Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 13 - Elizabeth

I can't believe I let him do that.

I stand in the middle of my room, staring at the mirror, replaying everything that just happened. My lips are swollen, my neck feels raw from his mouth, and I can still smell him on me. That mix of leather, smoke, and something darker, something dangerous. Him.

I should be disgusted. I should be horrified. But I'm not.

I liked it.

I liked the way he touched me, the way his hands felt on my skin, rough and unrelenting. The way his mouth claimed mine like I was some prize he could take whenever he wanted. And I let him. Hell, I wanted him to.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I yank my clothes off—jeans, top, all of it—like I can scrub away what just happened. I toss them into the washing machine and slam the lid shut, my chest tight, my hands shaking. The smell of detergent fills the air, and I stand there, staring at the spinning water like it holds the answers.

But midway through the cycle, I regret it. My fingers hover over the stop button, tempted to yank everything out, hold on to the smell of him. Jesus. What is wrong with me? It's like I'm trying to hold on to a piece of him, like he's something I'll lose. And maybe I already have lost him.

"This is insane," I mutter, slumping over the machine. My hands press against the cool metal, my breathing ragged. I need to get a grip.

Leo's a psychopath. He's not just dangerous—he's lethal, the kind of man who takes out entire gangs without breaking a sweat. The kind of man who can kill someone in a police station, surrounded by cops, and walk out like he just bought groceries.

And yet… some stupid part of me still believes him, believes that when he says they deserved it, maybe they did. But how can I believe him? How can I trust a man who holds life and death in his hands like it's nothing?

I shake my head, pushing away the thought. This is crazy. I'm crazy.

The doorbell rings, jolting me back to reality. Pizza. Right. I almost forgot I ordered food. Maybe eating something will help me snap out of this fog. Maybe I can pretend for a second that I'm just a normal person who didn't just spend some time with a killer.

I pay the delivery guy, barely registering his face, and sit down on the couch with the box in my lap. I stare at the pizza for a minute, not really tasting the first bite, then the second. It's mechanical, like I'm on autopilot, chewing without thinking. The flavors don't even register. It's just… nothing.

It's like I'm in some kind of trance, going through the motions of being a human but not really feeling anything.

God, what the hell is happening to me?

I finish the slice, wipe my hands on a napkin, and lean back against the cushions. I'm exhausted. My body feels heavy, like I'm carrying around the weight of everything that just happened, and my mind's racing, trying to make sense of it all.

Leo's face flashes in my mind, the way he looked at me right before he kissed me, like he was fighting something inside himself. Like he wanted to devour me and run at the same time.

Fuck.

I get up, pacing the room, my hands running through my hair, tugging at the ends. What if I never see him again? What if this was the last time? He walked out of here like he was never coming back, like he could just cut me out of his life that easily.

But the thing is, I don't want him to go.

I groan, pressing my palms to my eyes. What the hell am I thinking? Wanting a man like that, a man who's destroyed more lives than I can even comprehend. A man who could easily destroy mine.

I need sleep. Maybe when I wake up, things will make sense. Maybe I'll be able to process everything that happened without feeling like my head's going to explode.

I drag myself to bed, stripping down to my underwear and sliding under the covers. The sheets feel cool against my skin, but they're not comforting. They don't hold the warmth of his touch. And I hate that I notice that.

I lie there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the images running through my head. His hands on my body, his mouth against mine, the way he growled my name when he—

Stop it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away.

But no matter what I do, they come back. His voice, low and rough in my ear, telling me I was driving him insane. The way his fingers slid inside me, the way I came apart under his touch like I'd been waiting my whole life for it.

I turn over, burying my face in the pillow, trying to push it all away.

But it's no use.

He's under my skin now in a way I can't shake. And I hate it.

Because I know that no matter what happens, no matter how much I try to tell myself it's over, this thing between us isn't finished.

Not even close.

I wake up the next morning, the events of last night crashing over me like a wave. Leo. His hands, his mouth, his warnings: " Stay out of my business ." How am I supposed to stay out when I'm already in too deep?

