Page 4 of A Dangerous Prize

"Hey, I know you," she says, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "You that de Luca bitch." Her lips curl in a sneer as she takes in my clothes, my bearing. "You don't look so high and mighty to me, princess."

"Then that is your mistake," I tell her coolly. I hold her gaze until her eyes drop, and she moves away.

The other women stir, their postures changing as understanding ripples through them. I feel the shift in the energy of the holding cell. Where before there had been threatening hostility directed my way, now there is caution, even deference in some of their expressions. They've had a taste of the power behind my name.

One young dark-haired girl speaks up timidly, "Are you that lady Mob Boss?"

"Nah," says another. "That's her cousin. I saw her once. Juno Bianchi." Awe and admiration color her voice.

Great. Even in a jail cell I can't escape comparison with Juno. With a pang, I remember Juno and her wife, Caitlin, melting away in the crowd as I was led away.

I can't blame them for ghosting me. But it still stings.

From the corner, another woman speaks up, her voice deep. Commanding. "That's Alessa de Luca. You bitches leave her alone. Hear me?"

Whoever she is, she's someone the others fear. I give a slight nod of thanks, and then, to my discomfort, she comes over to look down at me.

And puts out a hand.

I shake it, and she says, by way of explanation, "You helped a friend of mine. She's doing good, I hear."

Before more can be said, a sharp rap at the bars draws my attention. "You made bail, de Luca."

Finally. I stand, ignoring the catcall whistles as I smooth down my dress, and give the room a general nod.

"It's been a pleasure, ladies," I say.

I get a few grins in return, and then I sashay from the holding pen, head high.

But inside, I'm still seething. This delay has been inexcusable. And were it not for a serpent in my garden, I would not have suffered this outrage.

Natalie Miller.

Special AgentNatalie Miller.

Just thinking the name fans my fury, and I've had to occupy my mind during my wait, lest I started screaming and couldn't stop.

But that treacherous bitch will pay for this insult, just as she'll pay for everything else she did to me.

For now, though, I'll have to swallow my ire and focus on the task ahead. Lucia Rossi waits for me beyond the clipboard-wielding officer processing my release, her impeccably tailored suit uncreased even at this late hour. Or early, rather. It's not far off dawn, or so the clock on the wall tells me. Lucia mutters under her breath about incompetent bureaucrats as we complete the necessary paperwork. Normally such ranting irritates me, but today I share her frustration. The sooner we finish with these meaningless formalities, the sooner I can begin setting things right.

Her sharp eyes assess me. "You look like hell. Let's get you out of this dump."

The officer returns my personal effects. I put my jewelry back on, ignoring Lucia's impatience. The familiar weight of the rubies helps ground me. Then I turn without a word to the processing officer and head toward the exit, Lucia on my heels. She's already lecturing about discretion, but her voice fades to background noise as the heavy door buzzes open and we step out into the hallway.

As my lawyer and advisor, she is supposed to be one of the few I fully trust. But Lucia is also Don Mancini's cousin, and I trust her about as much as I'd trust a venomous snake.

"Your father is waiting outside," she says briskly. "I've kept the media presence contained, but there will still be questions." Her mouth twists. "Difficult to avoid when the FBI hauls off one of the city's most prominent socialites in handcuffs."

"I have nothing to hide or fear. Let them shout their questions. I'll bury their accusations under the weight of truth."

Lucia shoots me a sharp look. "This isnotthe time for grandstanding, Alessa. Discretion is critical. Anything you say canand willbe used against you, especially if it's plastered all over social media moments after your release on bail."

I wave off her caution. "I know how to handle the press."

Before she can argue further we reach the double doors leading outside. Voices and camera shutters filter through. I take a breath, straighten my shoulders, and push through the doors. Flashbulbs immediately flare, momentarily blinding. Shouted questions accost me but I tune them out, searching for one familiar face.

And there he is. A figure of strength amidst the chaos, my father's face settles something within me. Daddy's power simmers beneath his deceptively relaxed posture as he waits beside the town car for me. Though gray now wings his dark hair at the temples, he remains lethally capable. Now he comes forward to put an arm around me with a soft smile, the smile he reserves for me alone.

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