Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Tax fraud.

Money laundering.

I fume as I sit behind a solid table, cameras pointed in my direction as I stare into the two-way mirrors. Bright lights blast me overhead. I guess that it’s supposed to bother me. I grin into the mirrors and flash those cocksuckers the bird.

The balding prick sits across from me. He tries to scare me into talking by throwing out how many years I’ll get in prison if I don’t cooperate. “Their sources” led them to my arrest. If convicted, I’ll spend a minimum of thirty-five years in jail. The lies pour from his mouth as another prick leans over me, his tie almost touching my face. I guess he’s trying to intimidate me.

Are you fucking kidding me? I could snap him in half if I wanted to.

A smile spreads over my face as he gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a threatening leer. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not going to talk.”

“You’re not thinking straight. We’ve had agents at that restaurant for weeks. We know you use it as a front.”

No fucking way that’s possible. All lies. Only a few people know. The manager of the restaurant, whose pockets are lined so deeply there’s no way he’ll talk, Jack, me, and maybe a few others in my crew.

The blood drains from my head. I feel weak.

The rat. The informant, whoever he is, telling my business to the feds. Only me. Why? Why haven’t the others been targeted?

“I don’t know anything about that. I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”

I’ve said that phrase so many times that it’s practically burned in my brain. It could be the manager. Someone might have squeezed him to give up documentation that would prove all this shit. I’ll have a fucking talk with him.

Who the fuck would be so stupid?

Whoever they are, they’ll know that I know by now.

“We’re willing to take information about the Rizzo Crime Family. We know that there’s been friction, despite the truce you managed to forge.”

The more he talks, the harder my heart pounds. I’m going to find this rat fuck, and when I do, I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to the dogs. Never in a million years would I rat on them, even though I hate Tony. I swore an oath. We don’t talk to the police, even about our enemies.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”

“I told you it was a waste of time.” The asshole leaning over my chair finally walks away, adjusting his tie.

Agent Palmer gathers the manila folder in his hands and fixes me with a heavy stare. “He might not want to talk, but maybe your soldiers will. Maybe that short-tempered guy. What’s his name? Oh yeah, Nicky Santoro. He already has a grudge against you for not making captain.”

How. The. Fuck. Does. He. Know. That.

I focus on keeping my face smooth. Blank. Don’t let them on to anything.

The balding, humorless prick leaves me in the interrogation room as two cops in plainclothes grab my arms, shoving me roughly. My shoulder jams into the doorframe.

“Hey, at least buy me dinner first.” I give him a wicked grin that he doesn’t return.

Cops are all the same. Egomaniac assholes with a lust for power. The higher up they are, the worse they get.

“Fucking waste of space guido.”

He just wants me to rise to the bait.

The cop grabs my arm and leads me down the hall, back to the holding cell.

“If I didn’t do my job, you assholes wouldn’t have one. You’re welcome.”

“Are you done running your mouth?”

“Are you done jerkin’ off?”

He unlocks the holding cell and I wink at him before he shoves me inside.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

* * *Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

Jack’s veined hands drum in front of me restlessly over the washing machine as he watches me, waiting for me to tell him what I know. That there’s an informant in our crew. He’s still dressed in his exercise clothes. Tracksuit and tank top. He still intimidates me. I know he can have me killed in a blink of an eye and that I’d probably never see it coming.

That’s why I’m so nervous to tell him that there’s a rat.

It took hours to bail out of my holding cell, then I met with my lawyer, and then I drove straight to Long Island to Jack’s house. I can’t keep it from him any longer. Doing so risks my life, and the lives of everyone in the family.

Sorry, Adriana. I can’t protect you anymore.

“When’s your court date?”

“In a few weeks.” My hands run over my suit, flattening it over and over again. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

Jack sighs, knowing that my reluctance to speak is code for, “I fucked up.”

“The feds picked up Adriana a few months ago. They didn’t charge her, they just wanted information. She didn’t talk.”

I wait for the explosion of rage, for his hands to wrap around my throat and slam me against the wall, but none of it happens.

He just stands there, watching me.

I guess I’ll keep talking.

“Ever since then, I knew there was a rat in my crew. They know about the-what happened at one of my games. They knew Adriana was working for me. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you didn’t trust her.”

And I knew you would want her dead.

Still, he doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t look at all surprised. “Any leads?”

I shake my head, balling my fist against my leg.

“It just so happens that Tony let me know about his concern that there might be an informant in his crew. It’s possible that rat could be double-dealing with the police department, giving up information on both our crews.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “Jesus.”

His lip curls. “That still doesn’t change the fact that you should have told me the second you knew Adriana was picked up by them. I ought to bash your fucking face in.”

The basement rings with Jack’s cruel voice. When I speak, my tone is much lower.

“You would have killed her, and I was in love. What do you want me to say, Jack?” My voice trembles. “She turned out to be a fucking liar. Hell, maybe she did talk.”

“No, she didn’t.”

The conviction in which he says it stuns me. Why is he suddenly on her side? What am I missing? He never trusted her. Jack let me know every fucking day that he didn’t approve.

“How are you so sure?”

“She wouldn’t do that to you.”

Now that we’re broken up, she’s a saint?

“She’s fucking-”

Jack loses his patience. “Jesus Christ, you are so fucking stupid!”

For the first time, Jack’s voice raises to the ceiling. He even smashes his fist against the washing machine, which vibrates like a gong.

I can’t even begin to understand what the fuck is going on.

“I’m going to go.” I don’t think I can take much more of this. Jack’s strange unconcern with the rat alarms me much more than his statements about Adriana.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To your strip club. Nicky’s there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” he calls out to me as I ascend the staircase.