I shake the thought out of my head and get dressed. Black pants, white blouse. Normal. I try to act like today is just a regular day. I'm on autopilot as I shove my gun into my bag, something I've been doing ever since things started getting murky. And they've been murky for a while now.

When I walk into the precinct, Harris is waiting at my desk. Shit.

"Hey," he says, standing up straight, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual but failing miserably. "You got a minute? Maybe grab a coffee at the deli?"

I force a smile, nodding. "Sure. Why not?"

My heart pounds like a drum as we walk down the street. If anyone found out about last night, about what I've been doing, I'd be fired. Worse than that, they'd throw me in a psych ward for being involved with a guy like Leo. A psychopath. He's dangerous, and I'm playing with fire.

The deli is packed, as usual. We find a small table in the corner, and I try to calm my nerves. Just coffee. Just a chat.

Harris stirs his black coffee, then leans in, voice low. "I've been in contact with someone else in the department. Whitmore's been asking around about Miguel. I told him you've been digging into it. Find anything interesting?"

My pulse skips. I've been burying what I know, covering my tracks. And now? I can't tell him the truth.

I shake my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "No. Nothing. Still combing through the same dead ends."

Captain Harris raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push. He's about to say something else when Captain Whitmore strides into the deli, scanning the room like he's looking for someone. His eyes lock on me.

"Got a minute, Elizabeth?" His voice booms across the room. Heads turn.

I stand up, nerves prickling up my spine. Here we go.

Captain Harris stays seated, giving me a look like he's wishing me good luck as I follow the other captain outside.

"Captain?"

He doesn't waste any time. "I've got a CI. Says there's some kind of gala going down tonight. Big league players, top of the food chain. It's a charity event on paper, but we know better." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "I want you to go undercover. You're the only one I trust on this."

"Undercover? As who?"

He crosses his arms, leaning in. "One of the sponsors backed out. You're taking their place. Blonde wig, brown contacts. You'll blend right in. We'll wire you up, but I need you to get in close, see what you can pick up. These guys are sharks, Elizabeth. Something big is happening in the Mafia world, and I want you to be my eyes and ears."

My stomach twists. Leo's voice echoes in my mind.

Stay out of my business.

"Of course, Captain," I say, keeping my voice steady. I can't tell him what I know. Can't risk implicating myself. Leo's right. I should stay away. But how the hell do I do that now?

He claps me on the shoulder. "Good. Get yourself ready. You'll have a gun on you, but stay sharp. These people don't play by the rules."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'll be careful."

He walks off, leaving me standing there, the weight of the mission pressing down on me. I should be terrified. I should find a way to get out of this. But instead, all I can think about is Leo, and the way his voice sounded in my ear.

***

The sun dips below the skyline, casting a dark glow over the city as I pull up outside the Art Institute of Chicago. Of course the Mafia would throw a charity gala at one of the most prestigious venues in the city. My hands shake slightly as I smooth down the dress I'm wearing, a sleek black number that hugs my curves. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror—platinum blonde wig, dark brown contacts, red lipstick. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.

Undercover. Just blend in.

I strap the gun to my thigh, the cool metal sending a jolt of reality through me. This isn't some game. This is real. One wrong move, and I could end up in the morgue.

I walk up to the entrance, flashing the invite the captain got me. The doorman barely glances at it before ushering me in. Inside, the place is packed, men in tailored suits, women draped in designer gowns, champagne glasses clinking. But beneath the surface, there's tension. Power. Everyone in this room has blood on their hands, and they wear it like a badge of honor.

I head straight to the bar. My nerves are shot, and I need something to calm them. The bartender eyes me. I order a glass of champagne, downing it faster than I should. God, this is a mistake.

I feel a presence behind me before I even hear his voice.

"Well, well. Who do we have here?" His voice is smooth, but there's something slimy about it. I turn, forcing a smile onto my face.

The man in front of me is tall, mid-40s, with slicked-back dark hair and a suit that probably cost more than my entire apartment. His eyes rake over me, lingering on the curve of my hips, and I fight the urge to recoil.

