Extended Epilogue
Dominic Vitale - Christmas
I slip away from my own Christmas party, leaving behind the family celebration.
No one notices.
They're too caught up in their happiness. Luca and Elena are kissing under the mistletoe.
Marco, the last person besides myself I ever thought would fall in love, is cooing over his daughter and her first Christmas while Gabriella takes pictures of them.
Roman is playing hide-and-seek with his daughter and Luca’s kids, while Isabella chases after their toddler, Leo.
Don Leo Ferraza is sitting in the corner with Antonio Monti looking like they’re talking about old times.
Perfect timing for me to pursue something far less wholesome.
I take the elevator to my below ground garage and get into a nondescript black sedan.
Foreign sports cars are great, unless you want to go unnoticed. Which I do.
Agent Olivia Ricci. The thorn in my side who has somehow become an obsession.
I told the others we needed to use her to get to Blackwood, but that's only half the truth.
I would have followed her tonight regardless of La Corona's blessing.
There's something about her that intrigues me.
I park outside her apartment building and step into the shadows. I adjust my coat against the December chill, watching my breath cloud in the darkness.
The seductive thrill of the hunt pulses through me as I spot her car parked outside the building.
I should have brought this to La Corona weeks ago, but I didn't.
I've been watching Olivia Ricci for weeks now. Not the casual surveillance I had on her when I first learned she was investigating me two years ago.
Ever since that meeting in the diner, I’ve had an inkling that things aren’t what they seem with her.
So I’ve been watching.
Some might think it’s stalking.
I know her schedule, her habits, the way she takes her coffee from that overpriced shop three blocks from the Bureau office.
She lives alone in a modest apartment that she keeps immaculately clean.
No pets, no plants, nothing that requires consistent care.
Her job consumes her.
I admire her dedication to the job, although I wish she’d use it on someone other than me.
The men she occasionally dates are forgettable, lawyers, accountants, a doctor once.
Boring men who pose no threat to her career or independence. None last beyond one date.
I find myself relieved each time she sends them packing.
Her work record is impeccable.
Graduated top of her class at Quantico. Highest arrest record in her division, except, of course, she hasn’t caught me.
I wonder if I’m a thorn in her side too. She has commendations that would make any agent envious.
Yet she works directly under Victor Blackwood, which makes her either corrupt or oblivious.
What fascinates me most is the connection I discovered between our fathers.
Old man Ricci was a beat cop in my father's pocket for nearly a decade before he suddenly grew a conscience.
He disappeared before my father could deal with him, relocated by the Feds, I assume.
Or maybe someone else took care of my father’s problem. Now his daughter hunts the very organization that once paid for her childhood home.
Tonight, her apartment sits dark. No movement behind the curtains, no shadow passing across the windows.
I check my watch, 11:43 PM on Christmas.
Where would a dedicated FBI agent with no family commitments be at this hour?
The thrill of not knowing heightens my interest. In my world, I control everything, know everything.
But Olivia Ricci remains unpredictable.
I sink deeper into the shadows across from her building, adjusting my position.
I should be at my own party, playing the gracious host, not standing in the cold stalking a federal agent. Yet here I am.
Needing a little more adrenaline rush, I hoof it across the street to her building.
The security in this building is laughable.
Five minutes.
That's all I'd need to slip inside, to see the private spaces she inhabits when no one's watching.
My gloved hand touches the service entrance door.
One small act of breaking and entering, hardly the worst crime on my conscience.
The lock is basic, nothing my skills can't handle.
I've been picking locks since I was eight and could easily slip into small spaces whenever my father felt that skill was needed.
The lock gives way with a satisfying click.
I ease the door open, stepping into the relative warmth of the hallway.
The building is quiet except for the distant hum of heating systems.
"Don't move, Vitale."
Cold metal presses against the base of my skull.
I freeze, muscles tensing, mind racing through escape scenarios. But curiosity overrides instinct.
"Agent Ricci. Working late on Christmas?"
"You too, I see. No rest for the wicked, eh? Hands where I can see them. Now."
