It’s just the Italian in me, I guess.
My father was a first generation Italian immigrant, so I speak the language and I know some of the culture. It helps me in our efforts to take down the Italian mob in the area.
I want them out of my city.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Scott scolds as we drive back to the precinct.
Hampton complains in the backseat and I bang on the window separating us.
He shuts up.
I roll my shoulders, feeling sore all over. “I thought I could handle it. Ididhandle it.”
“Yeah, but he almost got the drop on you. What’s with that, anyway? Did he give you a sob story about his wife and kids?”
My eyes widen. “Don’t tell me?—”
“Yeah. No wife. No kids. He’s a loner, just gives that story to try and get out of trouble.”
“Dammit,” I mutter, hating that I was taken in and played for a fool. Usually, I’m not so sensitive, but today…I don’t know. I started thinking about family, about how I don’t really have anyone but my dad.
Stupid.
I think of my father again, speaking Italian to me at home.
Mama spoke English and Italian, but she was Irish as they come, red hair and green eyes.
She was so beautiful.
The memory of my mother pierces my heart and I push it away, all that long, curly red hair I used to play with to go to sleep, push away the void she left when she died.
There was no time to grieve. There never was.
I flip back my curls—one of the only things I got from my mother along with my blue eyes.
Otherwise I’m my father’s spitting image, chestnut brown hair, sharp chin.
I draw in a breath.
“It’s okay, Soph,” Scott says softly, patting me on the back.
I look up at him gratefully, giving him a weak half-smile.
Scott is a gorgeous man with his soulful brown eyes, broad shoulders, and sharp jaw.
If he didn’t bat for the other team, I’d have snatched him up a year ago.
I’m just grateful that he’s my partner and not some new rookie. Scott and I were rookies together, grew together as cops, and so I always want him in my corner.
“It’s alright to feel for perps,” Scott continues, and I scoff.
“Not ones like Hampton, here.” I jerk my head to Hampton in the back. Hampton, to his credit, hangs his head.
Scott laughs. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have trusted Hampton.”
“I might have some kids out there,” Hampton argues. “Somewhere.”
I can’t help but snort out a laugh as we pull into the precinct.
