Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 2 - Leo

"Six bodies, and they're not even close to catching me. Such lazy police," I tell my father, savoring the words.

My father stares back at me with eyes as blue as mine. "I will have to agree with you on that, son!"

I lift my glass to my lips and take a sip of the rich whiskey, groaning when it hits my tongue. "Cazzo , that's good."

"I know. Only the best to celebrate," he says as he pours himself a drink, chuckling.

Then I watch as he pours a bit to the ground and whispers the familiar words, "Per il mio dolce ." For my sweet. He does this every single time before he takes his first drink of the night. It is to honor my dearly departed mother.

I don't know much about her other than that she died giving birth to me. Also, she was a perfect angel, and I have her hair.

God! I wish I had met her. The way my father talks about her…

It's such a shame that I never got to see her, to see the woman who has my father nearly composing poems for her.

She must have been a goddess.

"You've earned yourself quite the reputation," my father says as he takes a sip of his own drink.

I grin, leaning back. "I like the name they gave me. Phantom. Much better than what the Mafia men called me. Butcher just makes me sound like a brute."

He laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "You are a brute."

"Never. Would a brute dress the way I do?" I say, gesturing to my Armani suit.

He shakes his head, smiling. "Touché."

I look around his office. This is where we regroup, talk, plot. This is where he gives me assignments and I give him reports. The dark wood paneling, the heavy drapes, the scent of old leather—it's our sanctuary.

"So," he says, sitting down. "Killing Jessica will work?"

"She was skimming our products," I reply. "She was a rat, and therefore, she will die like a rat. Besides, this will show the other sellers not to even think about getting high off our product. We don't pay hundreds of thousands to get cocaine through the borders just for a know-nothing stripper to be stealing it."

He nods. "Agreed. Have you thought more about taking on more of the business?"

"Father, I like what I do."

"I know you do. I just worry. I want you handling the papers and not on the streets, brandishing a knife like the rest of the soldati . "

"Sometimes I use a machete," I grin at him.

He narrows his eyes, swirling his drink. "Be careful, Leo. I'm being serious. You know, if anything happened to you, your mamma would haunt me from the grave."

"I'm always careful, Papa, stop worrying about me." I down my whiskey, savoring the burn.

"What's the hurry? Where are you going?" he asks.

"After the night I had yesterday, I'm owed a lap dance or two. I'll be going to the Velvet Room."

He frowns. "Do you think it's wise to go to the same place the woman you killed worked at? Wouldn't the place be crawling with police?"

I laugh. "The way they solve cases, they'll be coming to the club at the end of the year to ask questions."

He chuckles. "We'll talk in the morning."

"Ciao, Papa," I say, standing and giving him a brief nod.

I leave his office, my mind already on the next step. The Velvet Room is a high-end club, exclusive, the kind of place where secrets are both made and buried. Perfect for unwinding and gathering intel.

As I step out into the night, the city's lights flicker around me, reflecting off the wet pavement. It's a city that never sleeps, and neither do I, not really. Always something to plan, something to do.

I arrive at the Velvet Room, flashing my membership card at the bouncer. He nods, letting me in without a word. Inside, the music pulses, bodies move, and the air is thick with perfume and sweat.

I head to the bar and order a drink. The bartender, a petite redhead with a sly smile, hands it over, her fingers brushing mine.

"On the house, Mr. DeLuca," she purrs.

"Grazie," I say, taking a sip.

I scan the room, looking for familiar faces, potential threats, and opportunities. It's a game, one I've mastered. And tonight, I'm in the mood to play.

A blonde catches my eye, her movements fluid, her smile seductive. She makes her way over, swaying her hips.

"You look like you could use some company."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do I?"

She laughs softly. "Maybe I could help you relax."

"Maybe you could." I take her hand and lead her to a secluded corner.

As we sit, she leans in, her breath warm against my ear. "What's your name?"

"Leonardo," I say, keeping my voice low.

"Leonardo," she repeats, her tongue flicking out to taste the name. "What brings you here tonight?"

"Business," I reply, my eyes scanning the crowd again.

"Business?" she echoes, sounding intrigued. "And pleasure?"

"Maybe."

