by S. M. Soto
“One minute.” I hold a finger up and push out of the chair, toward the foyer. I stumble when I see the uniformed officers standing over the threshold, glaring at Creed. Dread settles into the pit of my stomach.
What the…
There are three cops in total. The one in front is a pudgy man, his hands permanently glued to his hips and a scowl etched on his face. The other cop is a bald man with aviators on, the woman standing next to him his probably the youngest out of them all.
My chest tightens, fear squeezing my heart. I catch the tail end of their conversation, something about questioning. A gasp tumbles from my lips and all gazes swing to mine. One of the officers, the younger woman, watches me, her eyes scanning me up and down. When they settle on my swollen stomach, they widen.
“Who is that?” she asks, her gaze now narrowed on Creed accusingly.
“Creed?” My voice trembles. “What’s going on?” I take a step forward, inching closer to him and Gar.
“Everything is fine, Angel.”
“Go back into the kitchen, Soph,” my brother orders.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Sabella,” the woman says, firming up her voice. “Who is this woman you’re keeping here?”
Keeping here? What the hell is going on?
“I’m his fiancée,” I say before anyone else can answer. The older cop’s expression grows stormy and something passes over the woman’s features.
“Now, will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
“You heard her. Someone better answer her question before I kick you off my property. Enforcement or not.”
I jolt at the sound of Matteo’s voice as he steps into the foyer, stopping right next to me. His angry gaze fixed on the police officers. Their gazes dart from me to Creed, to my brother and back to Matteo as if they’re not sure who to look at. It looks like they’re no longer sure what is going on either.
“This isn’t over Mr. Sabella. You’ll be hearing from us again.” The older pudgy cop jerks his finger in my fiancé’s face. The bored expression on Creed’s face never wavers, he doesn’t even flinch. He watches the cop with calm indifference, but his eyes, they’re like shards of ice, I can practically feel them cutting into the man from here. The three cops walk out the doors with their tails between their legs, but I can feel their anger. They want something from Creed, Matteo or whoever, and they won’t be satisfied until they have it. Just as Creed’s about to close the door, I see the younger female cop turn back to look at me, as if she’s searching my face for something. Whatever it is, the door closes before she can seem to figure it out.
I’m trying to catch my breath and wrap my head around everything, when they all turn to look at me. The only person I have eyes for at this moment is Creed.
“Why were the cops just here, Creed?”
His face is a blank mask and I know I’m not going to get anything out of him so I look to my brother. Of course, he breaks. Blowing out a tired sigh, he scrubs a hand over his face.
“They’re—”
Creed cuts him off, shooting him a death glare before he can finish. “Not here. Not while we have company.”
Instead of arguing, like I normally would, I nod, understanding his meaning. He won’t talk to me about anything or spew any details until we finish with Kristine, the wedding planner.
“Let’s finish up here, then we’ll talk.”
Tamping down my anger and my fear, I follow him back into the dining room where Kristine is still waiting.
We finish up the rest of the cake tasting, moving onto arrangements, colors and everything in between. Even though I was sitting there, participating in the discussion, I can’t remember what we talked about exactly. I felt like I was underwater, unable to comprehend anything. My mind is reeling, my head spinning with what ifs. I’m not sure what to expect. I thought everything was okay. Things have been going more than okay lately, but now this? The police?
That’s different than anything else we’ve ever dealt with. This is the law and I have no idea what they want from Creed.
Why did it seem like whenever something in our life was going so well, outside forces were always trying to ruin it?
Kristine says goodbye with air kisses, promising to get back to us with a list of potential venues for the wedding and the reception, besides the church, within the next two weeks. The minute she’s out of the front doors of the estate, I whirl on Creed.
“Start talking.”
He nods his head sharply and turns on his heel. I follow him into his office where Matteo, my brother and the rest of the guys sit waiting. There’s a pit in my stomach. If all of them are here, this can’t be good. At all. I steel myself for whatever news they give. I start pacing the floor immediately, feeling all eyes on me.
“Why were the cops here? What happened?”
Monte is the first one to clear his throat, forcing my attention to his. “The authorities, it seems they’re trying to build a case…against Creed.”
My eyes slam shut, and I rake a hand through my hair. I inhale a deep breath, silently counting to ten, trying to remain calm. “What kind of case? What do they have?”
“Well, it’s not really the Chicago PD we’re worried about.”
“Why not? They’re cops!”
“And anything they think they have, anything that’s mob-related is under their paygrade. Murders and crimes in the city? Sure, but this? Anything to do with Sabella’s is out of their hands,” Monte says.
I start rubbing my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t understand. This is good right? If it’s above the paygrade of the police department, who handles it then?”
Everyone shares a look.
“The FBI,” Clarence says.
My heart stops beating. “W-what?”
“It’s damning, Soph,” my brother says sympathetically, his voice trying to soften the blow.
Emotions thicken in my throat. “How damning?”
“They have surveillance. Photographs. But it’s all of Creed. No one else.” Monte says.
