Page 20 of His Kidnapped Queen
I’d had no one but myself and my father’s unwavering support, and Agnes had been there for me without question through every night-time feeding, every breakdown. She knows Rosa as well as I do.
I wave to Agnes and Rosa and get into the car.
I make my way to the precinct, as much as I don’t want to be there.
Not having Scott around has been harder than anticipated, and generally not being around my other coworkers has given me pause.
Everything’s different in this department, from what building I go into to what uniform—if any—I wear.
And after three years, I haven’t been able to find a rhythm.
It makes me think I never will.
I let out a long breath as I put my purse down on my desk.
Lieutenant Rodriguez raises a bold, dark eyebrow at me.
“You tired, Bianchi?”
“I’m a single mother. I’m always tired,” I say, deadpan, and her lips twitch in a semblance of a smile.
“Well, you should be prepared to lose a little more sleep, detective,” she says, and I slowly turn toward her, my eyes widening.
“You’re not serious.”
She does smile, then, so quick I might have missed it if I wasn’t looking for it.
“You’ve got a mission, Bianchi.” She throws a stack of manilla folders on my desk. “Read over the dossier well. This is a big job, Bianchi. Important.”
“And you’re entrusting it to me?” I can’t help the incredulity in my voice.
“You’ve been here three years. I think you can handle it. Don’t you?”
I nod, dumbfounded, sitting down hard in my office chair as she walks away.
I flip open the dossier, looking at the first page. They want me to go by Angela Ricardo, local mafia groupie. Her life’s goal is to bag one of the big bosses, from one of the big families—Rossi, Cortado, Vitale.
I guess that’s as good a goal as any. It’s no different than girls lining up backstage at a concert, I suppose. Although it may be more dangerous.
The men who run those families don’t care about groupies.
They often don’t care about your lifeortheirs, and it can be a rush. I guess that’s why girls chase it.
Chase the mob.
I can’t help thinking of Luca. He looked the part, that was for sure, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back from his face, impossibly tailored slacks, a car that looked like it cost more than my apartment.
He was probably in the life, but I hadn’t asked any questions.
I hadn’t done much but moan, if I’m honest with myself.
I take in a deep breath, reading further into my persona.
Angela was a rich girl, one of those “daddy will give me anything” types, and although I can’t exactly relate, I know what it’s like tobe a daddy’s girl. I’ve always been close with my father. He’s the reason I’m doing all of this.
He could have been a mobster.
He could have embraced the life, but he didn’t. He chose me.
