Page 20 of Her Dark Mafia Protector
I don’t expect him to answer my rhetorical question or to suddenly decide to open up to me and hand over answers that he wasn’t willing to before we had sex. I also don’t expect him to toss me a breadcrumb of a clue. But to my surprise,he does.
“There is a man, a mafia kingpin, who spends a lot of time at the nightclub on the boulevard—the one right near the strip club with all the drag shows and the purple swan statues out front. It’s averydangerous nightclub, and it’s also where the Bratva in Las Vegas go to meet.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “If I tell you more, you must promise me you won’t go to the club. You’re good at sleuthing things out from afar. The nightclub is too dangerous for someone like you to show your face around.”
“I promise,” I say, eagerly wanting to hear more.
“I believe that the killer who shot your mother was associated with the mafia boss who frequents that nightclub.”
“But I thought you said that there were no leads about her murder in the mafia circles,” I say, not wanting to feel as if I’m getting the runaround again. “I thought you said that it wasn’t amafia hit job and that no mafia boss would have wanted to kill her since she didn’t do anything to cross anyone.”
“I’m not saying that the boss at that club is the one responsible for killing her, or that he or any of the other bosses orchestrated her murder. What I’m saying is that the trail leading back to the one whoisresponsible has a lot of moving parts and components. Your mother’s killer, therealperson behind hiring someone to shoot her, doesn’t want to be discovered. But even within the most complicated, covert webs, there are always clues left behind. And one such clue from that night is that the shooter has ties with the boss at that nightclub. And the boss at that nightclub has ties to the person who set up the hit on your mother,” Nico explains. “Nothing is ever simple or transparent, Elle. Not in Las Vegas and not when the mafia is involved. What might seem like a random street murder, or a quick hit job in which crime is blamed, and causation is brushed under the rug, usually runs much,muchdeeper than what it appears to be on the surface. Maybe if you do a bit of internet sleuthing and digging around, you’ll be able to sniff the trail back to its source. Just stay away from that club.”
I nod, letting my cheek brush against his shoulder in bed as I move my head. I have no intention of keeping that promise.
“Thank you for that,” I say.
“I know it’s not the whole answer that you’re looking for,” he says with a weary sigh. “But maybe it will help you uncover the truth. Just be prepared to deal with the truth when you find it, Elle.”
Something in his voice makes me think that he already knows where this is leading andwhomit is leading toward. I press him further, partly because I’m not sure that I’mreadyto ruin thismoment between us by getting back to the reality that is waiting for me once I get back to the city. My “ghosts” will still be there to haunt me in the morning. Just for tonight, I want to stay withthisGhostand pretend like there is a different way for our story to end. One in which he isn’t the dark observer in the alley that night, but is my hero who not only saved me, but who is still going to save me and help me bring about the justice that my mother deserved to have.
Sleeping with Nico Vitale may have been reckless, and it might come with consequences that I haven’t even fathomed yet, not the least of which is the fact that I just let down my guard with the man who wassupposedto be my enemy. But even so, I don’t regret it. The way that he moved inside of me, and how he made me feel like I was strangelysafeand worshipped with him, is not the kind of thing one can regret.
Tonight, Nico’s stark blue eyes weren’t cold when they looked at me; they were as hot as the bluest part inside of a flame. And tonight, we burned everything—especially ourselves. All that is left now is to see what rises from our ashes.
CHAPTER 16
NICO
After my night with Elle, I feel like I can no longer avoid uncovering the truth about that night. I have my theories and suspicions, and I know where a few loose ends lead, but even I don’t know who masterminded the shooting andwhythey had Elle’s mother murdered to begin with.
I was content for years to only look into it as far as it benefited me. But now I can’t leave it alone, not after letting Ellein.
She deserves to know the truth about what happened to her mother, and whoever was in charge of it deserves to be punished. I don’t normally pride myself on being any sort of righteous vigilante—to the contrary, most would consider me a self-serving loner, but I do still have a threat of moral dignity inside my soul, and that means I won’t be able to look Elle in the eyes again unless I find out the truth.
After she returns to the city, I decide to pay someone a visit—her father, Detective Hale Monroe.
If assholes are icebergs, then this guy is the tip of one for sure. He’s cold, overly ambitious, and manipulative. He’s used thepolice force as a means to play multiple sides for his own gain. He’s not just a dirty cop; he’sstainedin all the ways that make someone a terrible person.
When I get in the car to head back into the Strip and over to the police station, I mull over the pieces of the puzzle that I already know. I’d heard about the rival mafia family’s involvement through rumors, and the boss at the nightclub that I told Elle about definitely had his hand in all of this. But both my sleuthing and my keen instincts have always pointed me toward suspecting Detective Monroe as the one who orchestrated Elle’s mother’s murder.
I haven’t claimed that as a fact since I have no proof of it. But forme, my gut instinct is all the proof I need to go and confront the bastard. I’ve always had a bad feeling about Elle being around her father after that night and the cover-up that ensued. Now that I feel the devout urge to protect her, I feel even worse about it. If he could have his own wife killed, then what’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to his daughter? I need to confirm that it was him and find out the truth as to why a crooked cop would hire someone to kill his wife. Even for a guy like Hale Monroe, it seems like an unthinkable thing to do. But then again, I’ve seen the unthinkable happen right before my eyes more than once.
When I pull up to the station, I wait until it empties out. At this time of day, several of the cops take lunch breaks and go on the kinds of “patrols” that involve staring at some strippers through club windows and eating a funnel cake in their patrol car. The station’s two remaining cops are the intake officer sitting at the front desk near the door, and Detective Monroe, who is likely holed up in his office making backdoor deals with some of the city’s most corrupt players.
I pause for a moment before getting out of my car to go inside. Walking right through the front door of places isn’t my usual style. But there is something about this particular interaction that makes me feel like I want to handle it a bit differently. I’m still haunted by the knowledge of my passive role that night, and if I’m correct about all of this, and Hale Monroe reallyisthe man behind his wife’s murder, then I don’t want to keep to the shadows when confronting him. Iwanthim to see me coming.
“Can I help you?” the intake officer asks without even looking up as I walk in. He must have heard the door open because his face is still glued to some reel he’s watching on his cell phone.
The taxpayers really pay these assholes too much.
“I’d like to speak with Detective Hale Monroe,” I say.
“Sorry, he’s busy. Unless it’s an emergency, you’ll need to call back tomorrow and schedule an appointment.”
“He’s not busy. And it’s going tobean emergency if another word leaves your trap hole.”
The cop abruptly looks up at me with an indignant glare that instantly drops from his face as soon as he sees my gun pointed at his face. I might not have slipped inside like the Ghost, but I stillamthe Ghost.
“Make a move and your face turns into meatloaf,” I warn him quietly as I reach for a set of handcuffs near his desk to cuff him in and a rag to stuff in his mouth. “You ever seen your mother make meatloaf?”
