But you know what pisses me off the most?
Not just that the plan failed, but that it failed in the one way that mattered to me. Sun didn’t heal me. That little shit, Moon, was wrong.
It looks like Sun wasn’t the answer after all. And I fell for the promise of it. Like an idiot. Trusted that little traitor. Wherever he is now, I hope his life’s miserable. That’s what you get for relying on all those so-called supernatural gifts. People won’t shut up about them in our world, but funny how none of those gifted freaks ever end up working for law enforcement.
You know why? Because you simply can’t trust those bastards. Everybody knows it. But me? I had to learn the hard way.
An FBI agent walks me out of the interrogation room.
It’s not just cuffs around my wrists, they’ve got shackles on my ankles too. Like they’re scared I might somehow pull off a jailbreak. Not taking any chances, apparently.
The fed’s an omega, quite tall and jacked, and clearly feeling himself. As he leads me down the hall, he’s not exactly gentle, giving me little shoves at the corners like I’m some busted shopping cart. His smug-ass face radiates self-satisfaction, bordering on straight-up arrogance.
I shoot him a sideways glare.
"Preening much? You fuckers think you’ve got me, huh? Newsflash, this shit ain’t over." I only say it to wipe that fucking grin off his face. Deep down, I know I’m screwed.
He lets out a barking cackle. The dumbass can’t even keep it together. He's practically dripping with contentment.
"Shut your damn trap, Ferro. We’ve never had a case like this before, and I don’t think I’m breaking protocol by saying you really pissed your little crime fam off. If you thinkoneperson dropped dirt on you, think again."
My jaw clenches. I force myself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crack.
But the fucker clearly notices, because he snorts and chortles even harder. The prick’s enjoying this so much he’s forgetting he’s supposed to be a professional.
He leans in a little, eyes gleaming.
"A few people. At the same fucking time. Independently! Damn, you must’ve been so loved. Maybe you should sign up for a prison course, something like‘How to Inspire Loyalty in Your Crew.’Sounds like you could use it."
And he wheezes out another smug little titter like a complete moron.
Furious, disgusted, I don’t say shit. I keep walking, but inside I’m boiling. Fucking traitors.
Okay, fine, maybe planting explosive spinal implants in them with a bonus electro-shock function wasn’t exactly the path to deep emotional trust, buta few? Really? I swear to Fate, I’m cutting those scumbags out of my will.
But then it dawns on me. If I don’t know exactly who did it, my lawyers might hit a wall.
And hell, my nephews are not the only suspects. Vincenzo, Giovanni, and Enrico? They’ve been secretly pissed at me ever since I dwindled their branch’s share of the Ferro family business. Could be them too.
Seething with cold rage, I follow the chuckling bastard down the hall.
We walk down a long hallway toward the temporary holding block. But first, we stop at a control desk. The agent leans in, whispers something to the officer on duty. I can’t hear it, but I do catch the officer’s reply loud and clear:
"Cell S11."
"That’s not a single, is it?" the agent asks, double-checking.
The officer narrows his eyes slightly.
"We’ve got twenty-six of the Ferros’ guys in custody. I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t conjure up singles for everyone."
I smirk. The agent looks visibly annoyed, maybe even irritated. Was your perfect day ruined? Bastard.
The fed probably thinks the officer’s in my pocket, maybe even believes he’s placing someone in there to help me out or pass a message.
"He really should be in a single. This is Anzo fucking Ferro," the agent snaps, once again losing all pretense of professionalism. His jaw clenches.
They caught a capo, and they don’t have a damn single cell for me. I almost want to cackle like he did before.
