“You said if I cooperated—”
“I said that I got your deadline extended and bought you time to give me something bigger. I did that. You were supposed to make it worth something.”
I clasped my hands in my lap so she wouldn’t see how much they were shaking. “I’m getting close.”
“To what? Because from where I’m sitting, all you’ve done is get closer to one of the men you were supposed to be building a case on.”
I felt the usual nausea that appeared every time I thought about this shit-uation I was in. Reek was already hard enough to read when he was in a decent mood. I knew what kind of man he was when he was crossed. And still, every time I looked him in the face and let him touch me while keeping this secret, I felt more and more like I was setting myself on fire.
“What exactly do the Feds plan to do with the Cartiers?”
That made her laugh, as if she couldn’t believe I was asking. Mallory leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “What you are sitting inside of is an organization that has managed to stay airtight since its existence. We’ve had whispers, street chatter, financial anomalies, bodies, and political smoke. What we have not had is proof we can put in front of a grand jury and walk all the way through trial. Your evidence is supposed to be the thing that gives us a real predicate to build from. I need proof of murders, shipment drops, and proof of the Cartier's involvement. Once we have the heads of the organization, we start pulling the rest of the structure apart.”
My mouth went dry.
“And then, the Cartier Cartel crumbles. The heads go away for the rest of their lives. The rest of them either fold, cooperate, or follow.”
I sat there staring at her, trying not to let too many emotions show on my face.
Somewhere in the middle of doing what I thought was smart or would save me, I had let this get too personal. Reek had stopped feeling like a target a long time ago, and that was the kind of mistake women got buried over.
Mallory watched me too closely. “Do not tell me you’re having second thoughts now.”
I looked away first. “I’m thinking.”
“Well, stop.” She leaned forward. “You are too deep in this to start growing a conscience at the worst possible time. I need something real; recordings, documents, a clean tie to leadership, something that puts me in position to open a full investigation with teeth. Otherwise, all you’ve done is make yourself useless.”
I pushed my chair back and stood up before she could say anything else. “I heard you.”
She stood too. “Good. Because I’m done extending grace.”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
“Sienna.”
I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
“When this starts moving, it’s not going to stop. Decide what side you’re on before the choice gets made for you.”
I walked out without answering.
By the time I got back into my car, my head was swimming. Now all I could think about was whether telling Reek the truth would save him and “us” somehow, by showing him my loyalty, or whether I’d be confessing my betrayal just to get myself killed.
5
AVA REYNOLDS
“Why is he always here?” I muttered under my breath.
The second I cracked my bedroom door, I heard Saint’s loud ass, Big A laughing like whatever he’d just heard or saw was the funniest thing in the world, and Reek’s voice cutting through both of them, smooth and sexy as hell, but rough enough to make me freeze with longing before I even stepped into the hallway.
It annoyed me that Saint and Reek were so damn close. But it made sense since Saint worked so closely with Big A and Reek’s extension of the cartel.
I almost turned right back around. But my Uber Eats was at the door, and I was starving. Ever since I got back in town, I had been eating all of my favorite Chicago food; Italian Fiesta, Harold’s, gyro cheeseburgers, maxwell polishes, and Beggars. And little baby was loving every bite.
I slipped into the hallway, still wearing my oversized sleep shirt from this morning and bare legs, moving quietly toward the front. The den was off to the side, so I kept out of sight.
Then the front door opened, and the security system chimed.
