by Mia Taylor
Keller’s scowl deepened and Angela was afraid his face might cave in. It wasn’t a good look for him.
“You tell her,” Keller growled, shifting his eyes away from Angela. “I can’t even say the words aloud without cringing.”
The stranger blinked at the female detective, studying her face with silent scrutiny until she was forced to blush and look away. She wasn’t accustomed to being stared down and scrutinized like that, not when there wasn’t a sexual undertone to his gaze. No, this man seemed to be memorizing her face and judging her.
“This is Garnet?” the stranger asked, finally wrenching his eyes away to eye Keller warily.
“You asked for her, didn’t you?” Keller retorted. “You didn’t do your due diligence and bother looking at a picture?”
Slowly, the giant nodded, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. To Angela’s surprise, he extended a long hand.
“Terry Duggan,” he offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angela. May I call you Angela?”
That depends on who the hell you are. If you’re Internal Affairs, I’m gonna go with no. If you’re applying to be my sugar daddy, you can call me anything you want.
Angela nodded, saving her commentary. She wasn’t sure that the massive beast in front of her had much of a sense of humor. Cautiously, she shook his hand, glancing at Keller through her peripheral vision.
If possible, her boss looked even more miserable.
And I thought I had a problem hiding my feelings. Look at him. He looks suicidal right now.
A long, uncomfortable silence ensued as she waited for one of them to speak, but neither seemed eager to open their mouths.
“What is going on?” Angela blurted out, sick of the suspense. Wasting time was more Mendez’s specialty than hers.
A strange knot was forming in the pit of her stomach and her cerulean eyes darted from Duggan to Keller, waiting for one of them to give her an explanation.
“I’m with the FBI,” the newcomer announced and Angela nodded, even though she didn’t fully understand what that had to do with her.
Congratulations?
His next words helped to clarify her confusion.
“I need your help with a case.”
“Oh,” Angela laughed, relief flooding through her. “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Was it the robbery in La Mesa? I admit, there was something that screamed professional thief. What did they do? Cross state lines with the goods?”
Terry smiled wanly.
“No, Angela,” he replied quietly. “I’m with the organized crime division.
She blinked at him, trying to reconcile which one of her open cases might have cartel associations. Nothing immediately came to mind, but that didn’t mean anything. Who knew what the cartel was dipping their hands into these days? Nothing was off limits anymore.
Suddenly, she remembered the sergeant’s early question.
“What do you know about the Menottis?”
It hit her like a ton of bricks, even though it made even less sense than the FBI presence.
Of course! The Menotti Family. That kind of organized crime, not the cartels.
Still, it made no sense why the FBI would be asking her about them. Even if there were Italian mob ties in El Cajon, Angela worked robbery, not narcotics or special victims. What did she know about trafficking or drug runs?
“Okay…” she murmured, trying to piece together what was happening.
“We were wondering if you might be interested in helping us with bringing down a very dangerous crime family here.”
A thousand questions threatened to spring from her lips but they all died there.
Hear him out. He obviously came all the way over here from whatever field office for a reason.
“Tell me what you need and I’m here to help,” she replied brightly instead. Keller seemed even angrier by her words but Angela was beginning to see that he was just happier being miserable.
“No, Angela, I need you to come on board with us,” Duggan explained patiently. “As a temporary agent for the Bureau.”
Angela gaped at him, her eyes darting back toward Keller’s disgruntled expression.
“You want me to work with the FBI?” she gasped, again looking at her boss, but Keller looked anywhere but at her.
Agent Duggan smiled thinly.
“Actually, Angela, we have a very special assignment for you.”
She waited, her heart beginning to thud in her chest.
“We’d like you to go in undercover.”
Angela’s mouth parted and she let out a giggle of disbelief.
“Undercover? With the mob? Why don’t you just put a bullet in me right now?” she chuckled, the blood draining from her face. She whirled and turned to Keller to see if he was smiling, but he was not.
Suddenly she realized it wasn’t a joke.
Indignation flooded her body.
“Really? Do the men resent me so much for making detective that this is the way you get rid of me?”
As if I’d go down so easily, she thought furiously.
Keller snorted.
“Stop being such a goddamn drama queen, Garnet. This was not my idea, believe me. I tried to dissuade this idiot, but he went above my head.”
Angela turned back to the agent, her face puckered into an expression of anger.
“Are you running out of brunettes at the FBI? Now you just randomly pluck us out of police stations for dispensable bodies?”
Terry grinned, a glimmer of amusement touching his dark eyes.
“Is this funny to you?” she barked at him. “Because I’m not amused.”
“Of course I don’t find this funny,” Duggan replied, quickly wiping the smile off his face. “But I knew you would be perfect. You just showed me you have what it takes.”
Angela gaped at him.
“I have nothing of what it takes to be an undercover agent. No training and no talent for lying. You will send me in there and I’ll get made—right off the bat.”