Finally, looking toward Creed, I wait for him to say something, but he remains silent. His gaze is fixed on me but it’s detached. There’s a calculating gleam in his eyes though, like he’s constantly thinking. Constantly working out a solution to something.
“Creed?” I prompt.
That sheen of ice in his eyes slides away and he closes the distance between us, pulling me into his arms where I go willingly. I stiffen at Clarence’s next words.
“That’s not all.”
That pit in my stomach deepens. “What else?”
“Because this is on such a big scale and the FBI has taken over, I think the Chicago PD is still going to try to charge Creed with whatever they can make stick. See, the way it usually works is they try to take down whoever they can and whenever they get close to hitting the jackpot, the FBI steps in, taking over. Right now, we’re dealing with two different law enforcement agencies who want the credit for putting a Sabella away,” my brother says.
I cover my face with my hands trying not to break down. The FBI and the Chicago PD? This is bigger than I thought.
“Well, what do they have? We can fix this, can’t we? I mean surely…surely they can’t do anything to you, right?” I plead, turning to look up at Creed. “I mean…you’re you. They can’t, what, take you to trial over a few photos and what, a few videos? There are worse people out in the world. You’re not the bad guy!”
I’m starting to get worked up, my chest heaving and tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter, Soph. That’s what they’re going to paint him out as.”
“This can’t happen.” My voice trembles with emotion. I scan each of the guys’ faces. Taking in all their wary expressions and I pause on Creed. “We have to fight this, Creed. We’ll talk to them. You can talk to them, can’t you? You can explain the photographs. You can explain me and what happened. We can explain it all. We can fix this.”
“What would he explain, Mariposa?”
“All of it!” I yell at Jose, growing hysterical.
“So, I’d explain that I killed the men who took you?” My head rears back, stunned at Creed’s admission. I had no idea he killed those men. That’s what is in those pictures?
“The men who kept you and hurt you? That I tortured and killed Finlay? That I kill people for a living? You really think that’ll go over well, Angel?”
The walls are closing in. I’m starting to feel like we’re out of options. I can’t handle this right now. It was supposed to be smooth sailing from here on out. I know there’s always a risk that comes with this life, but I can’t believe this is how it’s happening.
What am I going to do if I have this baby while he’s on trial, or worse, stuck in prison?
I wipe angrily at the stray tears. And whirl, facing Matteo who has been watching all this, sipping from a crystal decanter. His face is void of any emotion and his eyes are unreadable.
“You promised me,” I whisper. Choking back the tears. “You promised me you’d keep him safe, no matter what.”
Matteo’s face doesn’t give a thing away, but I see the slightest twitch of his left eye. As if my display of emotion has gotten to him, deep beneath that hard exterior that is so much like his son’s.
“What are you talking about?” Creed’s voice is cold, directed at me. “What the hell is she talking about?”
I don’t take my eyes off Matteo, willing him with my eyes not to break this promise. It’s the one thing I asked of him. I can’t lose Creed. Not to death, not to a life of crime and certainly not the authorities.
After a few seconds, Matteo looks away from me, toward his son. He places the glass down on the table before pushing to his feet.
“I have some calls to make. You know how to handle this Diavolo. Next time the authorities show up here, we’re going to have a problem, capire, stronzo?”
Creed nods and out slips Matteo without a look back at me.
How dare he not try to protect Creed. I thought we had a deal. I thought he understood.
I wipe the tear tracks from beneath my eyes and I turn toward Creed and the rest of the guys, propping my hands on my hips.
“It’s unlike any of you not to have a plan. So,” I breathe out. “What is it? What’s the plan?”
All eyes dart to Creed like they’re waiting to hear what he has to say. As if they’re waiting for him to give the okay to tell the truth.
Men.
“You’re not going to like the plan,” Garrett warns.
My lips thin into a grim line. “I didn’t think I would. Now,” I say, facing my fiancé. “Tell me the plan. No more secrets, remember?”
“Coercion. Using the families of the agents. If that doesn’t work, things will get a little bloodier.” I wince at what he’s implying. “But before I can do any of the above, I’m going to let them think I’m cooperating.”
“Why on earth would you do that? I don’t want you anywhere near them! They’re probably just waiting for you to step foot off the estate before striking. They can twist your words, probably make it seem like you said one thing but meant the other.”
“He has no other choice. When these agents come up missing, Creed will be the first one they look at. If he’s always a pain to the authorities, they’re going to see him as a problem. As someone with something to hide. The more open he is about everything makes him more…”
“Trusting,” I finish. Completely understanding. It’s risky and hell I may not like it, but it has to happen. This much I know.
“Okay,” I acquiesce. Strength and determination bleeding into my tone. “Where are we starting?”
“YOU’RE OKAY, RIGHT? DO YOU see them yet? Please be careful.” Sophia prattles off down the line and it’s a struggle to keep from laughing.
I hate that I’m worrying her with all of this, but she was right, we said no more secrets and she needs to know what’s going on. Especially with only two and half more weeks until our son is due. It’s too risky. If they try to get a bogus charge to stick right now, I’ll most likely be able to pay someone off on the force, but there’s no telling with the FBI. I won’t risk missing out on Sophia or the birth of my son.