I comply, raising my hands slowly.
She pushes me into the wall and kicks at my ankles to force me to spread my legs.
"I've known you were following me for weeks, Dominic," she says, voice low and commanding.
The sound of my first name on her lips sends an unexpected jolt through me.
"I figured you were working, since that’s about all you do," I say, testing her.
"I took the night off specifically to catch you." Her hands pat me down and my dick takes notice. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice the head of the Vitale family personally stalking me? What kind of federal agent would I be?"
I smile despite the gun aimed at my head. "Interesting technique, Agent Ricci. Is this how the FBI trains you to handle dangerous criminals? A private meeting in a dark hallway, no backup, no recording devices, just you and me?"
"You're not as intimidating as you think.”
Anyone else talking to me like that would have found their face readjusted. But I like sparring with Agent Ricci.
“Then why are you holding a gun to my head?” I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “Or maybe you find this exciting. The sexually frustrated agent frisking the bad boy.”
She scoffs. "Bad boy? Is that what you call yourself? I’m not interested."
"Yet here you are, spending Christmas with me. I'm flattered."
"Don't be. This is work."
"Is it?" The hallway feels electric between us. I can smell her perfume, something expensive but subtle.
Not what I expected from a federal agent.
I move before she can react, turning, my right hand catching her wrist and twisting, not enough to hurt, but just enough to redirect the gun away from my head.
My left arm braces against the wall beside her head as I reverse our positions in one fluid motion.
I press her back against the wall, my body mere inches from hers.
The gun remains in her hand, but it's pointing harmlessly at the ground.
I smile as I stare into eyes that burn with intelligence and fury.
Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders, different from the severe ponytail she wears on duty.
She's wearing jeans and a black turtleneck, not the standard Bureau suit. She looks younger.
More dangerous.
"You're good," she whispers, not struggling against my hold.
"You let me do that," I observe, surprised. "Why?"
Our faces are close enough that I can feel her breath against my lips.
The danger of this moment, a federal agent, a gun between us, the line I'm crossing, only intensifies the heat building in my core.
"Maybe I wanted to see what you'd do," she says, her eyes challenging me.
I've never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.
I stare at her lips, my baser urges warring with my common sense. She’s the epitome of law and order, duty and honor.
Everything I'm not.
Her goodness practically radiates from her, making me want to corrupt it, to see how far I could push before that righteousness bends.
"You're too good for your own good, Agent Ricci," I murmur, my thumb tracing the delicate bones of her wrist where I still hold her gun hand captive. "Ever wonder what it's like on the other side?"
Her pulse jumps beneath my touch. "No."
I lean closer, our lips almost touching. "Liar."
For one electric moment, I imagine claiming her mouth, dragging her down to my level.
How beautiful she would look with her perfect moral code in tatters at her feet.
I could make her understand the gray world I inhabit, where good and evil blur into something more honest than her black-and-white justice.
“I don’t recall reading sexual assault in your file.”
If she threw a bucket of ice water on me, it wouldn’t have cooled my jets as quickly and effectively as those words did.
I’m many things.
Most of them bad.
But I don’t hurt women.
Not with fists.
Not with force.
What the fuck am I doing? She's FBI. I'm La Corona. This ends one way, with one of us destroyed.
I step back, releasing her wrist, cold reality rushing back between us.
"Stay away from my family," I say, my voice hardening. "Whatever game you’re playing, it needs to stop.”
She straightens, adjusting her grip on her weapon without pointing it at me again. “Or what?”
I lean in close, wanting to intimidate her and both annoyed and amazed that it doesn’t work. “Or I can’t protect you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need your protection.”
“Are you sure about that? Are you so sure I’m the bad guy here?”
Her brow furrows. “Yes, mobsters are bad guys.”
"You're swimming with sharks, Agent Ricci, and you don't even know which ones are circling you."
I turn to leave, feeling her eyes burning into my back.
Whatever this is between us, it's far from over.
God help us both when it ignites.
To be continued.