Chapter 1
Dean
Present day…
The bounce in my knee hadn’t stopped since I sat down in the dimly lit interview room. The blinds were drawn, blocking out the view of the exterior offices, and the clock on the brick wall to my right ticked louder with every passing second.
Car grease stained my jeans and the creases of my hands, but I pulled the latter through my hair, leaving them to rest on the back of my head as I hunched forward in my seat.
The cuffs remained on my wrists while I waited and waited.
I knew it was a tactic detectives used to make perps sweat, leaving them alone in an interview room to mull over their story, but I also knew I had nothing to hide anymore.
So why is my leg fucking bouncing?
Detective Sergeant Mark Whitmore had made a point of parading me past his organized crime colleagues as we entered the level of their office and headed to the interview room.
Not that I was surprised. They were all smug to know they finally had a gang-affiliated member in custody.
I was the key that could further their investigations into Antonio Gimello — one of the many Caporegimes in the Genovese family and my boss — if I chose to cooperate.
Blackmail. Death threats. Murder. It was all stuff I hadn’t done, but I was associated with the people who did it.
I dug my fingers into my scalp, tugging my hair at the roots as I stared at the dark gray carpet beneath me.
There was no running from this. I was boxed in with two options, and neither of them had great outcomes.
The first was to refuse to cooperate, accept that my past had caught up with me, and pack my bags for a lengthy stay in a state prison.
The second was to work alongside my girlfriend’s dad, feeding him everything I knew about Antonio and maybe, maybe, getting some time shaved off my sentence.
Either way, I would be going away for a long fucking time.
The door of the interview room opened behind me, and I slowly sat up straighter, choosing to keep my eyes on the empty chair opposite mine.
“Sorry about the wait. I had to organize some paperwork first,” Mark said as he closed the door.
He then crossed the room, passing me as he loosened his tie, and tossed a thick folder on the table before taking a seat.
He retrieved a small silver key from his pocket and motioned for my hands.
“Have you had time to consider what I want from you?”
My jaw ticked as I lifted my arms onto the table. “Plenty.”
Mark unlocked the handcuffs with a click and a subtly smug expression on his face. I pulled my arms back, rubbing at my wrists.
“So?” he continued. “What are your thoughts?”
“That you should consider a career change.” I sat back and folded my arms. “Maybe get into acting. You’re a great liar.”
He chuckled but ignored my sarcasm as he flipped the folder open and brushed a hand over the top of his graying, dark brown hair.
With a casual scan of the first document inside, where my mugshot from several years ago was printed in the top right-hand corner, Mark spoke again.
“I can’t see a judge being very sympathetic for anything you’ve done. ”
I rolled my head to one side, briefly closing my eyes as my neck quietly clicked.
“What you’re asking me to do, the danger of it, I think I’d rather sit across from a stuck-up judge than put myself or anyone else at risk.
” My eyes settled and narrowed on him. “If Antonio found out I was working with the cops, he wouldn’t only come for me. ”
“Well, we’ll have to ensure he doesn’t find out.” He smiled briefly as he looked down at the papers and flipped to the next page. With a sigh, he clasped his hands together on top of the papers and looked at me again. “And neither will she.”
I scoffed. “Now you want me to lie to her?... Great.”
“Withholding information isn’t lying.”
“It’s miscommunication.”
“That’s nothing new for you,” he quipped smugly.
“I’m not keeping things from her again.” Things like this, anyway.
“You will if you want to keep her safe.”
The chair creaked beneath me as I leaned forward and braced my bare arms on the table. My voice was low and sharp. “If you wanted her safe, you wouldn’t be asking me to get fuckin’ intel for you.”
Mark’s eyebrows rose as he sat back in his seat. “You’d prefer I arrest you and send you to prison?”
“I’ve been to Rikers before. I was bound to go back eventually.”
He tutted, stood, and walked around to the back of his seat. “I probably should’ve made myself clearer in the drive over... You will help us with this whether you want to or not. We can’t afford to waste this opportunity.”
“You’re not listening,” I hissed. “This will put Lily in danger. Again.”
“Which is why she cannot know.” He gripped the back of his chair as he pinned me with a glare. “I want her to remain unaware and unbothered by any of this... Of course, this would be so much easier if you hadn’t gotten back together.”
I didn’t know why I did it; maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but my lips curved up as I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I break up with her again to make this easier for you?”
“You said it,” he smirked.
Don’t punch your girlfriend’s dad because he’s making sense...
“And you know I am right,” he added.
I gritted my teeth and took a breath through my nose. “No. I love your daughter.”
“If you loved her, you’d let her go.”
“Yeah? Look at how well that went the first time I did that,” I retorted.
“We’re getting off-topic... If you’re going to stay, you’re going to have to get used to lying to her real fast.” Mark took a seat again, returning his focus to the folder as he leafed through it. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you. You’ve been lying for most of your adult life.”
I could only stare at him as the information stacked up into a giant clusterfuck of problems before me. Then, like the grand cherry on top, Mark pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table to me. Printed across the first line was my mother’s name.
I didn’t read the rest — couldn’t read the rest as anger slowly bubbled up beneath the surface of my skin. Instead, I lifted my gaze to the detective. “What the fuck is this?”
“Are you aware that your mother failed to apply for citizenship? We’re aware you and your father had one, but there’s nothing for her...”
My fingers curled against the underside of my chair, and there was a subtle pounding in my head with realization.
Dad never bothered with one for her. He made sure she rarely left the house.
He kept her like a housewife and sucked any joy from her life once we moved to the States on promises he failed to keep.
Mark continued spitefully, “It’d be a shame if immigration were to find out—”
“She’s in a fuckin’ wheelchair.” My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
He stood and casually collected the papers while I remained still. On the inside, I was thinking of the probable consequences of throwing a detective through a window.
