Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 8 - Leo

I lean back in the plush leather chair, the one my father insists on keeping in his study like some kind of throne. My fingers drum absently on the armrest as I recount the events of the last two days. Two dead men, both tied to Detective Kane, my work, orchestrated down to the last detail. A car crash for Harrison, a fall from grace—literally—for Roberts.

My father's been silent the whole time, just listening. When I finish, he finally looks up from the papers on his desk, his expression unreadable.

"Why are you so invested in this, Leonardo?" he asks, his voice calm, but I can hear the underlying question—what the hell are you doing?

I shrug, though the question digs at me. "I'm not actually sure," I admit, the words coming out slower than I expected. "She's... interesting."

My father narrows his eyes, like he's trying to read between the lines of what I'm saying. "Interesting enough to kill for?" He's not judging, just curious. That's how he's always been—dissecting, analyzing.

Before I can answer, the door creaks open, and Matteo steps into the room, his posture stiff, his face strained. He's always been the type to carry tension in his shoulders.

My father's gaze flicks to him. "Matteo," he says, his tone shifting from the casual to something more paternal. "How are you holding up? How's the NYPD treating you?"

Matteo shifts on his feet, glancing at me before answering. "I'm handling it. It's not easy, but I'm managing."

I can see he's holding something back, and so can my father. He raises an eyebrow at me, a silent signal to take over.

I nod, understanding. "We'll talk later," I tell him. "I'll meet you in the garden."

My father gives me a look—one that says he'll expect answers eventually—but he waves me off. Matteo and I walk out, the tension between us thick as we head down the hall and out into the garden.

As soon as we're alone, I turn to him, switching to Italian. "What's the problem?"

Matteo hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, which is never a good sign. "There's word at the station that Detective Kane has the real identity of the phantom."

I let out a short laugh, the kind that doesn't reach my eyes. "Don't worry. I have everything handled."

But Matteo doesn't look convinced. His brows are furrowed, his mouth set in a tight line. "Doesn't that worry you?"

I glance away, staring at the perfectly manicured garden, the kind of place that should bring peace. But peace is a luxury I haven't indulged in for a long time.

"Who do you think gave her the name?" I finally say, turning back to him with a smirk.

Matteo's eyes widen, and for a second, I see the shock register. "I know you're the capo, but you need to be careful."

His concern is genuine, but it grates on me. I'm not used to being questioned, especially not by my cousin. Still, I keep my tone light. "Don't worry, cousin. I've got everything under control."

But as the words leave my mouth, a nagging doubt worms its way in. Control. That's always been my thing. I control situations, people, outcomes. But lately... with Elizabeth... it feels like that control is slipping, like the harder I try to keep a grip, the more she slips through my fingers.

Matteo watches me closely, probably catching the brief flicker of doubt in my expression, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods, but it's more out of obligation than agreement.

"If you say so, Leo." Matteo's tone is careful, but I can tell he's still uneasy.

I sigh, feeling the weight of the conversation bearing down on me. "Listen, Matteo, I know what I'm doing. Kane thinks she's in control, but she's playing my game. Every move she makes is because I allow it."

Matteo looks at me like he wants to believe that, but there's still doubt in his eyes. And maybe that's because he's seeing the doubt in mine. I don't want to admit it, but there's a part of me that wonders if I've underestimated her.

"She's different," I mutter, almost to myself.

"What?" Matteo asks, leaning in.

I shake my head, brushing off the thought. "Nothing. Just reflections."

But it's not nothing. It's the first time I've found myself questioning whether I've overplayed my hand.

"Kane..." I trail off, trying to put into words what's been eating at me. "She's not like the others. There's something about her. She's smart, relentless. And I don't know... maybe I've underestimated her."

Matteo's eyes narrow. "It's dangerous to underestimate someone."

"I know," I say, and the words taste bitter on my tongue. "But that's the thing, Matteo. I'm not sure if I'm underestimating her or if I'm starting to... respect her."

Matteo looks at me like I've lost my mind, and maybe I have. Respecting a cop? It's ludicrous, but here we are.

"Respect?" Matteo echoes, disbelief coloring his tone.

I nod slowly, still sorting through my own thoughts. "Yeah. She's sharp, driven. And she doesn't back down, even when she's out of her depth."

Matteo crosses his arms, skepticism etched into his features. "And what does this mean for you?"

"I don't know." It's the truth, and I hate that I don't have a clear answer. "But I do know one thing. I'm not backing down either. If she wants to play this game, then I'll play. But on my terms."

Matteo watches me for a long moment, and I can see the concern in his eyes. "Just... be careful, Leo. I don't want to see you fall."

I offer him a small reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me. I've got this under control."

But as I say it, that doubt creeps back in. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe the fact that I'm now orchestrating deaths for a detective means I'm already starting to lose control. And that's a dangerous game to play.

We stand there in silence for a while, the garden's calm a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in my head. Matteo eventually sighs, clapping a hand on my shoulder before walking back inside. I watch him go, my mind still spinning with what he said.

