Page 43 of Shadowed Loyalty

But as far as he’d seen in life, none of it really mattered anyway—not the religion itself and not these stupid things meant to remind him of it. How was he supposed to respect a Church filled with mafiosi, whose priests accepted their dirty money in exchange for absolution? How was he supposed to put any stock in a God who let criminals get rich while good, honest men bled to death in a sewer?

No. The only justice in this world was what they enforced for themselves, and the only righteousness was what put murderers behind bars. God, if He existed, clearly didn’t care enough to do a blasted thing for humanity, and no tin crucifix hanging on his wall was going to convince him otherwise. Maybe Jesus suffered—but it hadn’t stopped anyone else from suffering since.

Roman had had enough suffering. It was time for the bad guys to take a turn at it, for once.

Cliff tossed a few pens and blank notebooks onto his ancient table and pulled out one of the two chairs. “Well. I guess this answers my question about what you plan to do about Sabina. You do realize that if you go above and beyond to get him for murder, she’s going to go above and beyond to hate you, right?”

Roman pulled out the second chair, wishing that his partner wouldn’t insist on reminding him of why even making the bad guys pay had become so blasted complicated. “I’m not an idiot, Cliff.” But Sabina’s sculpted face filled his mind’s eye. His fingers ached for the touch of her so-soft skin. He could hear her musical laughter trilling in his ear and even smell the light, flowery fragrance she favored.

Cliff shook his head without moving his gaze from Roman’s face. “I don’t get you, man. You’re seriously smitten with this girl. Yet here you are, doing everything you can to tear apart her family. You’re inviting a broken heart, and I’m not looking forward to picking up the pieces.”

Roman stood and paced to the ill-equipped galley kitchen for a drink of water. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to do my job and forget about her.”

“Right.” Cliff’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You know who you need to talk some sense into you? A certain little Sicilian lady I know.”

Roman spun around to glower at his friend. “You wouldn’t.”

Cliff lifted his fair brows, looking far too pleased with the idea. “I can just see it now. She’d tug on your ear, wag that finger in your face, and launch into a lecture that could send an army running for cover. You’d either be over Sabina in a minute or else convinced you’d better marry her and let this whole investigation drop.”

Roman held out a finger of his own to wag. “You call my mother and I’ll tell yours about your determination to steer clear of all the debs and their high-society demands for the rest of your life. If she realizes this working-class life isn’t just a phase for you…”

Cliff winced. “All right, all right. Truce. We leave our mothers out of it. The last thing Chicago needs is those two terrors descending on the city. So. Let’s get back to work. What crazy scheme are you cooking up to get the information you need?”

They spent the next couple of hours hashing out the rudiments of a plan and then hit the town to follow up on the first steps. Not surprisingly, Roman’s leads had long since gone cold. They went their separate ways at dusk with nothing to show for their efforts but added frustrations. Cliff declared himself ready for a good dinner and maybe a book, but Roman paused on the corner once his friend was gone and stuck a hand in his pocket.

Indecision kept his feet planted. He should get back to his apartment, go over his notes again, or else get a bite to eat. But neither idea appealed. Already thoughts of Sabina were encroaching on his mind, and he knew they’d only grow stronger when he was alone on his couch. He turned and headed back into the Levee. He knew of only one way to drive away the images of a girl.

Sally answered her door on the second knock and gave him a sultry smile as she leaned into the frame. “Well, well. I gotta say, champ, you look a far sight better than you did last time you were here. You’re real handsome without those circles under your eyes. Though the chin’s turning some interesting colors.”

Roman flashed his most charming smile. “Glad you approve, doll. Mind if I come in?”

She pushed the door wide and stepped back inside, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ve got an hour or two. Why? Got something else to prove?”

“Nah.” He followed her in, toeing the door shut behind him. Sadly, it was no worse a room than his own. Maybe even a little nicer, given the curtains at the windows and the vase of flowers on the table—homey touches that women seemed able to put on a place with two pennies and an hour of time. Every time they’d moved into a new apartment when he was a kid, Ma’d have it looking like theirs in minutes.

He wouldn’t have expected it of a dame like Sally, though. He’d seen plenty of rooms of girls like her in his work with the Mancari operation—collecting payments, checking out complaints. Most of them didn’t bother with things like curtains and flowers. Most of them didn’t care enough—or they spent whatever cash their pimps let them keep on something to dull the pain, not to brighten the room.

In spite of the temperate day outside, it was a few degrees above comfortable in here. Maybe she’d been cooking. He shrugged out of his jacket. “Paid a visit to Ava today.”

“Yeah?” She reached out to take his coat, draping it with precision over the back of a chair, lining up the seams. “Why do I get the feeling she was less than helpful for you?”

Roman chuckled and sidled over to her, lifting a hand to trace the line of her low-cut dress. “Didn’t even get to talk to her, actually. We took one look at each other and realized we’d seen each other on another occasion. By now, she’ll know who I am.”

“Hm.” Sally trailed a finger down the line of buttons on his shirt. “And who, exactly, is that?”

He saw no reason to lie. “Prohibition cop.”

Recognition lit her eyes, but her arms still encircled his waist. “That O’Reilly character the papers mentioned?” At his nod, her lips tugged into a half smile. “My, my. A veritable celebrity. I can certainly see why Ava would steer clear of you if she realized you were trying to pinch her man.”

“Exactly.” He leaned over so he could run his lips over her jaw. “Sally? How loyal are you to Ava?”

She pulled back enough to look at his face while she pursed her lips in consideration. “Well. She was nice to me when I hit the city. Although not nice enough,” she tacked on, glancing around the closet she called home. “Why? Whataya got in mind, champ?”

“Just a little undercover work. Compensated, of course.”

Sally’s golden brows lifted. “You boys don’t have the highest budgets. I don’t see how you can afford that if you still intend to spend money on this.” Her hands drifted down his back in illustration of what she meant.

“I can find it. I’ve got a little put away from my past career.” Not exactly from the career, but he didn’t need to mention that. It wasn’t money he’d ever planned to touch—but this would be fitting, wouldn’t it? If he could use dirty money to cut off at least one head of the mob, that would have a certain poetic justice. “Or.”

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