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I crack the door open the tiniest bit, peering out. The hallway is dark and quiet, and I slip out of the room, looking around before I start to make my way down the hall. I hear a creaking behind me and glance over my shoulder, feeling another shiver run down my spine. There’s no one there—just the sounds of a house—but I quicken my pace, glancing over my shoulder again as I hurry towards the stairs.
Everything is fine. I just need to get out of here, call another Uber, and?—
I realize I forgot to text Darcy when I arrived, just as I run directly into what feels like a brick wall.
A brick wall that smells enticingly of sandalwood and vanilla, and whose hands grip my arms hard. Before I can take a breath, I’m nearly lifted off of the floor as someone turns me, those inflexible hands refusing to let go as I’m pinned to the wall.
I’ve been caught. And unless I think of something very quickly?—
I don’t think there’s any chance of escape.
Lorenzo
It’s fallen to me to be the one who deals with the fallout from Alfio Altiere’s death.
Technically, it should have been my older brother, Dante. He’s the Campano don, the one in charge of this family—but he’s been distracted lately with his personal life. Altiere’s demise came after he dared to kidnap the woman my brother fell for, and I was there with him to make sure that the job was done. Now I’m cleaning up what’s left.
I don’t entirely mind. I’m used to handling the dirty work, especially since our father passed away and Dante took up the mantle of don. I’d rather meet with our men, handle shipments, pick up cash drops, and deal with those who need to be reminded of their place in the pecking order than sit through endless business meetings and negotiations. In fact, one of the only positives that I can find in the fact that I was born second—and therefore not made heir—is that I don’t have to handle the meetings.
When I do, it’s usually something like what I need to handle this afternoon—meeting with the police chief to ensure that the understanding we have with them is still in place. With the recent murder of another don added to our list of crimes within the city, I have to make certain that the heat for that isn’t going to come down on us.
The driver pulls into the back lot of the station, the black SUV standing out next to a row of cruisers, and I slip out of the car, sliding on a pair of sunglasses against the bright LA glare. The late-summer heat is oppressive, and I walk quickly to the entrance, wanting the relief of some good air-conditioning.
The woman sitting at the front desk is pretty, with short, curly brown hair, wide hazel eyes, and a doll-like pout to her mouth. Her gaze sweeps over me appreciatively as I walk inside, slipping my sunglasses off and tucking them into the open top of my shirt. I went without a tie today, opting for a button-down and summerweight wool blazer.
“Can I help you?” She cocks her head to one side, still taking me in, her lips parted as she draws in a breath. It seems like she’s trying to be subtle, but she’s failing remarkably.
It’s a reaction that I’m used to, and one that I rarely indulge in. My older and younger brothers are the playboys in the family—or at least Dante was, until he went and fell for his tattoo artist. I’ve always been less interested in having a revolving door of women coming in and out of my bedroom. I’m no monk, but that lifestyle has never done anything for me. Just as the woman looking at me as if she wants to eat me like a snack does nothing for me, either.
“I need to speak to Chief Dawson.” I glance at her curtly.
She bites her bottom lip. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need one. Tell him Lorenzo Campano is here to speak with him.”
The woman swallows hard. “I?—”
“Just do it, please.”
For a brief moment, she looks as if she’s going to argue. She licks her lips nervously, some of the flirtation falling away, and when I don’t waver, she nods quickly. “I’ll be right back, Mr.—Campano.”
“Thank you.”
I wait as she scurries towards the back offices, returning a few minutes later with a slightly chagrined look on her face. “He says to go on back. I presume you know where his office is, then?”
“I’m familiar with it.” I walk past the desk as she sinks back down into her chair, heading back towards the office that I’ve visited a handful of times. Our payments that keep the police out of our business are done discreetly—certainly not brought directly here—but every now and then, it’s good to visit and have a chat to make sure that all is as it should be. A reminder of our generous donations and an assurance that nothing has changed is good for everyone in this relationship.
Chief Dawson is sitting behind his desk when I walk in, a mug of black coffee at his elbow, peering at something on the computer screen in front of him. He’s a balding, portly man in his early fifties, his face creased with years of stress and his mouth a thin, severe line in his face. He looks up as I walk in, his gaze darkening slightly as he sees me. Neither of us is particularly fond of the other, but as far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t matter. Business partners don’t need to be friends, or even particularly like one another, so long as business is done.
“Mr. Campano.” Dawson leans back in his chair, steepling his hands atop his belly as he looks at me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
There’s a hint of sarcasm in his tone, but I ignore it. He didn’t offer me a seat, but I take one anyway, sinking down into one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “I wanted to let you know that there will be an additional amount added to our contributions to the precinct’s funding this month.”
Dawson’s lips thin further, nearly disappearing altogether. “I see. And I imagine there’s a reason for this generous donation? One that I might have coming across my desk shortly?”
“Indeed.” The pleasant smile on my face doesn’t falter. “Seeing as how your detectives will be adding to their workload, it felt only right to ensure that you can pay for the extra manpower. And our family is happy to contribute to the community that we’re a part of.”
Dawson makes a noise deep in his throat. “Of course. Finding alternate ways to close a case that aren’t actually solving it does create a lot of busy work.” He lets out a long breath. “Am I going to give a shit about who it is this time?”
