JAKE

The SUV's tires screeched against the asphalt as I sped toward the Metropolitan Correctional Center. I had assured Declan he would be safe there, that Vitale wouldn't be able to touch him. Now that promise lay shattered, torn apart by the same shank that had pierced his heart.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles whitening as a fresh wave of anger surged through me.

Declan's face flickered in my mind like a broken projector, his hesitant trust and shaky voice as he sipped coffee during our last meeting. He had taken a leap of faith, putting his life in my hands. I had told him we would protect him.

I had lied.

Damn it all.

The prison's silhouette loomed against the dull gray skyline, its sharp lines cutting into the horizon like a grim monument. It should have stood for justice, a place of rehabilitation and order. Instead, it felt like a tombstone for failure—my failure.

I parked haphazardly, jumping out before the engine fully cut off. Warden Harris was already waiting near the entrance, his grim expression doing little to mask his unease.

"Agent Parker." He gave me a curt nod, hands clasped behind his back. "You should've spared yourself the trouble of coming all the way here. I was going to send you a full report of the incident anyway."

The incident. I shot him a steely glance, my frustration barely contained. "I told you to keep an eye on him, Warden. He was supposed to be in protective custody. Explain to me how the hell this happened."

Harris sighed, his composure cracking under my glare. "There was a fight—several inmates. It got out of control fast. Most of the COs were tied up trying to break it up, and during the chaos, someone got to Declan in the showers. He never had a chance."

"A fight?" My voice dropped, icy now. "What about the cameras?"

Harris winced, his lips pressing into a tight, grim line. "The inmates destroyed the cameras facing the shower room."

I dragged a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to unleash a string of curses. "This is a goddamn disaster," I muttered, my voice sharp with accusation. "We owed him more than this, Harris. We were supposed to keep him safe."

Harris looked like he wanted to argue, but a voice behind me cut him off.

"Parker."

I turned to see Agent Liam Hunt from the Violent Crimes Unit making his way toward us. He had just stepped out of the shower room, peeling off a pair of latex gloves.

I was relieved that Hunt was in charge of the investigation. This meant I wouldn't have to argue with another agent who would simply toss it aside and treat it like a cold case, even before looking into it. Prison leads were notoriously hard to chase—nobody talked, and everyone had something to hide—but if anyone could dig through the layers, it was Hunt.

"Hunt," I said, offering a handshake. "Glad you're here."

He shook my hand firmly. "As soon as I heard the victim was your CI, I made it a priority. Figured you'd want eyes on this."

"More than you know."

Hunt glanced over his shoulder toward the shower room. "At first glance, this looks like a typical prison altercation. But something tells me you think otherwise."

Leaning against the wall, I exhaled heavily. "You ever heard of Saverio Vitale?"

Hunt furrowed his brow, sorting through mental files. "Yeah. Person of interest in a case we worked a while back—mob hit. It got transferred to Organized Crime, but I remember there was chatter about Vitale pulling strings. Of course, one of his lackeys eventually confessed and claimed Vitale had nothing to do with it."

"That's his MO," I said. "Always someone to take the fall."

"You think he's behind this?"

"Declan worked as his fence. He was ready to testify against him, but now he's dead, and our case is hanging by a thread." I clenched my jaw, the weight of failure pressing down on me. "I promised him protection, and now all we have left are scraps."

Hunt studied me for a moment before placing a hand on my shoulder. "Don't carry the blame. This is the job. Sometimes we lose people, no matter how much we prepare. You just have to keep moving forward."

Forward felt impossible when everything was falling apart. But Hunt was right—there was no room for self-pity. If anything, it only made me more determined. I wouldn't stop until Vitale was in handcuffs, no matter what it took.

But the truth was, I was stumbling through this case with a "figure it out as we go" approach, with no clear plan in sight—just a tangle of questions that needed answers.

How had Vitale known Declan was working with us? Who tipped him off?

