Chapter Sixteen Tom
Chapter Sixteen
Tom
I stared at my phone, trying to muster relief and satisfaction.
No new messages from Enzo today.
No stupid jokes.
Not even the unwarranted daily dick pic.
And when I’d checked his Instagram earlier, he hadn’t posted any new photos. No stories, either.
Nothing since I left his apartment this morning.
This was good. Great. Fantastic. I needed him to cool his jets.
But he didn’t have to vanish from the face of Earth.
Logging on to the back end of his gym’s website, I checked if he’d gotten his workout today.
He hadn’t.
Now I was getting worried. Worried for my operation, of course, not for Enzo.
Enzo knew how to take care of himself.
Unless…
I picked up my phone and started typing out a message.
Me: Are you O
I was about to hit the K when Sully kicked my door open, breezing inside and dumping a Dunkin’ coffee on my desk. He smelled like a seedy alleyway in East Harlem. “Got good news for you, Roth—”
“Fuck!”
I flipped my phone, screen-down on my desk, jerking back at the intrusion.
“My, my, am I interrupting something?” Sully flashed an abrasive smirk. “I never thought I’d see the day Agent Rothwell is, dare I say, flustered?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re still not seeing it.” I ran a confident hand over my tie, gesturing to the seat in front of me.
He plopped to his designated recliner, his cat-who-ate-the-canary leer intact. Took a slow sip from his coffee. Relished my attention.
“Spill it,” I said.
“You’re about to owe me a whole lotta beers, Rothwell.”
The last thing the bastard needed was more alcohol. As it was, I was doing both our jobs.
“Yeah? And why’s that?”
“I found us an informant.”
“An informant?” I sat back.
“You heard it right: a turncoat willing to work with us to bring the Camorra down. Has deep access into the operation, knows where the bodies are. Fell into my lap late last night, seemingly out of nowhere. He was passing through town and reached out for a meeting.”
“And you decided to take it alone?” I curved a skeptical eyebrow.
“It was past midnight. You didn’t answer my calls, and he’s of interest to the bureau. Couldn’t put that lead to waste.”
He hadn’t been able to reach me because I was busy sucking the Camorra enforcer’s cock, but that wasn’t necessarily a fact I was eager to divulge.
This new information would leave any FBI agent begging for more.
Camorrista soldiers were unshakably loyal.
This, in part, made catching the Ferrantes nearly impossible.
“I’ll be their handler. What do they want?” I asked.
“Immunity.”
“From what?”
Sully shrugged. “Anything. Everything. They’re in a position of power.”
This was only part of the story, I knew. I wasn’t so close to imprisoning the Ferrantes to warrant such a gift. “What’s their other motive?” I demanded.
“He hates the Ferrantes.”
Maybe, but for a mafioso to be so far gone as to become a snitch, it had to be personal.
“Which brother?” I asked.
“All of them. But he seems to have a special disdain for the pretty one, who likes to make origami out of his victims.”
Enzo.
Pushing the saliva down my throat with a swallow, I forced myself not to have a reaction. To shove away the memory of his mouth on mine, the taste of his tongue, his smile against my skin.
Straightening in my seat, I tapped my pen on a manila folder.
“I’ll speak to the assistant U.S. attorney after I run a background check. Make sure he doesn’t flame out,” I warned.
“SDNY is about to close for the holidays, so you better hurry up.”
“I’m not on your timeline, Sully. I’ll do it after I do my due diligence.”
He hiccuped, looking around, already itching to go down the pub for a drink.
“Oh, and who is this informant?” I asked evenly, shifting things around on my desk. A pen. A stapler. The fucking keyboard.
“Now, that’s the real kicker. I saved the best for last.” Sully rubbed his hands together with a grin.
When he gave me the name, goose bumps rose on my flesh. “They’ve got a lot to lose if this goes sideways,” I said.
“So let’s make sure that it doesn’t.” Sully planted his feet on my desk, crossing them at the ankles, self-satisfied. “Buckle up, Rothwell. Because Troy’s about to fall.”
