I toss one guy into the bars, getting some attention as I punch another guy. I can hear his nose crack. I sweep the leg of the third, but beating out six-plus guys without taking a few blows is impossible, even if I barely feel their attacks.
By the time we’re dragged apart, I’m cuffed and jerked out of the cell, leaving behind a group of men on the ground, groaning or unconscious and others trying to climb into the women’s cell to prove they’re not a threat to me.
I’m tossed into a cleaner room with all-white walls, so the flicking white light above me feels like it’s going to consume me. It’s going to worsen the headache I’m already sure I’m going to have.
I lick over my split lip, then spit onto the table when the door opens. “There’s your fucking D.N.A. sample.”
“Must have sarcasm woven into your D.N.A.,” a voice greets me.
I look up and see a run-of-the-mill officer. I snort and show my cuffs. “Am I gettingmy phone call or are you going to toss me in another cell hoping someone kills me and saves you the paperwork?”
The man sits down and rolls his eyes while shuffling through files. I roll my eyes. This isn’t my first time in jail. I know the games. They bring out a bunch of files, thinking I will assume that’s what they have on me.
It’s a waste of time.
I wait for the guy to finish playing the waiting game while stretching my legs. If I get put back in the cell with that asshole, I hope they leave the cuffs on. I’ll strangle him with the chain, hopefully, break the chain when I break the guy’s neck, then I can get the fuck out.
“Well, we’re just waiting for your lawyer, which you requested.”
“A long while ago. Not that I should be here after some half-assed entrapment set up by my sister,” I say.
The man snorts, but there are two hard knocks on the door. He glowers at me, nods once, then gets up to open the door. After a hushed conversation, he leads my sister in. Her red hair looks good. She should have changed it years ago, not when she washiding from family and playing house with a cop.
My sister, all venom and sharp edges, has been tamed by a detective after giving him a lap dance that should have ended in murder and instead ended with her choosing a cop over family. She’s a traitor, and no reason is good enough to switch sides, then entrapmewith the law.
“Who’s this?” I demand.
“Don’t do this, Angelo,” Emilia says sharply.
“Everything is said in English in here,” the cop says.
Emilia doesn’t even look at him before switching to Italian. “Think whatever you want about me. I had my reasons.”
“What reasons could you have for putting a cop above the family? For setting me up and getting me arrested for threatening a cop? Huh?” I demand, using Italian just to piss off the cop next to her. “It’s going to take more than that to take over the family, not that you can handle it. You proved that when you gave me to the cops for your own freedom.”
“Angelo-”
“I’ve been in jail for hours. No bail hearing.No lawyer. You’re not fucking family,” I interrupt.
The cop bangs the table. “I said in English. Stay in line, Rossi, or you’re out.”
“Sounds like a good deal. I’ll take it,” I hiss in English. Emilia rolls her eyes and then looks at the cop. “You can wait outside anytime, pig.”
The violence in his glare makes me want to do something about it, but he doesn’t move. I knew there was something of my sister left, despite her switching sides. I speak in Italian.
“Getting tired of playing house with Cane and his daughter? Or does she call you ‘mommy’ now?”
Emilia’s face doesn’t change. She’s the spitfire I remember. Eager to prove herself, to stand out, and to be in charge. She sits taller, leans back, and flashes her cleavage. The cop looks over and she focuses on me.
“I’m not tired of a damn thing, Angelo. But this will be easier if you stop encouraging fights. You shouldn’t be in here for very long. It’ll toughen you up,” she says.
“I said speak English, I’m not going to,” he says, standing up, his chair scraping back.
“Sit down or the next officers that comein will pull you off this case. I’m a protected witness, and if you raise your voice at me again, you might just hit me. I might fall out of my chair. I could be damaged and all my memories could fall out of my head,” Emilia says with a smile that’s so condescending no one could miss it. “Who’s worth more,officer?”
“Just because you’re dating a detective-”
“So you believe everything you hear? That’s adorable.” Emilia’s voice is a slow drag of silk over steel. Her hand ghosts over her hip, casual—except I know better. “Go on, then. Tell me what else they whisper about me.”
