AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Beneath it all, I’m still just Natalie Miller. Not some wealthy socialite. Just me.
After the emotional rollercoaster of the past few hours, exhaustion crashes over me like a breaking wave. My limbs are leaden as I drag myself up the steps and down the hallway to my apartment door. Between the confrontation with Sam, the ethically fraught revelations from Alessa, and—most confusing of all—the crazy, passionate sex we shared all afternoon, I’m utterly spent.
As soon as I’m inside, I kick off my stiletto pumps and peel off my dress right there in the living room. Too tired to care, I let the expensive garment puddle on the floor and stumble to my bedroom.
I fall face-first onto the tangled sheets in this state of undress. My mind and body are already shutting down into blissful oblivion. Vaguely I register the familiar smells of laundered sheets and old wood polish that mark this place as home.
Then I’m out. I sleep like the dead, free of restless dreams and worries about listening devices or watching eyes. No one can touch me here.
When pale morning light filters between the curtains I wake slowly, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. Here in my real apartment, I have the luxury of lazily coming to awareness instead of snapping to mission-ready alertness like my undercover persona.
Lying there listening to the mundane sounds of traffic and neighbors outside, everything seems beautifully simple. The familiar scent of the nearby bakery fills the air, a comforting aroma. Removed from the intrigues and deceptions that permeate Alessa’s world, it’s just me and my modest corner of Queens.
No pretense, no surveillance, no ethical quagmires.
Everything is comfortingly straightforward.
After a long, steamy shower under crappy water pressure, I towel off and put on yoga pants and a soft FBI Trainee sweatshirt. A gift from Sam Wright during our early academy days, though it holds less sentimental value for me now, as I think about his attitude yesterday.
In the tiny kitchen, I grab a cup of deliciously awful black coffee from my ancient coffeemaker. Yet another thing I miss when surrounded by the luxuries Natalie Moreau takes for granted. Cradling it for warmth, I sit down at my small desk in the corner of the living room and open my laptop. I heave a sigh, steeling myself.
Time to write up yesterday’s events in my official report to the agency.
I take a bracing sip of coffee and begin typing up the highlights of my time with Alessa. I’m deliberate and selective in my choice of words, including just enough detail to satisfy Bell, Wright, and the others, without revealing anything too damaging.
I say that Alessa gave me an extensive orientation tour of the Ruby, showing me around the public areas and inner offices. I describe the lavish interior design and atmosphere at the club itself in the same terms as my previous reports stated.
After the tour, I explain, Alessa invited me back to her private townhouse for a more intimate ‘get to know you’ to further gain my trust. I portray it as a calculated move on Alessa’s part to assess me away from the club, while allowing me rare access to her personal space.
But I make no mention whatsoever of the rescued woman in Alessa’s safe room. Nor do I describe her work with her father to rescue more of them.
I certainly don’t include how it felt to kiss her, or the way my pulse raced during orgasm.
Oh, God. That’s something I’ll have to face next time I see her. I just can’t think about it now without my brain exploding.
As far as the agency is concerned, I spent the time gaining information on Alessa de Luca’s business contacts and role within the Mafia hierarchy. Information she cleverly deflected, forcing me to gain more of her trust before revealing anything too sensitive.
And just like my previous updates, I report no concrete evidence of criminal activity tied directly to the Ruby itself. Only hints and implications pointing to Alessa’s connections.
At some point,obviously, I’m going to have to confess to Bell. Tell him that I slept with the target. Take responsibility for my actions.
Just…not yet.
Not until Sienna is safely away from New York and the Mancini Family. Once that’s done, I swear I’ll own up to Bell.
Iswear.
I take a deep breath and hit Send. Just like that, my report and files are transmitted securely into the hands of those whose trust I seem to be betraying more with each passing day undercover.
Yet as I settle into a hard plastic seat of the subway on the ride back to Manhattan, I feel only a grim sense of inevitability.
I am bound to return to Alessa. The job demands it.
There’s something inmethat demands it, too.
Last night changed everything between us. For better or worse, I crossed a line from which there is no return.
And I’m still not even sure how I feel about that.