"I don't believe we've met," I say, keeping my tone light, flirty even. Play the part, Elizabeth.

"I'm Marco," he says, flashing a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "And you, my dear, are the sexiest thing I've seen all night."

Gross.

I resist the urge to gag. "Well, Marco, you're making me blush." I laugh, trying to sound interested, trying to ignore the way his hand brushes against mine on the bar.

He leans in, the smell of expensive cologne and cheap intentions wafting off him. "What's a girl like you doing here all alone?"

"I'm not alone," I lie, swirling the champagne in my glass. "I'm here on behalf of my company. They're one of the sponsors."

"Oh?" Marco raises an eyebrow. "And what company might that be?"

"Blake Enterprises," I say, using the cover the captain gave me. It's a shell corporation, something they cooked up for cases like this. As far as anyone in this room is concerned, I'm just another rich girl trying to schmooze with the elite.

Marco's eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to place the name. But then he shrugs, his smile returning. "Interesting. Well, I'd be happy to introduce you around. Maybe give you a few pointers on how things work around here."

His hand brushes against mine again, lingering this time. I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I have to play along.

"That sounds... helpful," I say, forcing another smile.

He leans in even closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You're too good for this place. Maybe after the gala, we can get to know each other better. Somewhere more private."

Jesus.

I laugh, trying to keep it light, but inside, I'm screaming. "We'll see, Marco. We'll see."

He grins, clearly pleased with himself, and steps away to take a call. I take the opportunity to slip away, heading toward the back of the room where the real players are gathered. Marco might be sleazy, but he's small-time compared to the men who run this city.

I pass a group of men standing near the entrance to a private room, their voices low but intense. They're the ones I need to listen to.

I glance around, making sure no one's watching, and slip into the shadows, adjusting the wire under my dress. The captain's listening. He'll know if something goes wrong. But right now, it's just me, surrounded by monsters.

And the worst part? Leo's voice is still in my head.

But it's too late for that. Way too late.

I'm walking around the gala, pretending like I belong here when I see him. At first, I think I'm losing it. It can't be Leo, not here. But there's something about the way he's moving, the back of his head, the broadness of his shoulders. It makes my stomach twist, and suddenly, I find myself trailing after him, slipping through the crowd like a shadow.

I don't even realize I've started following him until I round the corner, my heels clicking quietly on the marble floor. I'm keeping my distance, but then, bam—I'm yanked back. Hard.

"What the fuck?" I spin around, and the words barely escape my lips before the scent hits me, that familiar, intoxicating scent.

Leo.

"Shh," he hisses, eyes blazing with that dangerous intensity. He looks furious, jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised he hasn't cracked his teeth.

In my ear, the captain's voice buzzes through the wire. "Elizabeth? You okay?"

Shit.

I cover quickly. "Yeah, I just... bumped into a waiter. I'm fine."

"Be careful. Call out if you need help."

"Got it." My voice is steady, but inside, I'm screaming. Leo's grip on me is like a vice, and before I can blink, he's dragging me away, his hand practically cutting off circulation in my arm.

He pulls me into a room, slamming the door shut behind us. I look around, taking in the luxurious surroundings. The room is decorated in deep reds and golds, like some kind of VIP lounge—plush velvet couches, a chandelier hanging above us, and a large mahogany table that looks expensive as hell. There's a bar in the corner, and the lighting is dim, casting shadows across the room.

Leo finally lets go, and I whirl on him. "What the fuck, Leonardo?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he pulls something out of his pocket, fiddling with it before turning back to me.

"I jammed the signal. They can't hear you now."

"Bastard," I spit, crossing my arms. Of course he did.

He's on me in a second, his hand wrapping around my throat—not tight but enough to make my breath catch. His eyes narrow, burning into mine.

"Do you have a fucking death wish? Didn't I tell you to stay the hell away?"

I meet his gaze, defiant. "I'm not here for you."

