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I move to stand over him, gripping the collar of his shirt and lifting him to face me. He still doesn't say anything, so I punch him in the face.
“I said, do you understand me?” I yell at him again.
“Yes,” he groans, holding his cheek where my punch landed.
I drop his collar by shoving him into the ground. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t want to look at you.”
I don’t turn to watch him leave, but I can hear him hurriedly walking down the alley while I make my way to the door. My hand is throbbing and I can feel blood trickling through my fingers from the broken skin.
Daniella is standing near the door with a worried look when I open it. She holds her breath, expecting to see Tyler walk in behind me, but is relieved when he doesn’t. Seeing her fear again makes me want to chase Tyler down and kill him.
“Did he hurt you?” she asks me, looking down at my hand.
I look at it for a second and shake my head. “Don’t worry about me. Are you alright? Did he do anything to hurt you?”
She looks down at her feet for a moment and shakes her head. I can’t imagine what’s running through her mind right now. It takes all of my self-control not to go back and finish that asshole off.
“I saw a first aid kit on the desk upstairs,” she says instead of answering me. “I’ll help you get that cleaned up.”
I don’t want to push her, so I follow her to the elevator. Daniella walks through the party with her head down, not wanting to draw any attention to either of us. My hand is throbbing, so I hold it with my other hand while we walk. I see a few people’s eyes fall on it, but they don’t say anything.
Someone tried to hurt Daniella, and I taught them a lesson. Everyone else needs to know what happens if they try anything.
Back in my office, Daniella ushers me to take a seat behind her desk while she digs through the drawers for the first aid kit. When she finds it, she takes my hand and gently dabs the wound with a cloth. Looking at her face up close, her eyes are puffy, with streaks of dried tears on her cheeks.
Something roars in me. Something feral, primal. A deep desire to protect her and make sure no one ever hurts or upsets her.
“Thank you,” she says after a while, still not looking up to face me. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did...”
Her voice cracks as she thinks about what might have happened. She focuses on wrapping my knuckles with gauze and medical tape.
“I'm sorry that happened.” I try and pull her attention away from it. “I'm glad I got there before it was more serious. I promise you that I dealt with him. He's not going to be a problem for you ever again.”
“I can see that.” She laughs, gesturing to my hand. “I just can’t thank you enough. I wish I had some way to make this up to you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, pulling my newly wrapped hand away from her. “Why don’t you head home for the day? We can finish training tomorrow.”
I thank her for fixing up my hand and go into my office. I watch over my computer screen as she gathers her things and leaves. Part of me thinks she might not come back tomorrow. My heart races at the idea of not seeing her again, but her information is on file with us. If she chooses not to come back, I can always go to her. Because there’s no way I’m letting her go. No fucking way.
I don't go back down to the party when she leaves. After what happened, it feels wrong to go down there and celebrate when something traumatic happened to Daniella. I've known her for a few hours, but I care for her. It's unexplainable but she is different from any woman I've ever met. She'smywoman.
My focus is back on the investigation. Someone in the family killed an officer, and I don't even know who it was. What makes the crime even worse is the fact that whoever did it is obviously trying to frame me. There's a rat in the family, and I need to find out who they are.
My phone rings, and I look down to see who’s calling me. I smile and answer the phone, thinking about how timely of a call that was.
“Dominic DeLuca,” I say when I answer.
“Yeah, I know. I called you dumb ass,” Mike Herrero says on the other end. Normally, I wouldn't take a comment like that well, but I make an exception for Mike. He's one of my oldest friends and the sole reason I'm not behind bars. “I have something new you’re gonna want to hear about.”
“Can you meet me tonight?” I ask him, hopeful that he’ll bring me the break in the case I need.
“Eight o’clock. You know where to meet me,” he says before hanging up the phone.
* * *
Mikeand I have always met at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I bought out a few years ago. It's not the kind of place anybody would expect me to be hanging around. As much of a nuisance as it is, I know there’s almost always some form of police surveillance on my homes, so meeting there isn't an option.
Because Mike is a cop, we can't meet at his place either.
