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It was an odd time for hope to consume me, but maybe all these years, that thing inside me that told me to keep going, to look forward to the next day, wasn’t duty.
Maybe it was hope.
Love was broken, but maybe we were the type that could make broken love work.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
The coward is the one who lets fear overcome his sense of duty.
GEORGE S. PATTON
ARIANA DE LUCA
Most people thought right and wrong was black and white.
I knew better.
While the guppies who sat behind a bureau desk all day insisted there was a clear line between right and wrong, I begged to differ.
The line was jagged. Curved. It went left when you thought it’d go right, and right when you thought it’d go left. There was no keeping up with it, and the only thing you could do was hope you were doing the right thing.
Being with Bastian—choosing Bastian—felt like the truest decision I would ever make.
I doubted anyone in this office would see it this way. I’d been called in. Not a recall and extraction, but called to a covert meeting regardless.
I didn’t know for certain, but I suspected Jenn had told Wilks about our last meeting.
Wilks patted my shoulder as I passed him and took a seat. The warehouse we stood in was empty with just a table in the center and a lone bulb hanging overhead.
I saw Jenn, Simmons, and two analysts at the table.
None of them looked pleased to see me.
The coffee Jenn handed me tasted bitter as I brought it to my lips for something to do, struggled with its heat, then set it down. “You all look happy.”
Wilks took a seat at the head of the table. “We know Vincent Romano has died. We also know his body is being flown in to New York, accompanied by Andretti royalty to signify the end of their blood war.”
I didn’t know how he knew—probably a mole or another agent undercover—but he didn’t single out a source of information, which meant he was covering me because this was information we both knew I should have passed along to him.
“The bureau has approved a limited release deal with a low-risk prisoner to, frankly, stir chaos and see what sticks.”
Stir chaos.
On a family that had just lost one of their beloved.
I hated this job.
Simmons shut the file he’d had open. “Monica?”
Wilks nodded.
I shot forward, grasping for any excuse to stop this. “She’s not mafia affiliated.”
An unpredictable snake unworthy of two dimes to rub together would have been a more accurate description.
Monica had betrayed Asher, helped a hit team break into his penthouse, and sabotaged Lucy and Asher’s relationship from the start.
