Page 73 of No Greater Oblivion

Dahlia, stop. Stop.

Don’t.

“How alone will we be?”

“Just us. I’ll even leave Dimitrio and the others behind.”

Tell him.

Tell him you think we’re reaching the end.

Don’t be a coward.

I fight back against the voices in my head, the one screaming at me to be reasonable. To accept a truth I’m not yet ready to face.

I can’t. I still love him.

I give him the best smile I can. “Okay.”

18

THE IRS IS THE REAL MAFIA

Dahlia

The Present

New York City

Special Agent Morales produces a lighter and I angle my head forward so the end of my cigarette catches fire. When it does, I lean against the wall behind me and inhale. Smoke fills my lungs and a burning, prickling sensation spreads throughout my chest and throat. I hold on as long as my body will let me before exhaling and repeating the process, wondering if this is what it feels like to die in a fire.

A burning sensation like the flames of Hell spreading across your lungs before eventually subsiding to a mind tingling numbness, almost dizzying and pleasant as it reaches your head and limbs. The urge to close one’s eyes and fall asleep takes over, not realizing the sleep they’re being pulled under is an eternal one.

“How bad is it?” I ask him.

He looks both ways but no one’s paying attention to us, especially not tonight. Li brought in a famous European DJ to play for the coming weeks and tonight’s his first event. Nearly a hundred bodies are all crammed onto the dance floor, jumping, screaming, and gyrating their hips against strangers while the waiters hand out champagne bottles at an alarming pace. A couple in a corner do lines off the back of a silver tray and a group of women somewhere in their late twenties and dressed for a bachelorette party hand out tiny, round pills.

Morales turns a blind eye to most of it. He knows how to pick and choose his battles. Amy’s death was personal and he won’t risk his investigation, which is technically being conducted without his supervisor’s knowledge. As for Li, he considers Morales a necessary evil; not quite crooked but not necessarily clean either. Someone he can use when the occasion calls for but is still kept at arm’s length. If I’m honest, I don’t quite understand their strange dynamic and doubt I ever well. Rian’s wary around Morales and doesn’t understand how Li can allow an FBI agent to come and go from his club like this.

For my part, I know how to mind my own business. Something tells me if I dig any further, I won’t like the answer.

“Worse than we thought but not as bad as it could be.”

I flick my cigarette to get rid of the building ash at the end. “All right. Hit me with it.”

“You were right—his operation goes much deeper than drug manufacturing. He’s been committing fraud for the last five years, inflating the worth of his legitimate enterprises in order to secure multi-million-dollar bank loans.”

“Cooking the books,” I blow smoke between my lips. “How original.”

“This is serious, Dahlia. He’s evaded the DEA because he’s good at covering his tracks but there’s a paper trail for the bank fraud. Not to mention the fact he hasn’t paid taxes in almost a decade.”

I’m not sure why but this draws a laugh from me. “Never fuck with the IRS. They’re the real mafia.”

Morales rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“I found a few things out too.” My cigarette is on its last life so I drop the bud at my feet and put it out with the tip of my Manolo Blahnik’s. “Alejandro’s selling his shares in Li’s company to Sasha Antonov.”

He frowns. “Rian’s brother, Sasha?”