The busy mainbuilding of the NYPD is a large square structure bustling with activity. Feeling overwhelmed and unsure where to go, I take a deep breath before I get to the reception desk, where an older woman sits.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I’m looking for the Crime Analysis Unit.”
The lady looks up at me from her seat, furrowing her brows. “It’s not open to the public or tourists,” she curtly replies and quickly looks down again.
“Actually, I am starting my internship there today. Carolina Costa.”
She gives me a once-over, scanning me from top to bottom. “Wait a moment,” she says, reaching for the phone.
I glance around, trying to look calm despite my heart pounding in my chest. Laughter erupts from a group of guys nearby, drawing my attention.
A state of shock has me almost dropping my backpack when my eyes catch those of a man in the group. It’s Martin Del Moro, the person who tormented me throughout high school, walking down the hallway with two police officers. He’s wearing an NYPD uniform too.
Martin is tall and, to be honest, quite good-looking. He has dark brown hair and brown eyes that give off a distant impression. But he caused me so much pain and treated me horribly. Even in a million years, I would never find this awful person remotely attractive.
As our eyes lock, I notice a flicker of recognition in his, followed by a sly grin and a wink directed at me. I respond with a bored expression, though deep down, my heart pounds with fear rather than excitement now.
I had no idea Del Moro had become a police officer. His dad is a detective and works for the NYPD, but I didn’t keep tabs on him after high school. I was just glad to be rid of him.
The shock of seeing him pulls me back to one of the crude encounters with the man.
The sun feelswarm on my skin as I sit in the high school courtyard, alone as always. I’m lost in my thoughts, scribbling in my notebook, when a loud, obnoxious laugh breaks my concentration.
I glance up and immediately recognize Martin Del Moro strutting by with his usual entourage. They’re all laughing at some story he’s sharing.
“Yeah, man, maybe I really should get tested for STDs with all the sex I have,” Del Moro brags, and his friends howl with laughter.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. I know I should keep quiet, but the words just tumble out. “You can’t get an STD from your own hand.”
The courtyard falls eerily silent. Del Moro freezes, his face contorting with anger. His friends exchange glances, the tension palpable.
I immediately regret my outburst. My heart races, and I mentally prepare for the confrontation, letting my mask of indifference fall over my face.
Del Moro slowly pivots to face me, his eyes icy. “What did you just say, fatty?” he hisses out, taking a step closer, trying to intimidate me.
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “I said?—”
“I heard what you said,” he snaps, cutting me off. He leans in so close I can feel his breath on my face. “Jealous, Costa? Because no one could ever control their gag reflex long enoughto touch you?” I scowl at him. “You’ll need two hands for my package, but it needs a fucking forklift to get to your pussy under all that.” He gestures to my stomach.
“Yeah, you’ll need two hands for sure. One to hold the magnifying glass and one for the tweezers,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You fucking bitch.” He spits, grabbing me by my shirt and pulling me to him. “You better watch your back, Costa. Or I am gonna make your life a living hell.”
As if it wasn’t already.
His friends snicker, clearly enjoying the spectacle. I feel trapped, my eyes darting around, searching for an escape.
With a smug smirk, Del Moro lingers for a moment, letting his threat hang in the air. Then, he lets go of me and, with a final menacing glare, turns and walks away. His friends trail behind, their laughter echoing mockingly.
“Ah… you seem like a lost newbie,”a sweet voice says from my right, pulling me back to the present.
I desperately hope this department is large enough that I won’t have to see him often. I don’t want this to become another season of the hell I endured.
I turn my head, gazing slightly upward to meet a pair of pretty dark brown eyes and the beautiful face of a young Korean woman with long, dark hair and fair skin. “Hey, I’m Sophia, and you must be Carolina, my new intern, right?” She extends her hand for a shake.
Her hand is delicate in mine as I shake it. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “I apologize for being late. The security check at the door took longer than expected.” I grimace, disappointed in myself for making a bad first impression.
“Oh, don’t worry. I already guessed as much. We’ll get you a badge as soon as possible.” She turns to the woman at the reception desk and asks, “Margaret, could you start working on a badge for Carolina, please? We’ll be down in my lab if you need anything.”