Me: You OK, kid?
Kid: Are my eyes deceiving me??
Kid: Is this your way of telling me that you miss me, Tomcat?
Me: Forget I asked.
Kid: LMAO I can practically hear you groan.
Kid: Why are you asking?
Me: You haven’t pestered me the entire day.
Kid: I miss you too, baby.
Me: Stop.
Me: So? Are you OK?
Kid: Good. You?
Me: Fine. I’ll see you Monday.
Kid:
Kid: OMG a GIF. I’m like a proud father right now.
Me: You make a daddy joke and I’m blocking you again.
Kid: DAMMIT.
Me: If you ever need any help…
Kid: Yes?
Me: Just take care of yourself and stay safe.
Kid:
What was I doing, exactly? Trying to warn him? Quiet the guilt festering in my stomach? Or just make sure I still had him as a lead?
Enzo and I were opposite elements, bound to clash or explode, like an ice cube tossed into steaming-hot water. No scenario existed in which we could be together.
For all my big plans to extract information out of him, so far I hadn’t asked him one measly question about the Camorra operation. I needed to get serious about this case.
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
My whole life, I’d endured. Perfected the art of detachment and impartiality.
I could endure locking up Enzo Ferrante, as well.
This man’s hands did terrible things.
Too bad I still wanted them all over me.
I spent the tail end of the week throwing myself into work.
The chaos teeming in my head took my thoughts in a million different directions.
I no longer needed to meet Enzo under the guise of wanting to harvest intel on him.
I now had a much better source, and one that was cooperative.
I brushed this inconvenient fact under the rug.
No such thing as too many leads. I’d still meet with him on Monday, and this time, I’d make headway with the investigation.
I hadn’t made the call to the DA to start the process of recruiting Sully’s informant. Instead, I’d told Sully I needed to do some research, make sure our turncoat wasn’t a double agent.
This was my usual protocol; it also bought me a few weeks to contemplate my next move.
I was neck-deep in paperwork when Iris’s name flashed on my phone screen, and my heart missed a beat.
I didn’t know why I expected Enzo to call me.
In fact, I was unreasonably concerned that he hadn’t called or texted since our showdown in his apartment two days ago, aside from the brief text conversation I’d initiated.
I pushed it to the periphery of my mind as I answered the call.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I put on a soft tone.
“Tom,” she purred.
A vision of her floated to the forefront of my brain. Her pale flaxen hair, soft brown eyes, and tiny frame. I hadn’t seen her in two weeks. And though I knew she understood, it didn’t rid me of my guilt.
Iris didn’t call often. She didn’t want to bother me. Always said she understood I was very busy with work.
“You and Silas okay?” I cleared my throat.
“Yes, yes, both of us are fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you…” She trailed off, inhaling a deep breath. “You’re still coming this weekend, right?”
“Of course,” I said. “I promised Silas we’d throw ball together. He mentioned something about trying out for the softball team?”
“Yeah. The coach thinks he has a fair shot. The team could use a good pitcher, and Silas is athletic…like his dad.” The nerves in her voice loosened somewhat. My stomach knotted at her words. “Anyway…it’s almost the anniversary, and I was wondering if you’d be up for dinner to mark the occasion?”
So this was why she’d called.
“Sure.” My throat caught a little. “Need me to book a place?”
“No. Silas has been wanting to try the new Mexican place on Main, if that’s okay with you.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll be there at around noon. We can catch up, spend some time together, then grab food.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
I was about to hang up when I realized she’d forgotten to ask me the question she always delivered. It was our routine. “Oh, and Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you…happy?”
“Not yet,” I said quietly, the same answer I’d been giving her for eight years now. She’d been asking every single phone call. “You?”
“I think I’m finally getting there.”
“I’m glad to hear, sweetheart.”
I hung up, frowning at my phone.
I’d told her I wasn’t happy. Same as always.
But for the first time in eight years…
I wasn’t so sure anymore.