Chapter Fifty-Two Tom
Chapter Fifty-Two
Tom
I watched as the Ferrante plane touched the tarmac while I sat on the roof of a hangar inside the private airport. I still used my FBI badge and windbreaker to stalk Enzo whenever I deemed it necessary.
As it turns out, it was always necessary.
My phone pinged with a message, and when I opened it, hoping to find Enzo’s name, Zeke’s name flashed instead.
Zeke: My office. ASAP. Bring lawyer.
The pain pulsating in my chest finally managed to wrap its claws against my heart and squeeze.
A decade of spotless performance, down the drain.
It appeared to be the last time I was going to be able to use my badge and windbreaker. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t be arrested on top of fired. Not that it mattered. Nothing currently fucking mattered other than the pressing issue of making sure Enzo came back to me, safe and sound.
My destiny could wait. Enzo couldn’t.
Tucking my phone inside my pocket, I readjusted my binoculars and watched as the door opened and the airstairs lowered to the tarmac.
Achilles was the first to appear, ducking his head to accommodate his mammoth size as he took the stairs two at a time. Tierney waited for him in a vintage convertible a breath away from the plane, her Jackie O shades and babushka-tied Chanel headscarf intact.
Tiernan Callaghan exited next. His pregnant wife had not arrived to greet him, but his twin sister rubbed his back soothingly, and he had Lila on FaceTime as he slid into Tierney and Achilles’s car.
Luca never got out of the plane. He was probably fueling up and heading to his next destination in search of his wife.
But Enzo did.
Enzo got out.
Beautiful, whole, and very much alive.
All the air left my lungs as I exhaled the anxiety and worry lodged inside.
He’d survived, like I knew he would. He was a skilled soldier, a ruthless enforcer…
And the love of my life.
I watched through crinkled eyes at his playful, elegant movements.
The way he descended the stairs with little hops, his Gucci duffel slung over his shoulder, and slid his sunglasses up his nose in slow-mo.
He glanced left and right, saluted Tierney, who drove off with her husband and brother, and made his way to the parking lot.
I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. The way he quietly showed up for his family time and time again, risking his life, never asking for anything in return. He was barely twenty-six, and yet he handled responsibility better than most grown men I knew. More than Sully, that was for fucking sure.
And he was coming back to me.
I knew that as sure as I knew the sun would be up tomorrow morning.
Because Enzo Ferrante never broke a promise.
And now, it was my turn to keep mine.
“Thank you for coming.” Zeke settled in the seat in front of me.
Next to me was my white-shoe shark of a lawyer, Christian Miller.
Miller was a veteran who represented a lot of high-profile clients who landed themselves in murky waters.
His fees were astronomical, but so was the payoff.
Never in my life had I felt more lucky to inherit everything from my aunt, so money was never an issue for me.
“As you can see, I have with me the assistant director of the counterterrorism division, Martin Sterling.”
Martin grunted.
My nerves were shot. On the outside, I appeared calm and loose.
I had chosen a crisp turtleneck instead of a suit, casual slacks, and my informal wingtips.
My appearance, my expression, signaled that I was on my way out of the bureau and had great things waiting for me.
In practice, however, I’d never wanted to leave.
I understood why organized crime was a unit I could never visit again, but aside from my sole indiscretion with Enzo, I knew I still had a lot to contribute.
“Duly noted,” Christian said. “My client pays me by the hour, and it’s my wedding anniversary. I have a reservation for eight o’clock. So I’d appreciate it if we can get the ball rolling.”
Christian hadn’t an ounce of leniency in his entire damn body. It was one of the many things I appreciated about him.
Zeke and Martin exchanged looks before turning their attention to me.
“Agent Rothwell, the FBI has conducted a thorough investigation into your handling of the Rasputin-Ferrante operation,” Zeke announced.
He and Martin stared, waiting for me to unravel. I returned their gaze with a lukewarm one, lifting one shoulder. “That is commendable. Am I to guess your findings, or are you able to share them with me?”
“We found your actions, although questionable in terms of effectiveness, to be within the lines of our protocol. Your partner, Agent Sullivan, assured us that you carried the operation with a spotlessly clean conscience. You may resume your work in the FBI.”
A ten-ton stone rolled off my chest, but I didn’t let it show. To exhibit relief would be to admit the crime.
“I see. And what of the case?”
“We’ve handed it over to Las Vegas. The Bratva falls under their jurisdiction. Got nothing to do with us.”
“And the Camorra?”
Zeke shook his head. “That case is dead. Done. It is time we admit defeat.”
I fought the twitch of a real smile. “I regret I couldn’t solve this for you.”
“You did your best,” came his brusque reply.
It went unspoken, though understood, that Zeke had stuck his neck out for me.
He’d handed Sully marching orders about what to say when the investigation took place, more than likely threatening to sack his ass on the grounds of his alcoholism and deprive him of all the retirement perks he’d been looking forward to.
He had told investigators to look into the Bratva for the murder of Slava, then tugged at the strings behind the scenes to ensure I walked out without so much as a slap on the wrist.
He’d fixed everything.
He was the father Enzo wanted to be to our future, hypothetical children.
“Does this mean my client is no longer of interest to the FBI?” Christian asked.
“He is of interest to the FBI,” Martin countered, “but not as a suspect. Rather, as an employee.”
“While I appreciate the opportunity, I think my days in the organized crime unit are over,” I said.
Though I loved my job, I loved Enzo more. Keeping both simply wasn’t an option.
“I agree,” Zeke said tonelessly, lacing his fingers together. “And though you haven’t broken any ethical codes, I do think your failure in the operation stems from your loss of passion toward our unit.”
“This is where I come in.” Martin leaned forward, catching my eye. “I understand you’ve shown interest in the counterterrorism department in the past.”
“I had three interviews for a position several years back.” I jerked my chin in a nod. “Eventually, the vacancy was offered to someone from inside the department.”
“Yes, I remember.” Martin snapped his fingers. “You were my first pick, but you know how it is. Politics.”
My mouth stretched into a thin line. Zeke made a gesture with his hand to cut it off. Apparently, I still hadn’t perfected genuine smiles unless Enzo was in the room.
“At any rate,” Martin said, “there’s an opening in counterterrorism, and we’d like to offer you the position. Pay is the same, and the nature of the position is not much different from your previous role.”
A jolt of excitement pierced my chest. I didn’t let it show.
“I’m going to need some formal documentation to everything that was discussed here today,” Christian muttered, standing from his seat. “But I’m not in HR, so I’m leaving the rest to you.” He patted me on the back and left in a cloud of self-importance.
I turned my attention back to Martin.
“We need all hands on deck, Agent Rothwell,” he said. “This means no time off in the foreseeable future. Will this be an issue?”
“It might be,” I said. “I’ll have to clear it with my partner.”
Zeke grinned like a proud father. I fought an eyeroll, like a teenager.
“Whatever days off you’d like to secure will have to go through me before you sign the contract,” Martin said, oblivious to the monumental moment of Zeke witnessing me actually owning up to a relationship and staking claim to it.
“Understood,” I said.
There would no longer be a conflict of interest.
Enzo and I could be in the open. A real couple.
I could take him to restaurants, eat his “lingerie” from his body, and hold his hand in public without a worry.
I could fucking kiss him in my office, like I had wanted to the day we broke up.
I could hold him tight and tell him that nothing, and no one, mattered the way he did.
“So, when can you start?” Martin asked.
“Probably today,” Zeke said, snorting.
“Not today.” I let loose a genuine smile this time. “Today, I have plans.”
“And what are these plans?” Martin cocked his head, confused as to what could be more important than my dream job.
“I’m going home.”