Page 113 of Fallen Rook

“I worked from home.” His eyes did not waver from mine, but he absentmindedly began tracing the skull tattoo on my thigh with the tip of his finger. “I didn’t say I didn’t work at all. Again, I was solving some things in my head. They had nothing to do with Matt.”

“And did you solve them?” My blood roared in my ears.

He stared at me strangely again, this time like he was trying to work out a difficult mathematical equation in his head. “I did.”

I thought I heard sadness in his voice. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all those two unremarkable words tore at my chest like a corroded blade and poured acetone right onto the open wound.

“Okay,” I relented. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”

His eyes were still intensely searching my own. “Thank you. That makes both of us.”

“Why is this conversation making me uneasy?” My brows slammed together. I finally found the strength to tear my gaze from his, then pick up the joint I’d made for him before I got here, and a lighter.

“Because you have great insight,” he answered enigmatically.

“Meaning?” I lit the tip of the joint, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke hit the bottom of my lungs, the musky aroma spreading in the air.

“I’m trying to quit you, Enzo. I need to. Badly. But I’m failing. You make me feel…different.”

“Different how?” My voice thickened with smoke.

“I built my world in black and white, seeking order and control my entire life. In just a few weeks, you added so much color to it.” He inclined his head. “You shook the dust and grief from my life like it was an old rug. I don’t like it. It terrifies me. But I’m not sure I can go back to what it was, either.”

I stared at him, speechless.

“The thing is…” Tom licked his lips. “You bring a lot of disturbance into my life. And what I cannot control, I usually destroy. Don’t let me destroy you, Enzo.”

“I won’t.”

Tom plucked the joint from between my fingers, pinching the filter as he brought it to his lips.

“Smoking is a filthy habit,” I said, feeding his words back to him.

He smiled ruefully. “Maybe you corrupt me.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Tom

The day after Enzo came to visit, I finally processed all the paperwork for the Camorra informant. Met the guy, took his statements, and got the ball rolling to finally seal the Ferrante case.

“Took you long enough.” Zeke popped his bald head inside my office, sauntering in without an invitation as per usual. “I was starting to get worried you forgot about it.”

“Didn’t forget about it. Just wanted to be thorough, as always.” I plucked the Ferrante file from my desk, leafing through it as I made my way to the communal kitchen. “It took me exactly the same time as it did the last time I recruited an informant.”

Zeke was at my heel. “Does he seem reliable to you?”

“As reliable as a mobster with blood on his hands can be,” I muttered. “It helps that he’s not Camorra-affiliated. More of a chance we can protect him once this goes to trial.”

“Is it enough to get the brothers in prison for life?”

“If it goes according to plan? Doubt they’ll see daylight again.”

My grandmother always said we leave a piece of our soul in everything we do. I had a nagging feeling the next thing I was about to do would forsake the whole damn thing.

“You know, handing over the Ferrantes on a silver platter to the director might just be your golden ticket to the counterterrorism department.” We both stopped by the fridge, which I threw open to take out my lunch.

“Keep talking dirty to me like that, Maddox, and I just might put out.” I shoved Tierney’s leftovers into the microwave and punched two minutes on the timer.