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NATALIE
The air in the secret casino basement feels suddenly stifling, the flashing lights and ringing slot machines now glaring reminders of the illicit operation I’ve uncovered.
A wave of nausea rises within me as the realization sinks like a stone in my gut—the woman I’ve come to care for, despite her charitable deeds, is absolutely involved in illegal activities.
And I can’t cover this up from my team. Notthis.
The illegal casino is the reason I’m here.
But the thought of betraying Alessa, of being the one to destroy the haven she’s created and expose the vulnerable women under her protection, fills me with anguish.
The nausea rises again and the sounds of the casino seem to swell around me—the incessant ringing of slot machines, the slap of cards, the chatter and laughter of oblivious guests.
“Natalie, darling, are you okay?” Alessa asks, concern creasing her brow. “You look a little pale.”
I press a hand to my roiling stomach. “No, I-I’m not. I think I’m gonna—”
Before I can protest, she grasps my elbow and steers me firmly through the crowd toward a door marked “Staff Only.” I stumble alongside her, the walls and floor seeming to tilt and spin around me.
We pass through the utilitarian staff lounge and into a small bathroom. Alessa flicks on the fluorescent light and guides me to the toilet just as my stomach lurches violently. I clutch the cold porcelain, emptying the meager contents of my stomach as she gathers my hair back and lays a comforting hand between my shoulders.
The bile burns my throat but offers a strange sense of clarity amidst the chaos. Here, in the harsh light of this sterile bathroom, the truths I’d been avoiding are laid bare.
My feelings for Alessa cannot eclipse the fact that she is breaking the law, regardless of her motives.
And I swore an oath to uphold justice.
No matter the cost.
When the heaving finally ceases, Alessa helps me to my feet and wets a paper towel, dabbing at my clammy face with unexpected tenderness.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter.
“Don’t apologize, we’ve all been there,” she says gently. Her eyes roam my face, searching. “Let’s get you home. I’ll have my driver take you back to your place.”
I nod mutely, following her back through the maze of rooms toward the exit. By the time we emerge, an idling town car is already waiting. I slide wordlessly into the leather backseat, keeping my face averted as much as I can.
“Text me when you’re home safe,” Alessa says softly, running a hand through my hair before giving the driver my address.
* * *
I arrive at the elegant facade of the Park Avenue apartment building, its marble columns and uniformed doorman a stark contrast to my unadorned apartment in Queens. For a moment, I’m tempted to give that address instead, to shed this opulent disguise and retreat to familiar surroundings.
But I know Alessa’s loyal driver would report it back to her, so I simply murmur my thanks and exit the car. The doorman nods in recognition as I pass through the gleaming lobby, maintaining the illusion a moment longer.
In the wood-paneled elevator, I catch my wan reflection in the brass panels and again am startled by the stranger staring back at me. The elegant dress and understated jewelry, the perfectly coiffed hair—all an elaborate costume I’m suddenly desperate to shed.
By the time I let myself into the lavish penthouse apartment, my hands are trembling with the effort to maintain my crumbling composure. As soon as the heavy door clicks shut behind me, I kick off the designer heels and stumble to the bedroom, finally allowing the carefully constructed facade to fall away.
It’s not just the breach of law that guts me, but the loss ofjoy. For the first time, I broke free of rigid rules and finally lived with reckless abandon, exploring passions I’d always dampened down for the sake of duty.
But it was ephemeral, I remind myself, an illusion as fabricated as this lavish apartment. I always knew this dream would end. I let myself get lost in the fantasy and forgot this glittering world was never mine to keep.
* * *
The familiar buzz of the FBI office wraps around me when I step off the elevator and onto the floor. Phones ringing, fingers clacking over keyboards, printers whirring. It grounds me, steadies me.
Stephen Bell looks up from his papers when I enter our unit’s briefing office, where the whole team is gathered—except Wright. Thank God. It would make it that much harder to have to face him.