She moves closer, her hand resting on my thigh. "I like a man who can handle both."

I smirk, the challenge in her eyes sparking a familiar thrill. "You have no idea."

The music pulses around us, bodies moving in sync with the rhythm. She leans into me, her body pressing against mine, a subtle invitation. Her dress clings to her curves, shimmering under the club lights, revealing just enough to tempt.

I take in her blonde hair cascading down her back, strands falling loose around her shoulders. Without hesitation, I reach up, twining my fingers through her hair, tugging gently. She lets out a soft gasp, her eyes locking with mine, a hunger mirrored in her gaze.

Our conversation drifts into casual flirtation, the dance of words and touches. But my mind is always half-focused on the room, on who's watching, on who could be a threat.

I guide her onto the dance floor, pulling her close as we move together in a provocative rhythm. She matches my intensity, her body moving fluidly against mine, the heat between us palpable.

As we sway to the music, I catch glimpses of admiration and envy from onlookers. In this moment, she's mine, and the power play is exhilarating. I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear.

"You dance as if you were born for this," I murmur, my voice husky.

She tilts her head to me, her breath warm against my neck. "Maybe I was waiting for the right partner."

I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer. The scent of her perfume mixed with the subtle tang of sweat fills my senses. The club fades into the background as we lose ourselves in the dance, in the seductive game we play.

It's been a while since I've taken a woman to bed, longer still since I've found someone who matches my... kinks. She's confident, assertive, unafraid to meet me head-on in every way. I find myself drawn to her spirit, to the challenge she presents.

The night stretches on, a blur of music and whispered promises. We steal moments in dark corners, exchanging heated kisses and hushed desires. Each touch, each kiss, ignites a fire between us that burns brighter with every passing moment.

Eventually, the thumping beat of the music slows, signaling the approaching end of the night. We linger in the shadows, our bodies pressed close, reluctant to let go.

"You're something else," she murmurs, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

"And you're trouble," I reply, a smile tugging at my lips.

She laughs softly, the sound echoing in the quiet moment between us. "Maybe. But you love trouble, don't you?"

I meet her gaze, holding it steady. "Maybe I do. But not tonight. I will find you again."

"I will be waiting, Leonardo."

I excuse myself, needing a moment of solitude. I head to the balcony, the night air cool against my skin. The city stretches out before me, vast and unwilling to give up its secrets.

My phone buzzes with a message from my father: Be safe.

Ah, bless his heart. He worries way too much.

"I'll be fine Papa ," I text back. This is the other reason I don't want to take over the business. When he's busy, he's distracted. And when he's distracted, he worries less.

He jokes about my mother haunting him if anything happened to me, but I have the same fear. If he died from worry, she would straight up poltergeist me.

She died so I could live.

I owe it to her to keep the love of her life safe... and sane.

Her death cannot have been in vain.

I will keep him safe. I will stay safe.

I pocket the phone as I stare out at the skyline. Safe is relative. But I'm careful, always.

Time slips away, and the club empties out. Then I spot the police cars before I spot her.

Interesting.

Detective Kane steps out of the car. Normally, she's all business in her usual getup—black shoulder-length hair in a sleek ponytail. But tonight, she's trying to blend in—leather jacket, hair down, and, from here, I think she's even wearing lip gloss.

Very interesting.

I knew it was reckless to pose as the coroner and clean up the body right under their noses, but I had to make sure that bitch didn't have any of my skin under her nails. She managed to claw at me before I killed her. I didn't expect the detective to put it together so fast. She looks around, then fluffs her hair before walking in. Maybe she's here to question witnesses. Good thing I know no one was there. If they were, they'd be dead.

The club officially closed about an hour ago, but I have my ways of staying after-hours. That's a perk of knowing the right people. I just needed a couple more hours on this balcony. It's the highest point from which I can view most of the city, and it helps me stay calm.

I like a challenge. My alibis are solid, and there's no way she can place me at the scene of the crime. Instead of running, I wait until I hear the door to the balcony open, and she walks in.

"Excuse me, but the club is closed," she says. "I need everyone downstairs for questioning."

I turn, registering the shock on her face when she sees me.

"You!" she exclaims.

