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“So I’ve been told.”
“Meaning, as sharp and brilliant as you may be in the courtroom, you have a black and white view of the world. You might want to think that over,” he says, standing up from the chair. He flattens his hand down his tie and then holds it out for a handshake. “It’s always a pleasure. Please consider what I’ve said. Galecki and Santana are at your service.”
I don’t shake his hand, but I do rise to match his stance. “Thank you for coming by, Commissioner. But if I need life lessons, I’ll call my father.”
* * *
The building’s almost empty by the time I notice. The last few lights in the offices near mine flick off and our secretary Mariette wishes me good night. I wave her off and return to my desk, barefoot with my hair pinned up by a clip.
With Giorgio Belini going away, I’ve moved on to the charges brought up against another prominent family member—Michael Frausto, long-time underboss to Hector Belini.
Frausto’s no stranger to the Northam DA’s office. Like with many high-ranking members in organized crime families, he’s elusive when it comes time for charges to stick.
“Not anymore. You’re going down,” I mutter, brewing fresh tea with my K-cup machine.
I lose myself in my work. More time passes as the cleaning crew comes and goes. The clock strikes 8 p.m., and I pause with my fingers on the keyboard. As much as I want to stay another hour or two, my feet ache and I don’t like leaving Salt and Pepa alone too late into the evening; Salt will get in one of his grumpy moods again.
With a sigh, I pack my things and lock up. I run into Erick, one of the security guards on shift as I exit the elevator on the ground floor. He falls into step with me making small talk.
“Always the last up in here,” he says, chuckling. He’s a stocky man only a few inches taller than me, with naturally kind eyes and dark brown skin. “Do you want one of us to walk you home?”
I smile. “It’s just a short walk and subway ride.”
“Some weirdos hang around the subway after dark.”
“It’s only a ten-minute ride. Thank you anyway, Erick.”
He holds the door for me as I enter the cool September night. I’ve slipped out of my heels and into flats regardless of how brief the trip home is. At least I can make it in comfort. I dash across the street when it’s clear of traffic, and then hop on the escalator going down.
The subway only has about one fourth the traffic of daylight hours, but Erick is right—a lot of the weirder Northam citizens come out at night. A guy in a dinosaur costume strums on his guitar for spare change. I drop any leftover cash from my lunch hour in his donation cup and rush to make the train before it departs.
I’m one of five people in my car. The others scroll through their phones as the car jostles us through the dark tunnel. I use the time to relax and clear my head.
Until I see the time and think about Salvatore. He’d asked me to meet him at Grimaldi’s at eight o’clock. Now that it’s half past eight, I can’t help picturing him seated at the upscale restaurant waiting for me. He couldn’t have been serious thinking I’d go to dinner with him. It was some ploy of his. Probably to sweet talk me over drinks.
Why now? Why after so many years of radio silence? Did the Belini verdict really have him that paranoid he was next on my hit list?
The car brakes for my stop, Northam Park. I rise with my purse and briefcase and start the last leg of my trip home. I’m a five-minute walk from my stop to my high-rise building.
The night casts long and unforgiving shadows along the street. Crime in all parts of Northam is an issue, but my neighborhood’s typically safe. My apartment was a gift from Dad when I graduated law school and moved to the city.
Across the street, the park looks empty and foreboding in the dark. The occasional straggler wanders by the grounds.
I stick to the street lamps, my stride fast. My high-rise building emerges at the end of the block. I pick up my pace as a man in a coat and beanie steps out from the front door of another high-rise. He lights up a cigarette and blows smoke, the end of his butt glowing orange against his dark silhouette.
I pretend not to notice him as I pass by. Two more buildings and I’ll be home.
He must flick his cigarette to the ground, because it crunches under the weight of his shoe. I don’t have to turn around to know he sets off at a distance behind me. I canfeelhis presence trailing several paces away.
My heart pounds in my chest as I speed up. He does too. The faster I walk, the fasterhewalks. His shoes strike the pavement, growing closer with every step he takes.
Panic erupts inside me and I stop pretending altogether. I break out into a jog for my building. He darts after me.
I scream and dig into my purse for my pepper spray. The glass doors leading into my building are only a few feet away. I move to dash up the front steps, but a powerful force latches onto me and yanks me backward.
The man’s grabbed a hold of me.
My ankle twists as I struggle to stay on my feet against his pull. I spray the hell out of my canister, spritzing the poisonous particles into the night air.
