleep at night? That thin line of legality?"
"It's not a thin line. It's the difference between justice and criminality."
I move closer, watching her eyes track my movement. "Let me ask you something. Are you comfortable setting people up for death?"
Her expression shifts from defiance to confusion, then horror. "What are you talking about?"
"Your confidential informants. The people you flip. The ones you convince to betray their associates." I keep my voice calm, conversational, and of course careful.
I don’t want to give her anything that could lead to her arresting me. "You have suspicions about what might happen to informants, right? When word gets out they've been talking to the feds?"
She stiffens. "We protect our informants."
“Come on now. We know that’s not true. Sure, maybe for a little while, but once you get what you need—"
"That's not—”
I don’t let her finish. “Are you aware that two of your informants killed Don Ferraza’s wife?”
She gasps. “What? No, that was a Calabresi—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Olivia. You are na?ve.” I almost feel bad for her. “And what do you think happened to the two informants?” I know for sure that Roman killed one.
The other looked like a drug OD, something Leo used to do, but he denies any part in it and I believe him.
So unless it was one of Marco’s men, I have to wonder if it wasn’t Agent Blackwood cleaning up his mess.
Her jaw tightens. "Everyone I've worked with is fine."
“How nice for you. What about your boss?”
She only glares at me.
“And knowing what you think you know about how snitches could be handled, why are you talking to Elena or the other woman in the family?”
“Like I said, I was trying to protect Elena—”
“And Isabella? Were you protecting her when you went looking for information about me?”
She looks truly shocked that I know about that.
“Were you concerned when your snitch kidnapped her right in front of a child?”
She picks up her glass of wine again, taking a large sip.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know about that?”
She shakes her head.
For the first time, I wonder if Olivia isn’t as honest or squeaky clean as she tries to come off as. “Come on, Olivia. You’re smarter than this.”
Her eyes flash with heat, but she can’t argue.