And the seller—where was he?

He had promised to show. What had stopped him? Did Vitale get to him, too? Or had he smelled the trap and disappeared before he walked into it?

The flow of my thoughts was broken by the crime scene workers wheeling out Declan's body in a zipped-up bag. The sight twisted something deep in my gut—a toxic mix of frustration, guilt, and anger that threatened to consume me.

"We'll piece it together, Parker," Hunt said firmly. "You work your angle; I'll work mine. Vitale's bound to slip up somewhere."

I nodded absently, watching as Declan was carried out of the building. He was gone, but his death wouldn't be in vain. Whatever it took, I would bring Vitale and everyone involved to justice.

Bringing my car to a halt, I sighed and stared at the imposing building ahead. Its gray façade and tinted windows hinted at the secrets lurking inside—a perfect front for a man who considered himself untouchable.

I knew coming here was a breach of protocol, but my gut told me I had to act. Answers wouldn't come on their own—I had to dig for them, even if it meant kicking over a few anthills to shake something loose.

Before stepping out of the car, I quickly sent a text to Luke, letting him know where I was. Just in case. I didn't care how reckless he might think I was being—that was a problem for later. Right now, there was work to be done.

Walking into the building, I flashed my badge at security, demanding access to Vitale's floor. They exchanged looks, and then one guard silently escorted me to the elevator. I figured they were no strangers to uninvited visits from law enforcement.

When the doors opened, I stepped into a polished reception area where the faint scent of expensive cologne lingered. Behind a sleek desk, a receptionist with immaculate nails barely glanced up as I approached.

"I'm here to see Mr. Vitale," I said, keeping my tone firm.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Vitale doesn't see anyone without prior notice. You'll need to schedule an appointment."

Unfazed, I slid my badge onto the desk with enough force to grab her attention. "This is official business. I need to see him. Now."

Her gaze finally lifted, meeting mine with a frosty stare. "I don't care if you're the President. Mr. Vitale doesn't like to be disturbed. You can leave your contact information, and we'll get back to you."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Listen carefully. This isn't a request. Let Vitale know that Agent Parker needs a few minutes of his time—and it's in his best interest to make that happen."

She hesitated, irritation flashing in her eyes before she reluctantly picked up the phone. A brief, tense exchange later, she hung up and said, "You can go in. He's not happy about it, though."

Oh, I bet.

Vitale's office was as ostentatious as I had expected—mahogany furniture with intricate carvings dominated the space, and the faint scent of aged leather lingered in the air. The walls boasted vintage paintings and antique sculptures, each a silent boast of his ill-gotten fortune.

Saverio Vitale sat behind a massive desk, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly combed, his tailored suit exuding wealth. But it was his eyes that held my attention—piercing and unrelenting, like the eyes of a predator guarding its domain.

A smug smirk tugged at his lips as he greeted me with a curt nod. "Agent Parker, what brings the FBI to my humble workplace this time?"

Ignoring his bait, I settled into the chair opposite him. "I must say," I began, letting my gaze sweep over the opulent surroundings. "Quite the setup you have here. It speaks volumes about your appreciation for... the finer things in life."

Vitale's smirk widened, his fingers toying with a crystal paperweight. "I believe in surrounding myself with beauty. Art, like business, is about acquisition and appreciation."

I smirked. "Speaking of acquisition, I hear you're quite the art enthusiast. Rumor has it you've recently acquired a rather notable piece."

Vitale's eyes flickered briefly, a subtle reaction that didn't escape my notice.

"I invest in many things, Agent," he said smoothly. "Art happens to be one of my passions."

"A passion that occasionally includes acquiring paintings of... questionable origin, perhaps?" I replied, my tone calm but pointed.

He chuckled, lifting a glass of whiskey and swirling it. "You've got quite the imagination. Accusing a man of my stature without proof can be a dangerous game."

