Page 5 of The Masked King

Robert took a chance on me when I came back from the UK six months ago.

I knew him when I first joined the NYPD fresh out of the police academy; he’s one of those rare DIs who like to encourage and reward hard work and determination when they recognize it. He was the only person who tried to straight-talk me out of working for the Sabatellis when Giovanni offered me a job. Because he cared.

Gio first approached me when I was a junior officer trying to claw my way up the slippery hierarchy slope within the NYPD. He wanted me to pose as his girlfriend (now his wife) Megan, so that he could move her out of the city undetected by the ruthless assassin known as the Fish. The Fish was Megan’s stepdad, and her little sister Amber’s biological father. He was also the kind of man who enjoyed hurting people.

What started as a one-off job—leave Gio’s penthouse apartment wearing Megan’s clothes, board the Sabatelli private jet at a local airport, fly to Europe and back, and then cash in a paycheck—quickly morphed into a game of cat and mouse with deadly consequences.

The Fish caught up with Megan and Amber in Stowe, Vermont. He left Megan in a remote mountainside cabin with a bunch of explosives strapped to her chest and kidnapped his own daughter, hiding her in a bunker underneath the Sabatelli family’s cabin in the same resort. I was too invested to walk away. So, I stayed until Amber was found safe and well, and the Fish was dealt with the Sicilian mafia way.

By this point, I was in love with Gio’s younger brother Enzo.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten accustomed to the lifestyle, the private cabin in an exclusive ski resort, the penthouse apartments, the personal security team.

I grew up in the Bronx. We didn’t have much when I was a kid, and although I never went without, I was brought up to take care of my stuff because it wasn’t disposable. So, yeah, I didn’t grow up to be materialistic, but who wouldn’t be wowed, just a little, by champagne on tap and a private jet at your disposal whenever you fancied a shopping spree in Paris or Milan.

It wasn’t the reason why I accepted the job in Gio’s personal security team though. That honor was solely Enzo’s.

I’d never met anyone like him before.

Trying not to fall madly, deeply in love with him would’ve been as impossible as trying not to breathe air.

Megan and Gio’s story was one of love at first sight. Straight out of the fairy tale where Prince Charming meets Cinderella, they dance, she leaves at midnight, and he finds her with a glass slipper. Swap glass slipper for a brilliant IT team, and Lady Tremaine for a cold-hearted assassin known as the Fish, and you get their happy-ever-after.

I thought what Enzo and I had was the same.

True love.

Minus the bluebirds and friendly mice. Sure, he’s part of a mafia family, and I’m a cop, but love conquers all, isn’t that how the saying goes?

So, I allowed myself to get swept away by Enzo. I left the NYPD, accepted my new role as Megan and Amber’s personal bodyguard, and got treated like a princess by the man I love.

Loved.

Love.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned since I walked out of Enzo Sabatelli’s life, it’s that running away doesn’t heal a broken heart.

Neither does it alter the fact that he’s still a mafia underboss and a trained killer, while I’m still a law enforcement officer who took a formal oath to uphold the law.

I stand outside the DI’s door and knock.

I have half an idea what this might be about. He’s heading up a new specialist unit focused solely on targeting trafficking operations based in and around NYC. I applied for a role within his new team as soon as I heard about it. Mainly because I want to work for him, but also because I need to keep challenging myself.

It’s the only way to keep Enzo out of my head: get up early, run, work my ass off all day, go to bed exhausted.

“Come in,” the DI’s voice reaches me through the closed door.

The temperature in his office is cool. The window is open to let in the air, and a gentle breeze ruffles the paperwork scattered across his desk while traffic fumes battle with the aroma of cold coffee forming a skin on the surface of his cup.

He looks up at me and smiles. “Sit down, Demi.”

I sit across the desk from him and spot the coffee stain on his shirt where his belly stretches the buttons a little. “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

DI Goss leans back in his seat, appraising me without making it obvious. It’s a skill. One that he has perfected over the years. “How do you feel you’ve settled in since you came back?”

It isn’t a dig. I realize I’m fortunate to have been given a second chance, but he knows I work hard. It’s a genuine question, and he’s genuinely interested to hear the answer.

“Like I never went away.” I pause, then decide there’s no point pussyfooting around each other. “Is this about the new specialist unit?”