Olivia
Once again, I'm in the arms of a man I shouldn't want and can't have. A man who days ago was accusing me of being part of Rocco's kidnapping.
How do we keep getting here?
Why do I need him so much?
"You okay?" He says between kisses on my neck.
"Yes."
He turns me in his arms, studying my face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Not at all." Truth is, I feel like I needed this.
Sex to take me out of my head and away from my troubles.
I wasn't lying when I said I felt unmoored.
The life I knew is crumbling under me. The people I trusted, who I believed lived by my same moral code are turning out to be the bad guys.
And now I'm working with the bad guy to find evidence.
When we do, what are the odds that Dom and La Corona will take justice into their own hands? And it will be partly my fault.
Dom leans in and kisses my forehead. "I would hate to be in your head right now. It looks like craziness is going on in there."
He turns off the water, grabs a towel, and wraps me up. "Do you want pain reliever? Whiskey?"
That elicits a smile. "No. But I would like to lay down."
He gives me my clothes, leggings and an old T-shirt. Then he puts me to bed.
"I know you think this thing between us is wrong," he says as he sits on the edge of the bed pulling the covers to my chin.
"And you don't?"
"I think it's dangerous. I think it’s doomed. But I know it's not wrong."
I can't explain why, but his words make my chest feel warm and full. There's something sweet about the way he expresses the tragic romance we're involved in.
"Get some sleep." He leans in, giving me another kiss. This time my chest aches at what I can't have. Why does my stupid heart have to fall for a mafia don?
I wake to the familiar wave of nausea rolling through me. It's the third morning in a row, but thankfully it subsides without sending me running to the bathroom.
I guess it’s from the residual effects of my head injury. Maybe stress too.
With everything happening, who wouldn't feel sick?
Dom's already up, papers spread across the kitchen table. He slides a mug of tea toward me as I join him.
"I made it weak. Figured your stomach might still be upset."
The small gesture of consideration always catches me off guard. "Thanks."
We spend the next hour laying out what we know, connecting threads between Rocco's kidnapping, Mrs. Ferraza's murder, and the inconsistencies in official reports. I can't believe I'm sharing FBI information with a mafia don, but here we are.
"Blackwood's involvement is at the center of all this," Dom says, tapping his name in my notes. "He personally managed Ernie as an informant. He was the one who told you not to file a report on Rocco. He's been pushing you to go after me specifically."
It didn’t take much pushing since I’d thought a Vitale had been involved in my father’s death.
"What's his endgame? Taking down La Corona? Victor's ambitious, but he's always been calculated. This..." I gesture at our evidence board, "this is reckless. He's risking his career, his freedom. Why?"
"Because he’s an asshole?" Dom suggests.
I roll my eyes. "There's something more personal driving him. The way he talks about La Corona, it's like he has a vendetta."
"Has he lost someone to mob violence?"
"Not that I know of. His file shows a clean background, prestigious schools, fast-tracked career." I rub my temples, fighting another wave of queasiness. "But something doesn't add up. The Victor Blackwood I know wouldn't jeopardize everything unless he had a compelling reason."
Dom reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "We'll figure it out."
"And then what?" I ask the question that's been haunting me. "If we prove Blackwood is corrupt, what happens next? Your family will want revenge."
"Justice," Dom corrects. "We want justice."
"There's a difference between justice and vengeance, Dom."
His eyes hold mine. "Sometimes the line blurs when the system fails."
I don't have an answer for that. Because deep down, I'm starting to understand his perspective.
If Blackwood has been manipulating events, causing deaths, kidnapping children, then what does justice even look like?
"There's something else," I say, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "I spoke with Agent Thompson before my attack. He mentioned money seized from a Monti raid has gone missing. He said other agents have also indicated missing money or forfeitures…all La Corona families."
Dom's expression shifts from curious to intense. “That sounds like motive to me. Does Blackwood know you know?”
