Page 19 of Shackled By the Mafia Boss

“The Camorra,” he says, and I shrink back.

“The Camorra?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I say this, but my brother, Dominic, doesn't think they are capable of attacking us because they are under the control and cover of Cosa Nostra, but I'm not blind. Some years ago, the Cosa Nostra and the Camorra were engaged in a in a war that lasted a pretty long time, and though it seems like it's in the past, Victor Valentes lost his wife during that time. I strongly believe he still holds a grudge.”

I scoff and place and hand on my hip. “If I lost a husband, I would certainly hold a grudge. You might not be wrong. They might have it out for you.”

I can't help but wonder about how long the feud between the Camorra and Cosa Nostra lasted. And when it started,

“How long did it last?” I ask.

“How long did what last?” his forehead creases and I wave a hand in the air, eager to know if the dots connect.

“The feud,” I say. “When did it start and how long did it last?”

“The war started twenty-years ago. Lasted five years.” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. “We lost a lot of men, including cops who worked for us before Victor Valentes called for a truce”

“That was fifteen years ago?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Fifteen years ago?

That is about the same time when my father was murdered. I think about the circumstances surrounding my father death, and I wonder… Is it possible that Valentes had a hand in my father’s death…or even the Romano’s?

Thoughts whirl in my mind, but I don't share my them with Marcus. I can't tell him of my hidden agenda in joining the police force.

“Jane?”

I hear my name but it sounds like it comes from a distance. He raises his hand and silver rings glint in the muted light. He pokes my shoulder with a finger and tries again.

“Jane?”

“Y-yeah?” I blink rapidly.

“You spaced out,” he states, like it is not obvious enough.

“Yeah,” I rush out and glance at my phone screen. “Oh, would you look at that?”

“Would I look at what?”

He leans forward and peeks at my screen. His scent is a mixture of after shave, sandalwood and whiskey. It's alluring and makes me lightheaded. In a good way.

I take a small step backward when he raises his head and peers closely at me.

“It's getting really late,” I say firmly.

“Oh?” his brow creases. “That's sudden.”

I part my lips but no words come out. On the one hand, I want to stand there with him and talk more about information he might have pertaining to the case, but on the other, spending time with him not only risks exposure of the truth of my hidden agenda, but makes me feel a way I’ve never felt before. Uncertain.

“I remembered there’s something at home I have to take care of, but we should catch up some time soon again. I’d love to hear all about those leads you might have.”

He does not look like he buys my story, but he doesn't try to press me further. “Okay,” he nods. “See you soon, then.”

I smile, and so does he.

I open my car door and he begins to walk away, but suddenly turns around. “Hey, there's, uh, something I want to ask.”

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