Chapter 1
[Prouloge]
The sun was already low in the sky when I pulled into the lot behind O’Malley’s, the kind of dive that didn’t ask questions and never called the cops. I killed the engine and sat there a minute, my fingers drumming against the wheel. My head was still buzzing from the day’s job—another dead-end lead, another informant who conveniently forgot how to talk when a badge was in their face.
My phone lit up on the dash. I glanced at the name. Benny.
“What?” I answered.
“You still on that DeLuca case?” Benny’s voice crackled over the line, rough and low.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Word is DeLuca’s gonna be there tonight. O’Malley’s.”
I sat up straighter. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure. Thought you’d wanna know.”
They hung up before I could press them for more. Typical Benny.
I stepped out of the car and adjusted my jacket, slipping my badge into my pocket. The last thing I needed was to flash it too soon and spook anyone. Inside, the bar was dim and crowded, the air thick with smoke and bad decisions. I scanned the room, my eyes landing on a group near the back. And there he was.
Luca DeLuca.
He looked nothing like the crime boss I’d been chasing for months. Relaxed, laughing, a glass of something expensive in his hand. His dark hair fell just a little too perfectly into his face, and the smile he flashed one of his goons was the kind you didn’t expect from someone with a rap sheet longer than my arm.
I hated that I noticed the way he smiled.
I made my way to the bar, ordering something cheap and nursing it while I kept an eye on him. He must have felt it, because his eyes flicked my way. And for a second—just a second—he held my gaze.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve played it cool.
But I didn’t.
His lips curved, and damn if it wasn’t the kind of smile that spelled trouble.
And then he was coming toward me.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he said, his voice smooth as whiskey. Up close, he was even more dangerous—sharp angles and warmth, charm like a weapon.
“I’m new in town,” I lied.
“Is that so?” His eyes flicked down, taking me in like he was sizing me up. “What’s your name?”
“Jordan.”
“Jordan,” he repeated, like he was tasting it. “Let me buy you a drink.”
I should’ve said no.
But I didn’t.
I woke up to the sound of my own groan, my head pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. The light streaming through the blinds was way too bright, and I knew without opening my eyes that I was going to regret whatever I’d done last night.
Slowly, I cracked one eye open—and immediately froze.
The other side of the bed was empty, but the sheets were rumpled, the pillow still faintly smelling like expensive cologne.
Luca.
Memories came flooding back in pieces. The drinks. The way his hand brushed my arm when he leaned in to talk. The way his eyes darkened when he smiled at me. The way we stumbled through my front door, lips pressed together like we were starving.
I ran a hand over my face, half hoping I’d imagined it. But the lingering scent of him on my skin said otherwise.
I sat up slowly, glancing around the room. My clothes were scattered across the floor, and my jacket—my badge—was hanging off the back of a chair.
But Luca was gone.
My stomach twisted. What the hell had I done? I’d spent months building this case, getting closer to taking DeLuca down—and now I’d let him slip into my bed and right back out before morning.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. No messages. No calls.
Of course not.
The worst part wasn’t that he left.
The worst part was that I wanted him to stay.
Work was the last thing I wanted to deal with, but I forced myself into the station anyway. The bullpen was already alive with noise—phones ringing, voices raised, the hum of a department that never really slept.
“Rough night?” Benny’s voice cut through the chaos, and I looked up to see them watching me with a knowing smirk.
“You could say that,” I muttered, dropping into my chair and rifling through the stack of files on my desk. I tried to focus—tried to remind myself why I was here.
But Luca kept slipping into my thoughts.
The way he’d looked at me across the bar. The heat of his hands on my skin. The sound of his voice, low and rough in my ear.
I shook myself, opening the top file and forcing my attention onto the case. DeLuca’s name was right there in black and white, and the reminder should’ve been enough to cool whatever this thing was.
It wasn’t.
“Jordan.” Benny’s voice softened, and I realized they were watching me more closely now. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, too fast. “Just tired.”
They didn’t look convinced, but they let it go.
I buried myself in paperwork, in reports and leads and dead ends. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was him.
And I didn’t know if I wanted it to stop.
“Jordan! My office. Now.”
The bark of the chief’s voice cut across the bullpen, and every head turned to look. I winced, pushing back from my desk and heading toward his door.
Chief Morales didn’t look up when I walked in, just gestured for me to close the door. I did.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He finally lifted his head, his eyes sharp and tired. “What the hell is going on with you?”
I blinked. “Sir?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been on this DeLuca case for months, and we’re no closer to a takedown than when we started. I need results, Jordan. Not excuses.”
“I’m working on it—”
“Not hard enough.” His voice was like gravel. “You’ve got one week. One week to find me a lead, or I’m pulling you off the case. Understood?”
My throat tightened. “Understood.”
“Good. Now get out.”
I left without another word, my mind racing.
One week.
And the only lead I had was the man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
As I dug deeper into the files that afternoon, something started to gnaw at me. The more I looked into DeLuca’s movements, the more questions I had. And one kept rising to the surface.
How did Benny know both Luca and I would be at O’Malley’s last night?
The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sit right.
And when I finally traced a lead back to one of Benny’s old informants, the pieces fell into place.
Benny wasn’t just passing me tips.
They were working with DeLuca.
