Page 5 of Shackled By the Mafia Boss

He stares at my card, raking his teeth over his lips before he smiles at me. My heart skips a beat, I can’t get used to how handsome he is. “I will be keeping in touch.”

Something about the way he says it makes me believe him. I suspect he won’t keep in touch just for the reasons I want him to, though. “I’ll be on my way then.”

I feel his gaze on my ass as I walk from the office, weave through the sea of people in the dance club and meet my colleagues at the front bar.

“Did you get anything from him?” Josh asks as I lean on the bar, his expression a perfect blend of grumpiness and curiosity. Josh is forty, thirteen years older than I am, and I swear he’s holding a grudge that I outranked him at just twenty-seven.

I’ve heard him tell Taylor he thinks I fucked my way to the top. I don’t care about proving him wrong unless he grows a pair of balls and says it to my face, but I earned my badge from risking my life to catch criminals and late nights flipping through criminal profiles to solve cases.

I pretty much worked my ass off. Not my fault he’s only half as skilled and intelligent as I am. “Other than the fact he’s an arrogant bastard? Nope, nothing.”

“We should pay him a visit some other time,” Taylors says. He’s thirty-five years old, and half African American. He’s tall with broad shoulders, coffee-colored skin and silky black hair. He never talks about his father, and I’m unable to guess the mix of his heritage.

I like to assume he’s one of those kids with deadbeat fathers. That is the only logical reason he wouldn’t want to acknowledge his other ethnicity. I like him though, as he treats me with respect. He’s a cool guy.

“Maybe we should.”

“We wouldn’t have to if I’d interviewed him instead,” Josh spits, his tone filled with venom. “I bet you thought flashing your tits in his face would get you all the answers you needed.”

My fist clenches and anger courses through me. “What did you say?”

“You don’t deserve to be…” He groans and doubles over when I stride over to him and knee him in the belly.

Heads turn in our direction. It’s against the code of conduct for cops to fight in public, but I’m too pissed to give a shit right now. “Say that one more time, asshole.”

Clutching his belly, he tries to straighten his back but fails miserably at it. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too, you fucking sexist,” I retort, my voice swelling with fury. “I’m your boss and you will fucking treat me with respect. You got that?”

He doesn’t answer and I’m about to give him a punch when Taylor wraps his hand around my fist and holds me back. “Hey,” he says softly. “This is not the time or the place for this. There are people watching.”

I’m still boiling with fury, but I can’t ignore how gentle Taylor is with me. I’ve always respected him as much as he respects me. I glare at Josh. “Meet us at the office.”

I drove us here in my black Toyota Camry, but he sure as hell isn’t joining us in the ride back to the station. Taylor scurries after me as I stride from the club to the parking lot and bring the car’s engine to life.

“We’re really leaving him behind?” Taylor asks, watching me with raised brows and narrowed eyes.

“You can stay with him if you want to.”

“No, let’s go. He deserved it.”

“yes. He did,” I agree and steer the car away from the parking lot and into the busy road.

Josh returns to the office almost an hour after we’ve arrived. I think he left some of his attitude at the club because he’s barely frowning as he heads over to my desk. “Hey, can I have a word with you?”

I’m flipping through Flavio Ricci’s case file, narrowing my eyes on the photo of the bullet that was found in his skull. It’s a 9mm. Most cops and military men use them and I could assume the shot was fired by someone in the force, but it’s hard to make that leap when the gun found beside him wasn’t registered.

The forensic team hasn’t found any fingerprints on the gun or any foreign DNA on him, which leads me to believe whoever did this was a professional. That makes it premediated murder.

What I don’t understand is why the gun was left at the crime scene and who the anonymous caller was.

“I’m busy,” I say to Josh, eyes fixed on the case file. “You can say whatever you want right here. I’m listening.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry about today. You’re right, I shouldn’t have behaved like that. You’re my boss.”

I finally blink up at him, a burst of laughter threatening to leave my throat. I’m a pro at reading body language. The clenched fists and strangled voice is all the evidence I need to know he’s not apologizing because he thinks he’s wrong.

He’s apologizing because he knows I won’t let him get away with any more disrespect.

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