“If you agree to this, you will be properly trained beforehand.”
“Yeah? Where are you going to send me for actor training? Juilliard?” Angela demanded sarcastically.
“You’re not as far gone as you think. Everyone has the propensity to be a good undercover agent. You only need to tap into those skills. Do you think you can do that?”
Angela scoffed.
“You make it sound like I have a choice,” she spat.
“Of course you have a choice,” Keller growled. “Jesus Christ, would you just hear the man out before you go off on another tirade?”
Angela inhaled, trying to keep her temper in check.
“I thought you were opposed to this!” she snapped at her boss, but her attention was still fixated on Terry Duggan.
“There are reasons we have come to you specifically, Angela,” Special Agent Duggan explained and Angela felt the hairs on her arms rise.
“Such as?”
“You speak fluent Italian, you have the right look,” Duggan said quietly.
“There are hundreds of people better suited to this,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her full bust. “I can probably supply you with a list if you ask me nicely.”
The men exchanged a quick look and Angela sensed there was more to the story.
Agent Duggan cleared his throat.
“Angela, your cousin, Val,” he said softly. “Do you remember her?”
Crimson stained her cheeks.
“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I remember her. I had just graduated from the academy when she died.”
Terry glanced at his folded hands.
“Angela, Val was working undercover for us when she went missing. Her UC name was Mara and she stayed under for two years. Everything was going really well. We had no reason to suspect anything was wrong and then one day she just vanished. No one ever knew for certain what happened to her. Over the past three years, we have sent in other o
peratives, talked to CIs and spoken to members of the family, but it’s as if she’s disappeared into thin air. We declared her dead officially, to give your family closure, and she more than likely is. We theorize that she was discovered as an agent and murdered, her body sent out to sea, but…”
Angela’s heart froze.
“You told us she was dead,” she choked. “You led us to believe she died in a shoot-out! You lost all the agents on your team in that sting!”
Duggan nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We couldn’t compromise our investigation by telling you the truth. In reality, she disappeared the night of that operation and no one knows where she went or what happened.”
Angela shook her head, trying to make sense of what she had learned.
“They are going to be suspicious of a girl asking about a former agent. You don’t know if her cover was blown or—”
“We don’t know anything, but other agents have gone in successfully,” Duggan interjected.
“You sent in other operatives and they made it out alive?” she asked suddenly, her head whipping up to stare at Duggan.
He nodded.
“No one else was discovered or harmed in any way since. Which also made us wonder if we were wrong about what happened to Val. Our operatives weren’t met with any more suspicion than usual.”
Angela thought of her Aunt Stella, still mourning the loss of her only child, and her gut twisted with agony.
“Angela, I know you’re reluctant and I get that this is dangerous, but I think you also know why we have chosen you specifically for this job. You and Val were very close and I can see the resemblance between you even as I stand here. I think the family will welcome you with open arms. Especially Luca Gallo.”
“Who is Luca Gallo?”
“He was your cousin’s boyfriend, a caporegime. We think he was the one who…”
Terry trailed off and Angela chewed on the insides of her cheeks, remembering Val’s memorial service.
“You will be fully briefed, of course,” Duggan offered reassuringly.
“And wired!” Keller volunteered, but Duggan did not comment, both men waiting for Angela to respond.
“You will have to come with us to Miami, however.”
Angela blinked several times.
“Miami?”
“Yes. That was where your cousin was working.”
More consternation sprung through her veins as she gaped at the agent.
They lied to us about everything pertaining to Val. If she died there, she died in Miami, alone and out of touch with everyone she loved!
There was no dragon blood in Val’s veins, her side of the family completely untouched by the shifter gene. It would have been relatively easy to kill her if she’d been discovered.
Ang stared at him for a long moment, shaking her head as she tried to make sense of it all.
What really happened to Val? How could they have kept this from our family for so long?
To do this, she would have an advantage that Val did not—immortality. What was the worst that could happen?
“If you need some time to think about it, I don’t need an answer—”
“I’ll do it,” Ang interjected, cutting Duggan off mid-sentence.
“Garnet, take a day to think about it,” Keller barked, his face growing pale at her ready concession.
“I don’t need a day,” she replied quietly. “I’ll do it. My Aunt Stella deserves to know what really happened to her only child and the bastards responsible need to be brought to justice.”
Chapter One
Revisiting Problems
Giovanni DiMarco eyed them with disgust, his inky eyes boring into the three men with annoyance.
“When I give you a job, I expect it to be carried out,” he spat, his black irises glittering. “Having to call a meeting with you more than once a month is not what I consider you stronzos doing your job.”
The man’s voice was barely above a rasp, a dangerous sign, Luca knew from experience.
“What happened?” Arlo demanded. “Who screwed up this time?”
Gio glowered at him but Luca was certain that it wasn’t Arlo who had the problem, at least not in that instance.
