Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 15 - Elizabeth

I read the note again, my heart racing, eyes darting around the room. But he's long gone. The bastard.

"I prefer your green eyes, baby."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is this some kind of game to him? I shove the note into my purse, careful not to draw any attention to myself. No one can know. Not here, not now. I take a deep breath, force a smile as I weave through the crowd. I'm supposed to be at this charity event working, and yet…

My gut is in knots. I catch a glimpse of Marco Rossiani across the room, his smug face half-hidden behind a glass of whiskey, oblivious to the fact that I now know his identity.

Fuck!

I can't believe I now know the identity of the Phantom and his biggest rival, and somehow, I can't even tell my boss about it.

Damn it. How the hell did I get myself into this?

I slip out of the building, heart pounding in my ears. The air outside is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning in my chest. The car's parked where it should be, the black SUV blending into the shadows. Captain Harris is waiting by the driver's side, arms crossed, looking like he's been waiting a while. Captain Whitmore is in the passenger seat, eyes narrowing as soon as he sees me.

I square my shoulders, taking one last deep breath before walking over.

"What happened?" Harris asks, voice low but sharp.

I pull my phone from my purse, waving it in the air. "Lost signal inside. I'm not sure why."

Whitmore leans forward, his eyes scrutinizing me, as if searching for any cracks in my story. "What'd you get?"

This is the moment. The lie falls from my lips before I can think twice. "I overheard some stuff. Rossiani's people mentioned a location. Jose Herrera's base. I think it's somewhere in the hills, outside the city. I can give you details." I pause, adding some hesitation for effect. "But it's vague."

Harris's face shifts, something like pride softening his usual stern expression. "Good work, Kane. You've done well tonight."

I manage a smile, but it feels fake, hollow. If they knew what I knew, if they even had a clue…

"Go home, get some rest," Harris says. "We'll arrange a team to hit Jose's place. See what we can recover."

"Right," I say, voice tight. "Thanks."

They're all so damn proud of me. I'm playing my part perfectly, the good little undercover agent. But inside, I feel like I'm splitting in two.

I nod to them and walk away, my legs on autopilot as I head toward my car. I'm free for the night. Free to go home. But all I want to do is scream.

Why the hell can't I get him out of my head?

I climb into my car, slam the door shut, and lean my forehead against the steering wheel. Leonardo. His name flashes in my mind, and it's like a punch to the gut. Fuck.

I shouldn't be thinking about him, not like this, not with the job I have to do. But I can still feel his hands on my skin, the way he took me, the roughness, the hunger. My body aches from the way he used me, every muscle screaming in soreness. But… even thinking about it has me wet again.

Damn it, Elizabeth.

I slam my fist on the steering wheel, angry at myself for being this weak, for letting myself get so fucking entangled with him. I wasn't supposed to fall this deep. This was supposed to be a job. Just a job. Gather intel, take down the bastards, and walk away.

But here I am, soaked just thinking about how he fucked me.

I drive home in silence as I try to focus on anything but him. But he's there, in every corner of my mind, refusing to leave—the way he looked at me like I was his, the way he fucked me like I belonged to him.

I hate it. I hate how much I want him.

When I finally get home, I'm more confused than ever. I throw my keys on the counter, peel off my dress, and step into the shower. The hot water scalds my skin, but it doesn't wash away the mess of thoughts swirling in my head. I can still feel him, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. It's like I'm branded by him, and no matter how much I scrub, I can't erase it.

"What is it about you, Leonardo?" I mutter under my breath, pressing my palms against the shower wall, water streaming down my back. "What the fuck have you done to me?"

The worst part? I'm not even sure I want to get rid of it. I know I should. I know I should walk away from him, from this whole damn mess. But I can't. I'm too far gone.

I dry off, wrap myself in a towel, and crawl into bed, my mind still buzzing. The sheets are cool against my skin, but they do nothing to calm the fire burning inside me. I roll over, pulling the blankets up to my chin, staring at the ceiling.

I can't stop thinking about him.

His eyes, the way they burned into mine like he could see straight through me, the way his hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him like I was his lifeline, the way he growled my name when he came.

I squeeze my thighs together, a low curse slipping from my lips. My body is betraying me.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to let him get under my skin like this. But here I am, soaked and aching for a man I shouldn't even trust, for a man who's on the opposite side of everything I stand for.

I flip onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. "Fuck!" The muffled word is harsh against the soft fabric, but it does nothing to quiet the storm raging inside me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? How do I separate what's real from what's just… this fucked up game we're playing?