"Thompson and I talked to him about it, along with questions about the transpo logs."
“What was his response?"
I shrug. “He said he’d look into it and whether we needed to get OPR—Office of Professional Responsibility—involved.”
Dom smirks. “I’m not surprised. What else would he say? ‘Oh, that was me helping myself evidence and kidnapping children.’”
I meet his eyes. "That night, I was attacked."
Dom leans forward, his face dark and fierce. “I’ll kill—” He catches himself.
I arch a brow.
"The timing can't be coincidental," he says. "You report concerns in the morning, and that evening you are attacked? Blackwood's getting sloppy. He's worried you're connecting dots."
I wrap my hands around my mug of tea. "I just can't believe he'd risk everything like this. His career, his reputation... for what? Money?"
"People have risked more for less," Dom says. "But you're right, there's something else driving him. This feels personal."
"Against which family?" I ask. “Or maybe it’s all of you. What if Blackwood has a connection to La Corona we don't know about? Something in his past?"
Dom moves closer, looking over my shoulder. "What are you searching for?"
"Blackwood's background. I've only seen his official FBI file, but..." I pull up what limited information I can access remotely. "Victor Blackwood, 48, born in Connecticut. Ivy League education, joined the Bureau twenty-three years ago. Specialized in organized crime from the beginning."
"Connecticut doesn't help much. Any family connections to New York?"
I scroll through more details. "Nothing obvious. Parents were academics. No siblings listed."
"We need to dig deeper," Dom says. "Old newspaper archives, school records, anything from before he joined the FBI."
"And we need to look at the families too. Any significant events from twenty-five, thirty years ago that might have created this level of hatred."
"He won't stop coming after you," Dom says quietly. "Not until we find proof of all this."
"Or until he silences me permanently," I add, the truth of it chilling.
He moves to me, wrapping me in his arms. “I won’t let that happen, Olivia.”
I let myself be comforted by his strength and warmth for a moment. But only a moment. I can’t get used to this.
I pull away. "We need to follow the money. The money from the Monti raid is just what we know about. If he's been skimming for years..."
"It would be millions," Dom finishes. "That kind of money leaves tracks."
"Offshore accounts, shell companies, real estate. There has to be a pattern. Between that and maybe something in his past that connects him personally to La Corona is what we need to look into.”
Dom nods. "I can have my people look into property records, business holdings. Anything that might be tied to him under different names."
"And I can access Bureau databases. Cross-reference any cases he's worked that involved La Corona families." I pause, the reality of what I'm proposing sinking in. "I'll be committing career suicide."
"Only if you get caught," Dom says with a hint of his usual confidence.
I laugh despite myself. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
His smile fades into something more serious. "What's the alternative? Let him continue using the Bureau to carry out his vendetta? Let more people die?"
He's right. The choice isn't between right and wrong anymore. It's between different kinds of wrong.
"First thing tomorrow, I'll go back to the office—”
“No, you won’t.”
I bristle at his tone. “You’re not the boss of me—”
“I saved your ass tonight. I don’t want it to be for nothing. You can access what you need from here. And you can do it in a way that doesn’t put a bullseye on your back.”
I want to argue with him, but when I open my mouth, he presses a finger over it.
“Olivia.”
The way he says my name makes my chest feel full. I wonder when exactly this happened.
When did Dominic Vitale, the man I've spent years trying to put behind bars, become important?
“Your safety is first.”
It’s hard to argue with that.
“Exposing Blackwood is second.”
"What happens if we find proof Blackwood is corrupt, what then?"
Dom's eyes meet mine. "Like I said, justice."
"Your version or mine?"
"Does it matter?" he counters. "We both want the same thing. To stop him before he hurts anyone else."
I suppose we want the same things.
Protect the innocent and hold the guilty accountable.
It’s our methods that differ.
If Dom gets vengeance his way, will I be able to live with myself knowing I was a part of it?