Page 18 of Double Standards
“Get in,” he orders flatly.
“What? No, my apartment’s right there.” I motion vaguely toward the building just ahead.
He leans slightly closer. “Unless you want to have this conversation in front of your roommate, I suggest you get in.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. It’s calm, cold. Paralysingly commanding.
I hesitate only a second before sliding into the passenger seat. The door shuts with a dull thunk that feels too final.
“I take it, you read the file?” Axel asks, eyes forward, voice low and clipped.
“Briefly,” I admit. “I need to sit down properly and go through it.”
He finally looks at me. Just once. But it’s enough to unravel me. His eyes are bottomless—dark wells that threaten to suck me in whole.
“You’ve not given me a lot of time, Axel. I need time.”
“Time is something I don’t have, Cassie.”
He exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. The exhaustion rolls off him like heat. He looks like hell. Like he hasn’t slept in days. He probably hasn’t. He’s probably waiting for the whole thing to come crashing down.
The urge to reach out—to touch him, to anchor him—comes fast and sharp. But I don’t. He doesn’t need comfort. He needs a miracle.
“I’ll get to it today,” I answer quietly.
He nods once, and the moment stretches thin between us, held together by too many words left unsaid. I open the door before anyone can see us, before I let myself fall any deeper into the mess of this man and everything that’s coming with him.
“You have got to be shitting me!” Lexie chokes out through the phone.
Classic Lexie—never one to sugarcoat. I should’ve expected this reaction.
“Axel. Fucking. Bonanno?”
“Yes,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face and dropping my head into it.
After my conversation with Axel this morning, I’ve spent most of the day trying to figure out what to do with the folder he handed me. So far, I’ve only landed on one answer: call Lexie.
She’s been my best friend since we were kids and now works as a detective for the NYPD. It’s a risky ask, I know. She's got a badge, and I'm asking her to help me navigate a case connected to one of Manhattan's most dangerous crime families. But I need someone I can trust—and Lexie’s always been that person.
Mostly.
“I’m not even on the case! Which, for the record, is exactly what’s saving your ass right now,” she grumbles. Her voice muffles, and I hear the telltale rustle of a paper bag.Donuts. “Do you realize what would happen if anyone caught me helping you?”
“You said so yourself there’s no direct conflict. All I need is a name, Lex. One name. That’s it.” My voice drops, softens. “Please.”
She groans, mouth full. “You owe me. Big time.”
I smile despite everything.
“What’s the number?”
I rattle off the digits that show up on the call logs repeatedly—same time, same pattern, every day.
She goes quiet for a moment, the clicking of her fingers on the keyboard is all I hear before she finally speaks.
“It’s a burner.” The words land heavy.
“Shit.” I slam my forehead against the kitchen table. I’m getting nowhere and my time is running out.