I lie there for what feels like hours, my mind spinning, my body restless. Sleep doesn't come easy, not when I know I'll see him again, not when I know the next time I do, I won't be able to stop myself from wanting him.

***

My phone rings.

I glance at the screen, and it's Harris. It's also 4 a.m.

What the hell could he want at this hour?

I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck, and swipe to answer.

"Captain Harris?"

"Open the door," he says, voice rough, like he's been through hell and back.

I freeze. "What?"

"Now, Kane. Open the door."

Without another word, I throw the blankets off and pad barefoot across the floor, heart racing, mind blank. I reach the door and open it slowly. Harris is standing there, looking like he's aged ten years in the last ten minutes. His face is pale, eyes dark with something I can't quite place. Dread? Guilt? It's bad—whatever this is, it's bad.

"What happened?" I ask, barely able to get the words out.

He exhales, a deep, ragged breath, and then he looks me dead in the eye. "Whitmore… he's dead."

The words slam into me like a truck. Dead. Whitmore's dead.

"Shit," I whisper. "What… what the fuck happened?"

Harris rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of the world. "It happened just after he left. His car was sprayed with bullets at the intersection before he even got home."

I can't speak. My throat feels tight, like someone's squeezing the life out of me. Whitmore was alive, just hours ago, and now…

"How?" I finally manage to choke out. "Do we know who did it?"

Harris shakes his head, frustration and sadness mixing on his face. "Not yet. But if I had to guess… it's gotta be tied to Whitmore looking into Miguel. He'd been digging too deep."

Miguel. Jesus!

I blink back the sting in my eyes, but Harris is wrecked. I know Whitmore meant a lot to him. They were rookies together, partners, brothers in all but blood. And now his friend's dead because of this mess.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, and for a moment, Harris doesn't respond. He just stares at the ground like he's seeing something far away.

"He was a good man," Harris mutters under his breath, voice thick. Then he clears his throat, forcing himself to snap back to the present. "Listen, I've got a police car stationed outside your house for the night. I don't want you alone in case something happens."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

"Take the next two weeks off, Kane. You've been through enough tonight, and I need time to get more information. It's… it's getting dangerous. You need to be careful."

Careful. What does that even mean anymore? There's nothing careful about this life, about the games we play.

I nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, I'll… I'll be careful."

Harris studies me for a second longer, like he wants to say more, but then he just nods. "Get some rest. We'll figure this out. And don't do anything stupid."

The second he's gone, I slam the door shut and stumble to the bathroom. My stomach lurches, and I barely make it to the toilet before I'm throwing up everything I had earlier.

What the fuck just happened? I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Whitmore's dead. Leonardo had to know. He had to. He was always two steps ahead, always calculating, always fucking watching. Did he find out Whitmore was working with me? Did he have him killed, just like he had Miguel taken out?

My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide, like I've seen a ghost. In a way, I have. I've seen the ghost of the man I thought I could handle, the ghost of the man who's been fucking with me and using me this entire time.

I knew better. I knew who he was. And I still let him in. I let him get close. I should've told Harris everything that first night, the minute Leonardo started weaving his web around me. But I didn't. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could use him the way he was using me.

Stupid.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping it'll snap me out of the mess I've gotten myself into. But all I can think about is Leonardo. That smug smile. Those hands. The way he made me feel like I was his.

I hate myself for wanting him. I hate that I let him under my skin, that I let him fuck with my head like this. I should've never gotten involved. I should've stayed away.

But I didn't.

I slap the sink, the sharp sting jolting me back to reality. "Get a grip, Elizabeth."

I can't fall apart now, not when Whitmore's dead, not when Harris is watching, waiting for me to slip up. I've got to play this smart. I've got to figure out what Leonardo's really after, before he takes me down with him.

***

There's no sleep for me. Two hours, maybe, of staring at the ceiling, replaying Whitmore's death over and over in my head. My mind won't stop racing, going in every direction except where it needs to go.

At 6, there's a knock on my door. I sit up, my heart leaping into my throat. I force myself to look through the peephole, expecting to see the cop Harris said would be stationed outside. Instead, I see a policeman's uniform, standing too close to my door for comfort.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath, unlocking it with shaky hands. I pull the door open, and when he looks up, I freeze.

Leonardo.

Oh fuck, no.

Before I can react, he shoves the door wide open and pushes me inside, slamming it shut behind him. We collide, and I'm instantly wrestling against him. I shove at his chest, twist my body, but he's too strong, his hands too quick. He pins me down to the floor, one knee pressing into my thigh, his face inches from mine.

"Get the hell off me!" I snap, struggling beneath him. "You're insane. What the hell are you doing here in a cop uniform, you freak?"