Before I turn to much bloodier tactics, I’m going about this a different way. Matteo may not agree. He just wants me to get rid of this issue and be done with it, but that’s risky. His fiancée isn’t pregnant, due to give birth in just a few weeks, so of course it wouldn’t affect him like it is me. For once, it’s not him they’re after, it’s me. Someone in the agency has a grudge against me and I’m going to figure out why. That starts here. With local enforcement. They’re “helping” the FBI build their case and what that really means is, the FBI came in like bullies and took over the investigation from the Chicago PD. The officers that have put in long hours away from their families, the detectives, they’re the ones who are angry and I’m going to use that. Against all of them.
The police officers don’t want to help the FBI with shit, because if they do? That means when the FBI solve their case, they’re the ones who get all the credit, not the police officers. Each of them has their own agendas. Today, I’m finding out what the Chicago PD’s agenda is against me.
Somehow, someone managed to catch me looking suspiciously guilty in all the photographs they think can be used as evidence. They aren’t photoshopped, I’ll give them that. But in every single one of those pictures, there’s a bigger story behind each of them. I wasn’t just killing for the fuck of it. To win over turf, or drugs, or to sell those women. I killed and tortured those men because they hurt Sophia and countless other women. I killed Finlay because he was as psychotic as the rest of them, a danger to Sophia and our child and the rest of mankind. Yet, in every one of these pictures, I look like the bad guy. I look like a power hungry and ruthless man. Ready to kill anyone who gets in my way. And they aren’t wrong, the only difference? I only felt that way, went to these lengths when it came to Sophia. Nothing else mattered. No other consequences factored. Retribution was all I saw when it came to my girl. Blood and vengeance.
Protecting her with my fucking life.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I reassure her.
“You’re sticking to the plan, right Creed? Please, stick to the plan, I can’t lose you. Please.”
The organ in my chest tightens. It’s such a strange reaction, one I’ve only had a few times in my life, but it seems whenever I’m around Sophia, that tightness is there. It’s there as I watch her sleep, her features soft and innocent, her cheeks flush with the warmth of sleep. Like a perfect angel. It’s there when she laughs. The apples of her cheeks turning a soft peach color causing her green eyes to sparkle. When she’s sad, or in pain, that feeling intensifies. It turns into something different. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. It makes me want to tear someone limb from limb to make it go away. The sensations, the emotions she elicits, I didn’t even think they were possible, but there she is anyway. Invading every square inch of me. I didn’t think she could get any deeper than she already has, that my love for her couldn’t possibly grow any stronger—not after the life I’ve lived—but every single day she proves me wrong. That fucking sensation in my chest proves me wrong.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sophia. Understand me?”
I hear her shaky sigh. I can practically picture her teeth scraping over her bottom lip anxiously. That pang in my chest comes back with a vengeance. The faster I get this done, the faster I can come home to her.
“I love you, Creed.”
That tightness swallows me whole as I say, “I love you, too.”
I end the call, focusing on the task at hand. Slipping the phone into my suit pocket. I step out of my Aston Martin—I chose this one for no reason in particular, I just wanted to be a dick—and slam the door behind me as I walk into the shiny new building. The department and the city has spent a fortune on rebuilding. All for the same incom
petent individuals and crooked motherfuckers to benefit under the table.
As soon as I push through the glass entrance doors of the police department, I hear the ragged gasps. It’s like fucking music to my ears. My Italian loafers click along the tiled floor as I walk in. The chatter in the station slowly tapers off and in its place are eyes that are glued to me. Mouths popped open in shock. Fear snaking through people’s veins. As much as they don’t want to admit it, having a Sabella on their turf is making them want to shit their pants.
It’s no secret what we do in this city. We run it. Have always run it for years. Matteo has been careful, calculated, keeping us out of the hands of law enforcement. We’ve never so much as had to be summoned to the station. Sure, people like to point fingers. The goody two shoes cops like to think they’re going to catch one of the bad guys. But they don’t realize we’re not the problem. It’s the others. It’s men like Abdul. Men like Finlay. The bastards who pump drugs through the city to low income, welfare families, because they know how much easier temptation is when you have nothing. When you’re at your lowest and you just need one pick me up to forget. It’s the evil bastards who hurt children. The motherfuckers who touch women when they’re told they don’t want to be touched. It’s the bastards who shoot up schools. It’s the serial killers who kill for fun.
And some might say I fit into at least a few of those categories, but I know different. I may not be a saint, but I’m nothing like them. The difference? I save my darkness for the worst souls. For once, my name fits me. Diavolo.
The Devil.
A fallen angel.
The rebellious son.
The evil bastard who makes the damned pay for their sins.
You got that right. Because the bloodlust that swims through my veins, it’s only there when I’m protecting Sophia, when I’m protecting the famiglia, or protecting the innocent. And yet, here they are, the people these taxpayers are giving so much of their hard-earned money to, all for them to investigate me. It’s a waste of time and resources.