"Oh, I'm not here to play games, Vitale. We both know you're neck-deep in all sorts of illegal activities—money laundering, trafficking, maybe even murder."

Vitale set his glass down with a thud, his gaze sharpening. "Agent Parker, I'm a legitimate businessman. Your theories are amusing, but without evidence, they're just that—theories."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Maybe you'd feel differently if this place were subject to a thorough search. But I'm not here for that, not yet."

Vitale's gaze hardened. "Then why are you here, Agent? Fishing for clues? Trying to intimidate me? I suggest you tread carefully."

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a low, even tone. "I don't make threats, Vitale. I make promises," I replied, holding his gaze. "But I'm here today, because there's one nagging question I can't seem to shake, and I thought you might be able to clear it up for me."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"We captured one of your associates—someone ready to talk, ready to expose the real you. But then, fate intervened. He was killed. Convenient timing for you, wouldn't you say?"

Vitale's eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, I caught the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was all the confirmation I needed—there was no doubt he was behind Declan's death.

"So, let me get this straight. You've got nothing but the word of a dead criminal." He scoffed. "And here I thought the FBI prided itself on being more... professional."

He chuckled, low and mocking, before lifting his whiskey glass and swirling it once more. "Agent Parker, as much as I enjoy a good work of fiction, you've wasted enough of my time. Next time you come waltzing in here, you'd better have a warrant. I don't entertain fishing expeditions, especially from the likes of you."

I stood, holding his gaze as I delivered one last parting shot. "Enjoy your day, Vitale. But remember, the truth has a way of catching up to everyone—even those who think they're untouchable. I'll be seeing you."

I let the weight of my words hang in the air, an unspoken promise. Then, without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked out, his office door closing behind me with a resounding thud.

When the elevator door slid open, I cautiously stepped out into the bustling office. As I made my way to my desk, I felt the unmistakable burn of a gaze.

I glanced up to see Special Agent Michael Ashford, my boss, watching me from his office. His stern expression sent a jolt through my stomach.

He knows.

Before I could collect myself, Ashford stepped out of his office, his presence commanding as always. Without a word, he motioned for me to join him with a slight tilt of his head before retreating back inside.

Swallowing hard, I walked up the short flight of stairs to Ashford's office, each step feeling like a reluctant march to the guillotine.

I had always prided myself on being a by-the-book agent. The rules were my assurance that no one could question my methods or my integrity. But today, I had thrown the rulebook out the window, and the absence of that structure left me feeling exposed, unarmored.

Damn this case and what it was doing to me.

Reaching the door, I paused, inhaling deeply to steady myself before pushing it open and stepping inside.

Ashford didn't wait for me to sit, regarding me with a steely gaze. "What were you thinking, Parker? Going to meet Vitale without any hard evidence linking him to the case? Do you realize he can file a harassment complaint against you? And if that happens, I'll have no choice but to pull you off this investigation."

I clenched my jaw, knowing he was right. I couldn't even justify why I had gone to see Vitale. Did I think he would just crack under pressure? Confess everything to me because I stared him down?

"I know what I did was wrong, sir," I began, choosing my words carefully, "but I thought... maybe I could shake something loose. Startle him into making a mistake."

"You thought?" Ashford's voice was razor-sharp. "I didn't realize the FBI was running on hunches now. Vitale is a damn mastermind, Parker. A simple confrontation won't rattle him. If we want to take him down, we need evidence—solid, irrefutable evidence."

"Well, sitting back hasn't exactly gotten us results, has it?" I shot back, meeting his glare head-on as the anger that had accompanied me all morning threatened to return in full force. "Declan was our best lead, and now he's dead. I had to take the risk—do something, instead of waiting for shadows to turn into proof."

Ashford leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "This isn't a one-man show, Parker. Tossing protocol out the window because you're frustrated doesn't solve anything—it only creates more problems."