He smirks, his grip tightening on my wrists. "I've been up almost all night watching you."

I stop fighting for a second, just staring at him. "You're… you're fucking crazy," I gasp, shaking my head. "Why would you come here? To kill me? Is that it?"

Leonardo's eyes widen for a brief moment, like I've genuinely surprised him. "No. No, I didn't come here to kill you, Elizabeth." His voice lowers, sounding almost… sincere. "I came here to keep you safe."

I don't know whether to laugh or scream at him. "Safe? You? You're the reason I'm in this mess! You—"

"Jesus, calm down," he snaps, finally letting my wrists go. He sits back, running a hand through his hair, still hovering over me. "I didn't kill Whitmore."

"I don't believe you." My voice is low, harsh, and I can see it hits him.

"I promised you, I'm not killing anyone." He says it quietly, but there's something in his voice that catches me off guard. It's not the usual cocky, smug tone. This is different. He almost sounds... tired.

I don't say anything. I just keep staring at him, trying to process the fact that he's in my house, in a fucking police uniform after Whitmore was gunned down.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "This was Marco's doing. It had to be. Marco must've found out Whitmore was looking into Miguel, and that thread leads right back to him."

I sit up slowly, rubbing my wrists. "You really didn't kill him?" My voice is softer now, though I don't know why.

Leonardo looks me dead in the eyes. "Why the hell would I kill him, Elizabeth? What would I get from that?"

I don't answer. I just stare at him, feeling something strange twist in my chest. Guilt? For accusing a killer of murder? Jesus Christ, what's wrong with me?

I start laughing, hysterical, uncontrollable laughter bubbling up from my throat. Leonardo's eyes narrow as he watches me.

"Are you losing your damn mind?" he asks, frowning.

"Maybe." I stand, still laughing like a maniac, and hold my hand out to him. "Come on, get up."

He raises an eyebrow but takes my hand, letting me pull him to his feet. Once he's standing, I take a step back, shaking my head.

"You seriously stayed up all night, watching me?"

Leonardo's smirk returns, that familiar glint in his eyes. "Yeah. What can I say? You're captivating."

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. "Do you want coffee or something, since you're clearly not leaving?"

He nods and follows me into the kitchen. I start setting up the coffee machine, my hands moving automatically even though my mind is still racing. As I fumble with the filter, he suddenly steps behind me and grabs my wrist gently. I turn to face him, his body warm and close, way too close.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice low, serious now. "You're shaking."

I bite my lip. "I'm... I'm a little scared."

"I won't let anything happen to you," he says, his fingers brushing my cheek. "You know that, right?"

And damn it, I believe him. I hate that I believe him, but I do.

I fiddle with the button on his uniform, trying to distract myself. "Where the hell did you even get this uniform?"

He grins. "You don't wanna know."

I raise an eyebrow. "You should take it off."

He chuckles, that smug look back on his face. "You don't have to use excuses to get me naked, Elizabeth."

Before I can respond, he starts unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time, taking his sweet time as I stand there, completely mesmerized. He tosses the outfit aside, leaving him in just his black boxers, his body all hard muscle, lean and perfect.

God, he's so fucking handsome.

"You're staring," he teases, crossing his arms, making his biceps flex.

"I know," I mutter, swallowing hard.

He laughs, turning and opening my fridge, like he's completely oblivious to the fact that I'm practically drooling over him. He pulls out some sausages and looks at me. "Where's your pan?"

I blink. "What?"

"Pan," he says again, waving the sausages. "To cook breakfast."

I have no idea what's happening right now. "You… you're gonna cook?"

"Yeah, why not?" He shrugs, already rummaging through my cabinets like he owns the place. He finds a pan, tosses it on the stove, and starts cooking, just like that.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, leaning against the counter, watching him. "Harris will freak if he finds out."

Leonardo doesn't look up. "I'll leave in a minute."

He flips the sausages with a casual ease that makes my head spin. Who the hell breaks into someone's house and then cooks breakfast?

Suddenly, he turns and drags me close, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into him. Before I can even protest, his lips crash into mine, hard and demanding.

And I don't pull away.

I melt into him, my hands gripping his shoulders, his skin warm and smooth under my fingertips. His mouth is hungry, devouring me like he can't get enough, like I'm the only thing that matters in this moment. His tongue tangles with mine, the taste of him overwhelming, intoxicating.

When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless, my head spinning.

"I'll go," he says, his voice rough, his forehead resting against mine.

I grab on to his arm before he can move. "Stay," I whisper, surprising even myself with the word.