Prison time was on my horizon. What’s one more charge of assault gonna change?
While I remained unmoving, my eyes followed Mark's every step as he approached my side of the table. Stopping directly beside me, he leaned against the edge of the table. “I’m guessing she’s aware of what you’ve done too? I would hate to see her face the consequence of that—”
The chair beneath me tipped back with force as I shot to my feet and punched Mark across the face. He staggered sideways, clutching his cheek, before I grabbed the front of his shirt and forced him to stay upright.
I lifted my fist again but hesitated.
“I’d be very careful with what you do next, Dean,” he smirked as he rubbed his reddening cheekbone.
The interview room door swung open, and several detectives barged in, yelling at me to release the sergeant. But Mark raised a hand to them, silencing them as they halted in the doorway while his eyes never left mine.
He quirked an eyebrow. “What’ll it be?”
“Blackmail? Really? That’s a little low for you, isn’t it?”
“I get what I want, Dean. I will have Antonio locked away for the rest of his life. If it means dragging you through shit to do that, so be it,” he muttered.
I shoved him back as I released his shirt. The motion caused the men in the doorway to shift nervously. With nothing else to consider, and my hand now forced, I steadied my breathing and my voice. “I’ll do it.”
Mark grinned. “Smart man.”
I shook my head at myself and combed my fingers through my hair. There were no happy endings with any of this. I had begun to pace as the other detectives left the room. Meanwhile, Mark watched me. Maybe trying to figure out if I was going to explode again.
I stopped. “Now what?”
“You go back to work and then go home to my daughter and tell her how great your day has been.” He drew a small, gray business card from his shirt pocket and held it towards me. “When Antonio makes contact, call me.”
I took the card and read over it once before looking at him. “He hasn’t made contact for a while. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
“In the meantime, you can fill me in on all your little adventures with him. We’ll schedule you for an appointment later this week for that chat.” He stepped forward, dropped a hand on my shoulder, and grinned again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I trust you won’t try to run?”
I faked a smile. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”
He tucked his tongue in his cheek as he scoffed in amusement, but dropped his hand and walked to the door.
“You know,” he continued as he held the door open for me and prodded at the faint mark on his cheekbone. “I thought you’d punch harder than that, considering you fight for a living.”
I pocketed his business card as I strode for the door and the low hum of the office beyond it. Those same detectives from before were watching from their desks.
As I reached Mark in the doorway, I slowed my pace enough to respond to him before I left.
“I was holdin’ back.”
Several days passed, and so did that appointment with Mark.
I revealed most of what I knew or could remember as he took notes, asked questions, and reminded me what was at stake whenever I failed to reveal much else.
From every black-market weapon deal to the cocktail parties Antonio hosted in his penthouse, sometimes with the head of the Genovese family.
Another week came and went. I worked at the garage and traveled to and from mine and Lily’s.
The former visits were spent in denial. I couldn’t tell Mom that her citizenship, or lack of one, was hanging by a thread.
Then there was the time spent at Lily’s apartment, where I pretended life was normal.
Twenty-nine days from the day Mark had blackmailed me, it was Wednesday evening, and Lily’s apartment was quiet.
The only sound came from the city outside and Kira’s sleep sounds playing faintly from her bedroom.
Tonight, she was listening to the sounds of a thunderstorm.
The rumbles conveniently complemented the real rain outside the apartment.
Lily was perched on the kitchen counter, holding up the bottom half of her T-shirt while I gently removed the gauze patches from her skin.
Her bullet wounds were healed. All that was left of them were small, twisted scars no bigger than two inches.
One on the right side of her stomach, the other on her lower back beside her spine — too close to her spine.
The doctor had given her the all-clear today.
Wound care was no longer a thing she needed to worry about, and she could return to work, something she seemed indifferent about for some time.
Including now. Beneath the surface, hidden within her blue doe eyes, were the slight hints of doubt, nerves, and something else as she stared blankly ahead.
Every so often, she winced when the adhesive gauze tugged at her skin.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She didn’t say anything.
It was like we had switched roles. She was the one disappearing into her mind.
“Almost done.” I angled my head as I carefully peeled off the rest of the gauze on her back. I smoothed my thumb over the redness, and she inhaled sharply.
When the last of the gauze came away from her skin, she dropped the shirt and flattened it down over herself. The uncertainty on her face was quickly hidden by a smile when she caught me watching.
I scrunched up the gauze in my hands as I slowly straightened. “Feel better?”
“I’m going to wash off the stickiness from those patches.” She hopped off the counter, but her movements were awkward as she walked between me and the fridge to get to her room. Like she was avoiding being touched.
I turned on the spot as she walked by, then leaned my hip against the counter. “Want company this time?”
She stopped in the doorway, glancing back as she gripped the door frame. The movement caused her short braid of golden-brown hair to fall from her shoulder.
“I think I’ll have it alone if that’s okay. It’ll be quick anyway.”
“Yeah, go for it.” I crossed my arms loosely before shrugging one shoulder myself. “I was just wonderin’.”
Her smile was almost forced, as if to reassure me that whatever I was worried about was nothing before she hurried into her room and closed the door. She couldn’t get away fast enough.
I caught myself before I attempted to follow her for answers. She needed time and would talk when she was ready, even if it was killing me to see her like this.
The number for a psychologist, who specialized in treating gunshot survivors, had remained on the fridge since she left the hospital, but that didn’t mean Lily wasn’t trying.
She had dialed the number twice, hung up on the first call, but followed through with the second, only to reschedule it the next day.
That was about a week ago, around the same time the touch avoidance began.