He exhaled heavily, running a hand across his face. "Jake, you're one of my best agents, but this case has gotten under your skin. You're losing your focus, and when that happens, mistakes follow. It's time to step back, take a breath, and reassess. Rules exist for a reason—you can't let your emotions dictate your decisions."

His words struck harder than I wanted to admit, slicing through my defenses. He wasn't wrong. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again."

"Good," Ashford said, leaning back in his chair, the tension in his voice easing slightly. "We're dealing with calculated and dangerous people here, Parker. Recklessness isn't how we win—strategy is. Take some time to clear your head. We'll regroup and tackle this with a smarter approach—no more lone wolf stunts."

I nodded, the weight of his disappointment sitting heavy on my shoulders as I left his office. Each step back to my desk felt like a walk of shame.

When I reached my desk, Luke was already there, his expression equal parts concerned and exasperated. "First off, I'm not going to apologize," he began, though his tone suggested otherwise. "What you did was reckless, Jake. I had no choice but to tell Ashford. I was giving you thirty extra minutes, and if you hadn't come back, I was ready to call for backup myself."

I sighed, slumping into my chair. I decided to cut him some slack because I knew I was the one who messed up. Plus, I had a feeling that he would inform Ashford before I even sent him the message. His military background drilled into him the importance of following the rules and respecting the chain of command, and defying that wasn't in his nature.

"I'm not mad, Luke. I know you did the right thing."

Relief flickered across his face as he pulled up a chair across from me. "How much trouble are you in?"

"Well," I admitted, "I'm skating on thin ice with Ashford, but officially? I'm off the hook. He just told me to step back and figure out how to dig myself out of this mess."

Luke nodded knowingly. "Well, he's right. This case is eating you alive. You look like hell, man."

He wasn't wrong. I didn't just feel like hell—I was living it.

"You need to loosen up," Luke continued, leaning back in his chair. "I can't have my best man looking like a zombie at the wedding. By the way, have you figured out who you're bringing as your plus one?"

I could tell Luke was trying to steer the conversation toward a lighter topic, probably in an attempt to lift my spirits, but it only threw me further into the mess swirling in my head.

"You haven't," he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

I shot him a look, but it lacked any real bite.

"What about the girl you've been seeing? Last time we talked, you were practically glowing when you said her name."

"We're not seeing each other," I corrected. "We're just friends."

"Sure, and I'm the Pope." Luke's smirk widened. "Seriously, though, ask her soon, or Chloe's going to set you up with one of her friends. Trust me, you don't want that."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You do that, and I'll cancel all the reservations I made for your bachelor party."

His eyes lit up with curiosity. "Wait—what reservations?"

I smirked slightly, leaning back in my chair. "Guess you'll never know."

"Damn it, Parker," he muttered, standing. "Fine. But I warned you—sort it out before Chloe intervenes."

As he walked back to his desk, I let out a long, exhausted sigh, sinking further into my chair. The tension in my shoulders eased just a fraction, but my mind refused to follow suit. My thoughts had become an overstuffed file, impossible to organize. Declan's death, the damn smirk I wanted to wipe off Vitale's face, Ashford's sharp words—all of it crowding the edges. And somewhere in the middle of it all, there was Emma.

I had been planning to ask her to the wedding. The idea had seemed so simple a few weeks ago. Now, it felt like navigating a minefield.

Every time I thought about her, I found myself questioning what we were. Friends? Something more? And every time, the ambiguity gnawed at me, pulling me deeper into the chaos.

But even in the mess of it all, the thought of her always stood out. Her laughter could fill a room, light and warm, cutting through the heaviness like sunlight breaking through clouds. There was the way her gaze seemed to catch mine and hold it, sparking something that felt both comforting and electric. And her scent—soft, warm vanilla—lingered in my memory, as vivid as if she were sitting beside me now.

I didn't know what we were. I wasn't sure if I had the courage to ask yet. But one thing was certain—I wanted her there. By my side. At the wedding. In the midst of all this chaos, I wanted her to be the one constant.