Page 7 of Shackled By the Mafia Boss

“I have leftovers at home,” I say with a sigh, reluctantly stuffing my briefcase with case folders and my laptop. “And you?”

“I’m starving.” He cranes his neck to look at Josh. “Had dinner yet?”

Josh runs a hand over his hair. “Not yet. Let’s grab something.”

“Works for me.” Taylor drags his attention back to me. “Are you joining us?”

I would love to. I live alone in my apartment and it’s really boring when my best friend doesn’t visit. But I need to check in early so I have to turn down the offer. “I’m afraid not.”

I finish packing up and the guys walk me to the parking lot. They wait for me to drive off before I see them striding to their own cars through my rearview mirror.

My apartment building is only ten minutes’ drive away from the station and it takes me that long to bring the car to a stop in the parking lot.

The elevator ride to the fourth floor takes forever and once I’m inside my apartment, I toss my briefcase to the floor, kick off my shoes and amble to the kitchen for a cold can of soda.

I take on long gulp and groan when the drink fizzles and slides down my throat. Crazy how the unhealthiest drinks give the most satisfactory feeling. Well, that applies to food in general.

Carbs taste good and make me feel good, but it’s a recipe for health hazard.

What do we even live for? Ugh. So many rules when we’re all eventually going to die, anyway.

The back of my feet ache from standing all day so I tiptoe to kitchen island and sit on one of the stools.

I had a really long day. Taylor called me at five a.m. this morning about Ricci’s murder. Then I had to question a few witnesses before driving to the club. Being a detective really isn’t easy, but I’m glad to be one anyway.

I’d made the decision to become a cop when my father was murdered twelve years ago. I was just fifteen, but not once have I forgotten the shivers which engulfed me when I received the news of his death.

My heart begins to beat a little faster as memories from that night he blossom in my mind. The hole in his head where the bullet passed through, the body bag which carried him away and the pool of his blood. The thought he’d been lying on the cold floor for at least an hour before he was found.

My father was a detective and he was murdered doing what he loved most. Being a cop and helping people.

It’s been twelve years and his murder remains unsolved. I’d joined the police force to catch his killer, but I’d been stunned to find a case had never been opened. I’d been told it would be impossible to find an unknown killer, so no one bothered to try. He’d worked his ass off, but his death was dismissed as if he were a nobody; and by the very same people he worked for.

Every memory from that night blankets me like a dark, stormy night and drives me to the edge of a gloomy cliff. One where the water rages as it slaps against the shore and panic grips me in a chokehold.

I want to break free, return to the present, but I’m panting, sweating and afraid. It’s as if I’ve fallen off the edge of the cliff, and am drowning in the cold, turbulent sea.

I’m in a dark place and I can’t escape.

I need to breathe.

Breathe, Jane. Breathe.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Clutching my chest, I am grateful for the ring of my phone. It pulls me from the abyss I had sunk into. I stagger to the living room and rummage through my briefcase for the phone.

An unknown number flashes on my screen and then a message pops up.

It was nice meeting you today, Jane.

Air leaves my lungs and my knuckles turn white. My phone buzzes again when another message comes in.

Sweet dreams, signorina.

I gasp, reading the message over and over again.

It’s Marcus Romano.

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