"Yeah, right." His grip tightens, just a bit, and then he releases me, taking a step back. His arms are tense, the muscles corded beneath his suit jacket. He's wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, the kind that clings to every inch of his powerful frame. His jaw is tight, ticking, and fuck, he looks good, even angry as hell.

"I swear," I say, trying to steady my voice, "I'm just here on assignment. It's about Miguel."

His brows furrow. "Dead Miguel? What do you want with him?"

"I want to know who he was working for."

He scoffs, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "Jose Herrera," he says, almost nonchalantly, like it's common knowledge. Then he steps closer again, eyes narrowing. "Now, what did you and Rossiani discuss?"

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

His gaze sharpens. "You sleeping with him?"

"Ew." The word flies out before I can stop it, and he actually chuckles. That deep, rich laugh sends a shiver down my spine—no, not a shiver. Something else. Something darker.

"What?" His voice is low, amused.

"You've got a nice laugh," I mutter, surprised by my own words.

He stares at me, and for a moment, we both just stand there, stunned by the shift in the air between us.

"Elizabeth," he groans, his voice rough and thick, and then he's on me. His mouth crashes into mine, and I'm too shocked to resist at first. His lips are demanding, his hands sliding up my body, and God, it feels like fire.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whisper against his mouth, even as my fingers curl into his shirt.

"I don't care." His voice is hoarse, filled with something desperate as his hands roam over me, squeezing, exploring. He's rough, impatient, and it's driving me insane. He pinches my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress, and I gasp, my body arching into him.

Before I can protest, he pulls my dress up, the fabric sliding up my thighs until he finds the gun strapped there. He yanks it off, tossing it onto the table with a loud clatter.

"I think I like you, Elizabeth," he says, his voice gravelly, eyes glinting with something dark. The words surprise me, throwing me off guard, but I don't even have time to process them before he spins me around, one hand gripping my waist, the other fisting the hem of my dress.

"Leo—" I gasp as he grinds against me, his cock hard and insistent through his pants.

He presses his body into mine, his other hand sliding down between my legs, cupping me through the already soaked black thong I'm wearing.

"So wet for me, detective," he growls in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I bite my lip, trying not to moan, but the sound escapes me anyway. Damn him.

His fingers push aside the fabric, sliding against my slick heat, and I feel like I'm losing control. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my mind spinning as he rubs slow, agonizing circles against my clit.

I should stop this. I need to stop this.

But I can't.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Elizabeth," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as his fingers slip inside me. I choke on a gasp, my hips bucking against his hand, and fuck, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You don't know the half of it," I manage to say, breathless, but my words sound hollow, my body betraying me as he pumps his fingers, slow and deep.

"I'm not the one who's in danger." He thrusts his fingers harder, his thumb pressing against my clit, and I moan, my hands clutching the edge of the table in front of me to steady myself.

He's driving me insane, and he knows it.

"Leo..." My voice cracks, and I can feel him smirking behind me, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck as he works me over with his hand.

"You're not leaving this room until I'm done with you," he growls, his other hand coming up to wrap around my throat again, holding me in place as he fucks me with his fingers.

My breath hitches, my body trembling on the edge, and I know I'm close. Too close.

I can't let him win, but God, it's so hard to think straight when he's doing this to me.

I feel the tension coil in my belly, tighter and tighter, until I can't hold back anymore. With a broken moan, I come undone, my body shaking as the orgasm crashes through me.

Leo doesn't stop. He keeps his hand on me, relentless, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I'm a boneless, trembling mess against him.

He finally pulls his hand away, but his grip on my waist doesn't loosen. His breath is hot against my neck, and I can feel his cock, still hard as steel, pressing into me.

"We're not done," he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down my spine. He spins me around again, his hands sliding up to cup my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks.

"I don't know why I let you get under my skin," he murmurs, his eyes burning into mine.

"Maybe you like the chase," I whisper back, still breathless.

He chuckles, but it's dark, almost sinister. "Maybe." He leans in, his lips ghosting over mine, and I can feel the tension crackling between us, heavy and electric.