"You must be mistaken, detective. I don't think we've met before."

"I'm here looking into the murder of Amy Carson," she says, her voice firm.

"Never heard of her," I reply. "Why are you here alone? Thought you'd be swarming this place with uniforms."

Her hands ball into fists. "I thought I heard something up here. And I don't need backup for a casual inquiry." Her eyes narrow. "It seems my instincts were right."

I smirk. "Instincts, huh? Or maybe you just got lucky." I glance around.

"Why are you up here? And what do you know about Amy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, detective."

She looks me up and down, then reaches for her radio. I tell her casually, "This place has no reception."

She pulls out her gun and points it at me. "Stand still."

I smirk. "Normally, I like making the demands, but since you asked so nicely…" I raise my arms slowly.

"Are you armed? Will I find any weapons on you?"

No. Because I got rid of them as soon as I spotted you and your cavalry!

Instead of answering directly, I choose to taunt her.

"Why would I be armed? I'm just out here looking at the stars. Do you know anything about galaxies?"

"Moretti," she snaps, ignoring my question. "Do you know tampering with evidence is a crime?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She steps closer, and I catch a whiff of her perfume—something floral and sweet.

Distracting.

"Where were you last night?" she demands, frisking me. Her hands are efficient, but I can feel her hesitation.

"I was with my father, reading horoscopes." I watch her face, enjoying the frustration there.

She pats me down, her hands brushing over my clothes. I lean in, my voice a low murmur. "Lower. You might find something you like."

She glares at me. "Don't push your luck."

"It's illegal to point a gun at a civilian," I say, still smirking.

"Really? Tell me all about morality, Moretti, while a body lies in a cold morgue tonight…"

"Which morgue?"

She huffs. She's an adorable little thing.

"You're under arrest," she snaps, pulling out her cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent—"

I grab her wrist and twist, making her gasp. She tries to pull back, but I yank her close, the gun now in my hand. Her eyes widen, and she kicks out, hitting my shin. I barely flinch.

"Feisty," I murmur, twisting her arm behind her back. She struggles, but I overpower her easily, pushing her against the wall.

"You're the prettiest little thing, aren't you?" I whisper.

She's furious, her eyes blazing. "You won't get away with this."

"Oh, but I already have." I cup her cheek, tracing the cut on her eyebrow. She flinches, and I notice her green eyes, bright with anger. I lean in, inhaling the scent of her cherry lip gloss.

"What happened here?" I ask, brushing the cut gently.

"Don't touch me," she snaps. "I'll break every bone in your body."

I laugh softly. "Occhi verdi … gorgeous eyes." I trace her collarbone, watching her shiver. "You're fucking feisty ."

"Fuck you!"

"Detective 101: Always ask for IDs. If you had, you'd have known I wasn't a coroner last night, and you wouldn't have called me Moretti tonight."

Realization hits her, and she asks, "Are you the Phantom?"

I laugh. "If I were, you'd be dead, right?"

"Is this where you promise to kill me?" she spits out.

"Nope." I kiss her cheek and toss her gun aside. I do the same thing with the keys I find in her pocket. "Maybe if nice guys ask you out for drinks, you should say yes sometimes."

I secure her wrists with her own cuffs, watching the fury blaze in her eyes as she struggles. "You won't get away with this," she hisses, venom in her voice.

I lean in close, my lips almost brushing her ear. "Oh, but I already have," I murmur, savoring the anger radiating off her. "You're in way over your head, detective."

She tries to jerk away, but I hold her firm. "Next time, do your homework. Maybe you'll get lucky."

"You're not as untouchable as you think, Moretti," she spits out, defiance flashing in her green eyes.

I chuckle, stepping back and letting her feel the cold metal of the cuffs dig into her wrists. "If you're going to play with the big boys, better bring a warrant next time. And make sure the name on it is right."

I take one last lingering look at her, enjoying the sight of her restrained and helpless. Then I turn and walk away, leaving her there, seething with rage and humiliation.

"You haven't seen the last of me!" she yells after me.

I don't even bother turning around. "We'll see about that," I say, my voice carrying back to her. With a final smirk, I walk downstairs. I'll just walk straight out of that door.

She'll never catch me.