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EMILIA
This is it.
When they look back over the course of my stellar career as one of the youngest people to ever make detective in the entire state of New York, this is where the story will begin.
The night I first made contact with the Santoro family before I eventually took them down.
“Explain something to me,” my partner pushes, slamming his door after stepping out of the car and staring at me over the roof. “What do you think we’re going to find here tonight?”
If I grit my teeth any harder, they’re going to crack. I am so sick of his misogynistic bullshit, not to mention the way he talks down to me. As if his ten years as a detective somehow earns him the right to treat me like a child.
He’s no different than any other stupid, egotistical man I’ve ever dealt with. Unfortunately, I’m forced to spend time with him. But you can’t choose your partner.
I’m sure it was supposed to ease me into my role as a detective, pairing me with a ten-year veteran such as Craig Graham when I joined the unit six months ago. However, I would probably do better on my own since all he does is hold me back and ask stupid, pointless questions that only serve to waste time.
The way he is right now as we stand in a parking lot across the street from one of the city’s hottest clubs, it wouldn’t surprise me if he only agreed to this little field trip to watch me fail and take me down a peg.
And I get it, in a way. I don’t expect anyone from the Santoro family to commit a punishable offense in front of us. They are the Famiglia, after all, one of the most ruthless mafia in New York. And if I take them down, then maybe the unit will treat me like I’m not just a useless rookie. But the Santoros won’t slip up. They’re much more discreet than that, considering the DA has been fighting to put together a case that sticks for years. Until now, the family has been a living, breathing piece of Teflon.
Everything beads up and rolls straight off them.
It infuriates me.
That’s why I wanted in on this case and nagged my captain for the last month and dragged my partner here tonight. I have this burning need to show myself that justice can win in the end, and I truly believe I'm the one who can make it happen.
I can’t throw Craig’s words back in his face and tell him exactly what I think of his outdated and downright sexist opinions. My only hope for justice is to finally build a case against the Santoros and their biggest rivals, the Vitalis. The two families who have torn the city apart and gotten more than one innocent bystander caught up in their decades-old feud.
Tonight is the first step—if I can convince this caveman we’re doing the right thing.
“How are we ever going to nail these guys unless we get a better idea of how they think? How they do business? If we’re going to do what nobody’s been able to do before, we need to take a different approach,” I mutter as we make our way across the street.
As soon as he smirks, looking me up and down, I know what the jerk is thinking and have to stifle the sigh threatening to escape. “You’re off to a good start. Where have you been hiding that body?”
His words make my skin crawl, but sadly, it’s typical. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re making a case to be put on administrative leave.” I come to a stop on the sidewalk, folding my arms. “But that can’t possibly be what you have in mind, can it? Making sexist comments like that?” I question, raising an eyebrow.
He rolls his eyes before scoffing loudly. “Take it easy, would you? This isn’t a Me Too story. But don’t pretend you didn’t put on that dress and those shoes to—”
“I’m trying to blend in,” I inform him, cutting him off and gritting my teeth again at his bullshit to avoid an attention-grabbing fight on the sidewalk. “What, you think I’m going to walk in there with my badge on a lanyard around my neck? Get real.”
He hoots with laughter behind me when I turn on my heel and march to the back of a long but quick-moving line separated from pedestrians by a velvet rope.
“You know I like it when you get sassy, Emilia,” he remarks, and I can only roll my eyes before shivering a little when a stiff breeze blows past, knowing that no matter what I say, it will never be enough.
Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around myself to fight off the bite in the air. It’s kind of chilly, and I am wearing less clothing than I’m used to. My idea of a comfortable outfit involves jeans and a sweater. Not four-inch stilettos and a dress that only reaches my mid-thigh while exposing more cleavage than I think I’ve ever revealed in public.
At least I know I blend in like I intended. A cluster of girls in front of us are dressed the same as me, and the mixed perfumes, hairspray, and lotion are almost enough to give me a headache.
“Here’s one thing you need to keep in mind.” Craig bends a little to speak
directly into my ear. “Try not looking like you’re going to a funeral. You’re
supposed to be having fun, right?”
There go my teeth, gritting again. This time, it’s because he has a point. I deliberately relax my jaw and roll my shoulders back so I don’t look quite so defensive. Sweeping my long, chestnut hair over one shoulder, I bat my eyelashes and pout my lips. “Is that better?” I ask in a breathy voice.
His eyes harden before he smirks. “Careful, Washington. You might end up signing a check you can’t cash.” After giving my cleavage a pointed, prolonged look, he stands straight and ushers me forward when the line moves again.
