The car pulled to a stop and I tried the handle.
It just thudded against the latch.
“No,” Rocco said. “I’m not taking you to your home. I’m taking you to my home.” He nodded to his driver and the car sped off.
A knot formed in my stomach. He wasn’t going to kill me. Right?
5. ROCCO
I’d had enough of Kalen’s sass, but he was committed to pretending, and I could see how the government agencies would really like to have him on their side—and they did, but he wasn’t going to get ahead at the expense of the family. We had skeletons, we had shell companies that could crumble and topple businesses, we were doing our best to give back to the community, but we’d also become extremely wealthy in the process.
My apartment was a loft with lots of natural light. There were no other buildings tall enough to look in through the windows, which made this place the most ideal. It was nice not to be in the same place as any of my brothers—and by design, I think we weren’t, since we wouldn’t all be in danger if one of our buildings were to be swarmed or attacked. Our father was always thinking of disaster, so it’s where my brain always went too. Disaster prep. And Kalen stank of a disaster I needed to douse before it got worse.
We parked underground, and Roland got out, leaving the two of us inside.
“So, what are you gonna do?” he asked. “Kidnap me? Keep me in a cage?”
I smirked. “You know about the cage.”
“No, but I—”
“I’m trying to assess you,” I admitted. “Kalen, you are not making things easy. I’m not bringing this to my brother, Santo, because he’d just tell me to kill you.” I dropped the pretense that we weren’t a violent family, he already knew, and he wasn’t wearing a wire—he wasn’t even working a case. “Tomaso would’ve already made his mark on you, but me, you are so lucky it’s me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going to kill you,” I said. “I’m going go to take you inside, into my apartment, and you’re going to confess everything, just get it off your chest. And then I’ll make arrangements for you, and for your mother.” The public image we had as a family was sometimes intimidating, and we got our fair share of people trying to bring us down from that. Kalen was just one in a long line,and now he had to be pushed off his track.
Kalen stared at me, eyes narrowed. “Confess everything.”
I nodded. “Is that a difficult concept?” I asked. “I know you must have a great education to have been recruited by the agency out of college, so I assume you understand what it means to confess. And don’t worry, I know they teach you to keep secrets, like being a federal agent and pretending to work for me.”
He smirked. “I really did work for you,” he said. “I got hundreds of dollars in tips. That’s pay.”
“Whatever. So, am I going to take you in with force, or will you come in voluntarily?”
“I have a choice?”
“A third, over my shoulder,” I said, eyeing him up in the seat. I pressed the seatbelt buckle, freeing it with a thwip across his body. “I might actually prefer that option. You’re what, a hundred and fifty pounds?” I knew he was definitely more; I’d felt those thigh muscles work overtime under my grasp earlier.
“I’ll come in, on my feet,” he said.
“Good.” I held out my hand. “Hand me your phone.”
That didn’t take nearly as much back and forth. He handed it to me. The screen was locked, but it didn’t appear to be doing anything—like recording this conversation.
My apartment was rather large, and had been gifted to me on my twentieth birthday—over a decade ago. It had previously been used as a base for my father’s men to store all the cash thatneeded cleaning. It didn’t have any evidence of that now, and even if it did, what would he say?I’m sorry sir, you have a lot of money.That was already a fact about me, and the family.
“I’m not whatever you think I am,” he continued.
“You’re exactly who I think you are,” I said. “And I think there’s more to it.”
Kalen lolled his head slightly, his big eyes looking up at me so submissively, like he was playing the part I needed from him. It made sense he was a Fed, the way he could follow orders without question. Adorable. And potentially something he’d flip on. If he wasn’t going to leave, and his mom was sick, he had one choice really, to be mine.
He stood at the door of the apartment as I searched him.
“I can’t be away from my mom too long,” he said. “She’s got health issues, and I need to make sure she’s using everything properly. She’s forgetful,”
In his pocket there was a wallet, but no sign of a badge to say he worked for the bureau. “Is this a dummy wallet?” I asked, throwing his bank cards and driving license across the floor. “This is what you keep on you to avoid suspicion, huh?”