He’s pissed at me because of the shipment, he thought, reaching for his grappa as he waited for the boss to unleash.
“I’m not gonna name names, but you know who you are and why we’re here,” the don spat. “The next time this happens, I’m gonna have you replaced.”
Luca took a long swig of his drink, absorbing the warmth of the liquid through his tense muscles.
Shut up, Luca. Don’t say anything. Keep your mouth shut.
But he couldn’t. It had been weighing too heavily on his mind. DiMarco needed to hear what he was thinking.
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird this is the second time it’s happened in less than a month?” Luca volunteered.
All eyes turned to him and he lifted his olive chin to meet Giovanni’s steadfast gaze with his own piercing green eyes.
“What was that?” the boss snapped. “You got some excuse as to why I’ve lost two shipments?”
“It’s not an excuse,” Luca retorted. “It’s a fact. Your shipments were intercepted by the police in areas which our sources swore weren’t being monitored.”
“What are you suggesting, you little prick?” Gio hissed, anger coloring his face a near-purple.
“What the hell do you think I’m suggesting?” Luca growled. “Obviously someone has been tipping off the cops.”
The other capos sat back as if ducking out of the conversation, but there was nowhere to go. No one wanted to be in the line of fire for this. They could already see what was coming.
They think he’s going to murder me right here, Luca thought, almost rolling his eyes. They’ve been watching too many Robert DeNiro movies.
“You better have something to back that up, stronzo,” Gio rasped, his voice dropping as it did when he grew angry.
Luca grunted and downed the rest of his drink.
“For a man who doesn’t like coincidences, you seem fine allowing this to happen under your nose, boss,” Luca shot back, seeming unperturbed by Giovanni’s mounting fury.
The silence which followed was nothing short of ominous and while Luca broke the stare between them, he could feel Giovanni’s eyes boring into his head.
“Leave us,” the old man rasped, his words barely audible.
They didn’t need to be asked twice, both Arlo and Cesare bolting up from the booth. They disappeared into the kitchen without a word, leaving Luca with the wrath of his superior.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the don hissed at him. “What are you doing?”
Luca chuckled mirthlessly, staring at his manicured hands.
“I barely know where to start answering that question,” he replied honestly.
Indeed, what the hell is wrong with me? he thought, shaking his head.
Luca felt like it could be traced back to his infancy, or perhaps even to his ancestors. Whatever it was, it was ingrained in him, long before he was a grown man and capo under one of the biggest dons in the United States.
He was a second-generation made man, his father, Marino Gallo, one of the most trusted men who ever worked under Giovanni DiMarco.
There had never been any doubt that Luca and his brothers were going to work in the business, under Giovanni, and Luca had not wanted it any other way.
His father had loved the don so well, he had named his first-born Giovanni to show his devotion to the man.
Luca had always looked up to his father, and to Giovanni, and he took great pride in what the family stood for and why it existed.
From even before they could understand his words, Marino would sit his boys down and regale them with tales which always filled young Luca with awe and pride.
“When we were in the old country, son, the government and the rich tried to take our land. They did awful things to
our people, raping the women, murdering children. The farmers, our ancestors, had to take a stand, to bond together and rise against the tyranny and the greed. That is why we are called a familia, figlios. Family is not necessarily blood but it is what keeps us together. With family, we can overcome the worst evil in this world, even when we have nothing.”
They were so colorful, the stories about the revolts and the incredible journey of the old-world Italians who fought against corruption, coming to the new world to escape injustice.
Luca’s dream was to eventually return to Italy and die in Sardinia, on the Tyrrhenian coast, basking in the warmth of his forefathers’ victories.
He was in his late teens before he realized that the stories, while historically sound, had little bearing on what the mob was in 2019.
We’re a bunch of murderous criminals, he discovered, but for some reason, it didn’t shock him as much as it should have. After all, they were dragon-blooded. Murder wasn’t unheard of among them.
Perhaps it was the subliminal knowing, his father’s strange hours and the secrecy which enshrouded the family.
Maybe it was the memory of bloodstains on his father’s jackets or his cracked knuckles.
Of course, there was the matter of the arsenal Luca had found when he was twelve.
Whatever the reason, when the reality had abruptly slapped him in the face, leaving him fatherless and disillusioned, he was not nearly as surprised as his brothers.
It was the only life he’d known, after all, and his future was all laid out for him, and Luca had not considered another life.
After all, it was what his father would have wanted.
But it was anticlimactic, as if he had been told his entire life that he was Batman and he turned out to be the Joker.
It was still cool but not the same.
The Joker. That should be my nickname. Who do I see about changing it?
“Sei nelle nouvole? I’m talking to you!” the don howled when he realized that Luca had tuned him out in favor of his own reverie. Luca sighed and stared at Giovanni, forsaking his dreams of changing his moniker.
This is what my life has become—daydreams about changing my mob name.
“I hear you,” Luca lied. “See? I’m listening?”
