Page 130 of Fallen Rook

I’m the one who put you here.

I needed to discuss his sense of humor with him next time we were together. More specifically, the absence of it. Standup comedy certainly wasn’t in his future.

My shiner was still sore, but nothing was as painful as having Tom treat me like the common criminal I was. Without realizing what I was doing, I dully began scratching at my wrists and forearms.

Clink, clink, clink, went the handcuffs again.

Great. Another flare-up was forming. The stress of the wedding, of our secret, of the Cold War with the Bratva were all taking their toll on me. And while I was pretty sure I wasn’t going down on extortion charges, especially ones where I hadn’t even laid a finger on the man, it was less than ideal that I was here in the first place.

Luca had enough to deal with, and Achilles was basically co-captaining the operation right now. It was like we had two dons. Neither of which was going to be happy I’d ended up here.

About an hour and some change into my arrest, I asked to speak with my lawyer.

My request was met with a chirpy snort of derision. The stocky booker shook her head, flipping a page on her glossy magazine with her long, colorful nails. “In a little bit.”

“It’s my constitutional right.” I stood and leaned a shoulder against the bars.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, headquarters is not a precinct. You’ll get processed and receive all your rights once you’re transferred. For now, the FBI wants you here.”

“Until when?”

“Dunno.” The booker popped pink bubble gum, flipping another page. “What can I say? You’re a popular guy, handsome.”

Pushing off the bars and back to my little bench, I let out a slow exhale.

I had no idea what the fuck was going on, and whether my prolonged stay here was positive or not. If Sully was behind this fuckery, I was toast. But if it was Tom who’d pulled some strings behind the scenes, maybe I could get out of here unscathed…?

Another hour passed before Tom materialized from the long hallway, looking like he descended from Mount Olympus. Seriously, he wore authority so fucking well, I wanted to punch my own face for never asking him to handcuff me in bed. He wasn’t accompanied by Sully, which further lifted my mood.

Tom went straight to the booker and the marshal who stood beside her at the reception, ignoring my existence. He slapped a document on their desk. “I’m releasing him to the custody of the FBI, under my supervision,” he announced dryly, scribbling his signature on a clipped file on the counter.

The marshal whistled, peering at the paper. “That fast, huh? Maddox sure has a hard-on for the Ferrantes.”

“He’s not the only one…” my smart mouth couldn’t help but muttering. Tom’s face remained unreadable, but I knew he’d heard me.

“Uncuff him,” he said.

We were at the door when I asked him, “How’d you turn my case federal? I allegedly committed a state crime.”

I knew a decent amount about the law, because my father had made all three of us go to law school and pass the bar. To cheat the system, he’d said, you must first know it by heart.

“You bank-wired the alleged protection money. It crossed state lines. Wire fraud is federal.”

I had not wired that money in the twenty minutes between its collection and my arrest anywhere, and he damn well knew it.

He’d done it for me.

He was saving my goddamn ass.

Fuck me.

My heart started beating out of whack, my pulse drumming against places in my body I didn’t know existed. I sped up my pace to keep up with him. “Where’d I transfer the money? You know, just in case someone asks.”

“Naples, Florida. Chase.”

“Naples, Italy, would’ve made more sense.”

“Naples, Italy, would’ve sent you straight into the arms of Interpol, and I hear their agents are dashing. Couldn’t run the risk.”