It’s time to stop playing the game and start controlling it.
OLIVIA
I lean against the elevator wall, mentally replaying my exchange with Dominic Vitale.
The man is infuriating.
That smirk when I handed him the warrant, like he was actually pleased to see me. The way his eyes traveled over me, not lewd, but appreciative.
As if I were a particularly fine piece of art he was considering acquiring.
"Another bust." Agent Ramirez punches the lobby button harder than necessary. "Third time we've come up empty with Vitale."
"I know." I straighten my blazer, trying to shake off the lingering scent of Dom's cologne that somehow followed me out of his office. Spicy. Expensive. Distinctly him. "But we keep pressing. That's the job."
"Maybe Vitale's got someone on the inside." Agent Chen crosses her arms, her expression grim. "He seemed pretty relaxed for a guy getting his office tossed by the FBI."
I consider this. It's not the first time the thought has crossed my mind.
Dom always seems one step ahead, perfectly prepared for our arrival. But something tells me there's more to it.
"I don't think so," I say finally. "Vitale's smart. Too smart. He doesn't need a mole to stay clean."
The truth is, I've studied Dominic Vitale's file more times than I care to admit.
Until last year, he was the youngest member of La Corona. Graduate of Harvard Business School. Legitimate businesses that turn profits to the point I wonder why bother with the illegal activity.
Unlike the old-school gangsters, Dom understands digital footprints, paper trails, corporate veils. And he’s discreet.
He keeps his head down.
His father liked to flaunt not just his wealth, but his power to the point that at some point, I’m sure we’d have arrested him for murder, maybe for my father’s, who’d been killed in the line of duty as a New York police officer.
My disappointment is that he died before such an arrest could be made.
Aldo Vitale’s death won’t stop me from finding out what happened to my father and making someone pay.
"He's built his empire carefully," I continue. "Everything compartmentalized. Nothing directly traceable."
What I don't say is how much I respect his intelligence. His precision. The way he maintains eye contact just a second toolong when we speak. The dangerous spark I feel whenever we're in the same room.
The elevator doors open, and I step out first, my team following behind.
"We'll get him eventually," I say with more confidence than I feel. I’ve never failed yet, but Dominic Vitale is giving me a run for my money. He could be the exception to that rule. The worst part of that thought is that a part of me hopes he is.
"Remember who we're dealing with," I say as we exit the building, the blast of cold November air smacking me in the face. "Dominic Vitale isn't some street thug who stumbled into power. He's third-generation. His grandfather started the business, his father helped establish the council, and Dom..." I pause, hating the grudging admiration in my voice. "Dom modernized everything."
Ramirez nods. "Crypto, tech startups, sustainable energy investments."
"Exactly. He doesn't make rookie mistakes."
We reach our vehicles, and I dismiss the team, watching them disperse across the parking garage.
Alone in my car, I finally exhale, allowing myself a moment of honesty.
These encounters with Dominic shouldn't be the highlight of my life. I should hate him, hate what he represents.
The Vitale family may present a cleaner image than most criminal organizations, but blood still stains their history. I've read the files, seen the evidence that never led to prosecutable cases.
