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A knock at the door breaks our stare down. Considering the lack of a phone call warning me I have a visitor, I suspect I know who is on the other side of the door. Today might mark my receptionist’s last day working for me for her lapse.
“When did Roberts die?” I ask, counting the seconds I have left.
Trevor returns his attention to his phone. “The police found his body this morning after receiving an anonymous tip.”
“Get my lawyer and the police chief. I want them to meet me at the precinct.” I turn to Ethan who has been silently standing in the corner. “You know what to do.”
He acknowledges me with a nod. In turn, I motion Trevor toward the door.
As soon as a gap appears, two men in ill-fitting bargain suits barge in with their badges raised.
“Mayor DeLuca, I’m Detective Glass and this is my partner, Detective Da Silva. We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Councilman Roberts.” Glass touches the cuffs at his waist while Da Silva rests his hand on his side arm.
I eye the two lawmen, memorizing their faces. “Lead the way.” I won’t easily forget their intimidation tactics.
Glass’s eyebrows rise before he wipes his reaction from his face. Da Silva’s mouth drops open and his brows wrinkle. It takes all my years of being in the public eye to keep my face neutral and not smirk at their surprised expressions. People in similar positions of power probably throw their weight around. I’ve never been so open. I’m still a DeLuca, more comfortable working in the shadows where no one is aware.
My easygoing response has thrown the officers and it takes Glass a few seconds to remember himself. He shakes his head and retrieves the cuffs at his side.
“Does a conversation require jewelry?” I keep my tone mild though anger boils inside me.
The two detectives glance at each other as if having a silent debate. When it looks like Glass won’t complete the process he started, Da Silva handcuffs my hands behind me.
They lead me through the building and out into a swarm of journalists shouting questions at me regarding Councilman Roberts. Every eye and inquiry feeds the beast I have caged inside me.
At the precinct, the chief, Chad, greets us by asking his men, “Did he give you any problems?”
I stifle the urge to head butt him until I’ve broken more than his nose and loosened a few of his teeth. In the end, I’m glad he’s chosen to show me whose side he’s on.
“Nah, he came sweet as a lamb,” Da Silva says.
Chad turns to me. “Valentino, answer all the detectives’ questions and everything will be fine. It wouldn’t look too great to the people of Douglas to see you being uncooperative.”
I shrug, keeping my real emotions buried. “Neither does leading me in front of a press pool in handcuffs.”
“That was unfortunate. My men were overzealous, but once you’ve cleared things up for us, they’ll realize if errors were made.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks away.
Glass and Da Silva lead me to a door beside the one the chief enters. “Mr. DeLuca,” Glass begins without my title, a very clear indication for how the rest of this conversation will go. “Where were you between the hours of midnight and four this morning?”
Da Silva releases the cuffs and presses me not so gently onto a steel chair. Cold metal seeps into my slacks while the air conditioner hums happily, filling the room with even more icy air than is necessary.
“I’ll wait for my lawyer to speak for me, thank you.”
“Come on, now, Mayor. If you have nothing to hide, just tell us where you were.” Da Silva rounds the table and sits next to his partner who is riffling through a file thick with paper.
“I appreciate you looking out for my best interests, but I will have to rely on my lawyer’s advice in this instance.”
Back and forth, we go through this dance where they try to get me to say something. They must have forgotten that I’m a DeLuca. My lawyer isn’t the only one who taught me that silence is golden. So did every made man under the DeLuca organization.
Around the seventh time they begin their questioning, my lawyer, Paris, arrives. “Apologies for the delayed arrival. No one seemed to know which precinct you were being held.”
I acknowledge her arrival and apology with a nod. Their games are to be expected and they don’t faze me. I’ve planned for this ever since Sansone tipped me off.
“What is the meaning of this miscarriage of justice?” she demands as soon as she sets down her briefcase.
Although Glass, with his grizzled hair and scruffy jaw, is old enough to be her father, he leers at her. Da Silva dismisses her immediately, tucking a toothpick into his mouth. I love when people underestimate Paris. It makes holding their balls in a vise more rewarding.
“I don’t know about any miscarriage happening. I’m here because an eyewitness places our revered mayor somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, and Mr. DeLuca refuses to disclose his location.” Da Silva tongues the toothpick, making the sliver of wood bob up and down.
