Mia's POV
I'd been staring at my screen for over an hour, refreshing tabs like some digital séance would make new information appear.
Marcus Luca.
The cause of my restlessness.
I'd pulled up, public records, listens, business registrations, court mentions, everything I had enough clearance to access and still it was nothing.
From his socials, I could tell that he was a spoiled rich kid-nothing more. Nothing that screamed murderer or dangerous psycho.
He was either squeaky clean or too good at covering his tracks.
Probably the latter.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the tension from my eyes. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly—another reminder I still hadn't fixed the wiring in this stupid apartment.
My tea had gone cold.
A knock, then the door creaked open.
"Please tell me you made dinner," Elena called out, already halfway inside.
My stomach grumbled right on cue, I'd forgotten to make dinner.
"I didn't," I said back.
"Well that's disappointing." She breezed in like she lived here-well some days she did- and hugged me from behind.
"Miss me?" My sister asked.
"Were you ever gone?" I teased.
"Oh, shut up," she laughed.
"What you working on?" She asked and before I could even answer she raised my almost closed laptop.
"Marcus Luca?"
"Yeah," I answered.
"That's weird," she said as she made her way to the kitchen.
"He's a client," I said.
And he's friends with the guy who's threatening to harm you if I don't finish this case, but that was besides the point.
Elena wasn't level headed, and honestly what would telling her do? .
"I've heard about him, you know how talk flies back at my place," she said casually.
By her place, she meant her neighbourhood. Why my sister decided to rent an apartment in the worst side of town I'd never understand. And it wasn't even an exaggeration, Skyler's Ridge (which I liked to call the Gotham of the city) was all shades of bad.
"What talk?" I closed the screen and joined her in the kitchen.
"You've never heard of the Lucas?" She said it like she was asking if I knew the earth was round.
"Nope," I answered.
"And you're supposed to be the more informed one," she smirked, "Anyways there are the maybe-maybe-not mafia family. No one ever says the word 'mafia' anymore, but you know what I mean."
"Actually I don't...you're saying Marcus is in the mafia?" I asked.
"Gang affiliated murder"
The words replayed in my mind.
She shook her, "Nah, from what I heard he just has ties. His cousin though...he's the boss, basically runs the city underground."
"Oh," I said.
So, Marcus wasn't in the mafia? But he had ties was that enough to explain the murder.
It was obvious now that he had done it, if not he wouldn't have resulted to lies and threats.
Elena kept talking, oblivious to my own thinking. "... he's had news, but I heard he's pretty hot though, but then again what would you expect from a man named Raphael De Luca. If names were hot, he's be at the top of some chain."
I froze.
"Say that again," I said.
She paused looking confused. "What part? That his name is hot?"
"No, the name you just said who is that?" I asked.
"Haven't you been listening? Marcus' cousin? Mafia Boss? His name's Raphael De Luca. Gosh your attention span sucks." She went back to slicing onions.
Raphael De Luca.
Raphael.
Raph.
Leader of the mafia.
Shit.
********
The next morning, I showed up at court. Technically, I didn't have a choice. My little chat with Elena has proven that.
Oh all the difficult cases!
I didn't end with burglary, or tax fraud, or even manslaughter.
No. I'd drawn the short straw and gotten. Murder. By a mafia gang.
It all made sense now but it didn't make things any better. Maybe this would have been one of those cases where ignorance was best. But it was too late for that.
Marcus had dropped the act, and Raph...Raphael hadn't needed one to begin with.
The case proceeded and I won.
Technically.
The case collapsed under bad evidence. Mishandled warrants, tainted procedures—none of which were my doing, but I got the win anyway.
Marcus walked free, smug and polished. Cameras flashed. He gave me a smooth nod outside the courthouse. Not a thank you. Just a nod, like he knew I'd done exactly what he expected.
I'd avoided the press this time, even though the public believed he was innocent I couldn't bear being beside that criminal, even if it meant good publicity.
Raphael has disappeared once the verdict was read, he simply vanished. Like his business was done.
I walked away quickly , fighting the urge to throw up. It was like I had swallowed my morals and now my body was forcing them back out.
******
A few hours later, I got a message.
New intake. Simple case. Review in holding.
It was from Carlos which meant it was from Richard
I went through the motions—collected the file, flipped through the summary, walked into the station half on autopilot.
It had been weeks since the last case I handled. I asked Richard for a break and he's given me one, it was the least he could do after making me work overtime.
But I guess this message meant my break was over.
I was over Marcus Luca. I'd fed myself a thousand reasons why I didn't have a choice—and finally, I'd found peace again.
My rhythm was off though, I hadn't even reviewed the file after it was delivered. I just grabbed it changed, and headed straight for the precinct.
I pushed open the door and walked in.
"Haven't seen you in a while," Jada said.
"Needed a break," I replied and flashed her a smile.
I didn't have to show my fatigue.
Luckily this time the detective in charge wasn't Harry, I didn't have the strength for him today. I found her desk and even though I'd only seen her a few times, the look she gave me made it clear we weren't going to be friends.
Fine, be a bitch.
She walked me to the holding cell in silence.
"You have thirty minutes before I come in to do my job," she said dryly.
I didn't respond, I just fished out the file and pushed the door open.
Doing both at once probably wasn't such a great idea, but like I said, my rhythm was off.
When I finally opened the file, I froze.
No!
No. No. No
"Fuck," I cursed.
The breath of a chuckle echo off the cell walls.
My eyes snapped up.
He was already seated.
One leg draped lazily over the other, like the holding cell was his damn office. That same unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Calm. Relaxed.
Raphael.
And he was smiling, like an actual show of emotion.
He looked at me. Just looked. Like he'd been waiting.
Peace, apparently, had a deadline.