Respect. It's such a simple word, but it complicates everything. If I respect Elizabeth, does that make her a threat? Or does it mean she's something else? Something more?

And if I can't figure out what she is to me, then I might just be playing right into her hands.

The quiet of the garden settles around me like a heavy blanket, but my mind's racing. Matteo's words still hang in the air, unsettling. He thinks I'm losing control, that I'm getting too close to this detective. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm slipping. Or maybe I just don't care anymore. But the thought lingers, gnawing at me. Why her? Why Elizabeth Kane?

I don't get much time to dwell on it. My phone buzzes in my pocket, a vibration that cuts through the silence. I pull it out, glancing at the screen. It's a message from one of my men, a job. Apparently, there's a loose end that needs tying up, someone who thought they could cross us or maybe just got too comfortable.

I'm out of the garden and in my car within minutes, the engine roaring as I drive into the city. The streets blur past me, the lights smearing into long, bright lines against the dark. I don't really care who this guy is or what he's done. It's not about him, it's about the message. Every kill has to mean something, especially now.

By the time I reach the location, the details of the hit flash through my mind like a checklist. The guy is a mid-level player, some accountant who thought he could skim off the top and sell our secrets on the side. He's got a wife, two kids, and a house in the suburbs. Lives a nice, quiet life—until tonight. He made the wrong move, and now he's about to pay for it.

I pull up outside his place, a typical suburban house with a neat lawn and a driveway full of cars. I don't even have to try hard to get in. These people think locks and alarms keep them safe, but they don't know the world they're living in. They're blind.

I put on my gloves. Inside, it's quiet. I move through the rooms like a shadow, avoiding the creaks in the floorboards. The wife and kids are not here. I'm not here for them, anyway. He's in the living room, of course, the light from the TV flickering across his face as he snores in his recliner. There's an empty beer bottle on the floor next to him and a plate with the remnants of some late-night snack on the coffee table. Pathetic.

I don't waste time. I step up behind him, clamping a hand over his mouth as he jerks awake. His eyes fly open, wide with fear. He tries to scream, but it's muffled by my hand. I lean in close so he can see my face. I want him to know who's here, who's ending him.

"Shh," I whisper, my voice low and calm. "You've been a bad boy. Now it's time to pay."

His struggles are weak, more desperate than effective. He's shaking, eyes wide with terror, but I can't bring myself to care. This is business. Nothing personal.

I pull out my knife, the one with the curved blade that's become my signature. His eyes fixate on it, and I can see the exact moment he realizes there's no way out of this. I plunge the blade into his abdomen, feeling the familiar resistance as flesh and muscle give way. His body jerks, and he makes a sound that's more air than voice. The blood bubbles up, staining his shirt, and I twist the knife, watching as the life drains from his eyes. Before he's completely gone, I lean in close, whispering in his ear, "You're welcome, verde." Then I carve it into his arm.

I know Kane will get the message. It's a little inside joke between us now, isn't it? She's the green one—green like the color of her eyes, green because she's new to this game. But she's learning. Fast.

With the blade still buried in his gut, I pull out the small piece of paper from my pocket and press it into his hand. It's a simple code, something Elizabeth will have to work to decode. A little puzzle for her to solve. I want to see if she's as smart as I think she is.

As his body goes limp, I carve my signature into his abdomen, slow and deliberate. The crescent-shaped slash is a mark of finality, a reminder of who did this, of who she's dealing with. It's my calling card, something the NYPD's been chasing for years. But this one, this one's just for her.

I step back, wiping the blade clean on his shirt before tucking it away. The blood's already pooling beneath him, soaking into the carpet. It's messy, but it's effective. I take one last look at the body, at the scene I've created. It's perfect, just enough to taunt her, to keep her on her toes. She's getting closer, but I'm always one step ahead.

As I walk out, I leave the front door slightly ajar, a final insult to his illusion of safety. I don't bother with gloves or wiping down prints—let them find the evidence. It'll only lead them to more dead ends, more frustration.

Back in the car, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The night's quiet again, but my mind's not. I think about what Matteo and my father said, about losing control, about Kane. Maybe they're right, maybe I'm putting her on a pedestal she doesn't deserve. Maybe this is all just a game to her, too.

But as I drive away, a part of me can't shake the feeling that she's different, that she's the only one who could really keep up with me. And maybe that's why I'm doing this, why I keep leaving her these little breadcrumbs to follow. I want to see if she's truly my match. If she is, then this game might be more fun than I thought. If not, well... I'll have to end it before she disappoints me.

As the city lights blur past, I can't help but smirk. The thrill of the kill, the cat-and-mouse game with Elizabeth, it's all starting to get under my skin. Maybe I'm losing control, maybe I'm not. But for now, I'm going to enjoy the ride.

I flick the radio on, letting the music fill the silence as I drive back to the estate. The job's done, the message is sent. Now it's her move. Let's see what she does with it.