JAKE

With a yawn, I pushed open the office doors, the early morning light spilling through the windows, stretching long, golden fingers across the empty desks. I took a slow sip of my espresso; the bitterness cutting through the lingering haze of sleep.

My mind was already miles away. The wedding was a week out, and my to-do list was still a mess—finalizing my best-man speech, making sure Luke's bachelor party didn't spiral into complete disaster. I wanted everything to be perfect for him and Chloe. But if I was being honest, that wasn't the only thing I was looking forward to.

It had been too long since I had seen Emma. Too long since I had heard her laugh, since I had caught her rolling her eyes at one of my jokes she secretly found funny. Her job interviews had swallowed up her time, and I told myself that was why we hadn't talked much. Told myself I understood.

But I missed her. More than I wanted to admit.

I let my thoughts drift back to the night we met, the way she had walked into my life like she belonged there, effortlessly unsettling everything I thought I knew, thought I wanted. Emma wasn't just a passing thought. She was a wildfire—fierce, untamed, impossible to contain. She burned brighter than anyone I had ever met, and being around her made the world feel sharper, more alive, like stepping into sunlight after years of cold.

And that terrified me.

Maybe I wasn't ready for something real. Maybe she wasn't either. She had confided in me once, admitting that love felt like a risk she wasn't sure she could afford. And maybe I felt the same, in my own way. But none of that changed the fact that I hated not knowing where we stood.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus on the present. I had deliberately put the Vitale case on the back burner, giving myself space to breathe, to reset. Luke's wedding was the priority, and I needed to fully be there for him. And I hoped that maybe, just maybe, when I returned to it with fresh eyes, I would see something I had missed before—something that could finally break the case open.

Setting my coffee down beside a stack of case files, I rolled my shoulders and opened my inbox, ready for the usual morning flood of reports, memos, and department updates. Most of it was routine—until one subject line made me pause.

URGENT.

I frowned, my cursor hovering over the email. There was no sender name. No details. Just that single word, glaring back at me.

A cold weight settled in my stomach.

Anonymous tips weren't uncommon, but something about this one felt... different. A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, I clicked.

The email opened. My eyes widened. My heart pounded.

Attachments filled the screen—documents, photos, surveillance footage—all tied to a single name.

Saverio Vitale.

I opened the first document, my breath hitching as I scanned through detailed financial records tying Vitale to money laundering, fraud, and offshore accounts. The next file contained grainy but unmistakable surveillance footage—Vitale, caught in meetings with known criminals.

One after another, the evidence kept coming, stacking up like a meticulously constructed case file. Someone had done their homework. Someone wanted him taken down.

I felt a jolt of adrenaline. This wasn't just another tip. This was a reckoning.

Without hesitation, I shoved back my chair and bolted from my desk, weaving through the bullpen and taking the stairs two at a time to my boss's office. Ashford was always the first to arrive, and I knew he was already there.

I didn't knock. I pushed the door open.

Michael Ashford looked up from his computer, his sharp dark eyes narrowing. His expression wasn't just one of surprise—it was a mix of both shock and curiosity. I suspected my sudden entrance wasn't the only thing causing this reaction.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Take a seat, Parker."

I dropped into the chair across from him. I could tell I wasn't the only one with news.

"Judging by your reaction," Ashford said, voice measured, "I take it you received the same email."

I raised an eyebrow. "The one about Vitale?"

He nodded.

"Yes," I confirmed. "I just went through it. It's massive."

Ashford leaned back in his chair, watching me carefully. "But let's not forget—we have no idea who sent it."

I leaned forward. "I get that it's anonymous, but the details are too precise to be fake. Whoever sent this knew exactly what they were doing."

Ashford exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping against his desk. "It could be a trap."

"I know. But we can't ignore it," I argued. "If this is legit, we finally have enough to bring Vitale down."

For a moment, he just studied me, weighing the risks. Then, with a slow sigh, he rubbed his temples.

"Alright," he said. "We move—but cautiously. I want only our most trusted agents on this. I hate to say this, but Vitale has connections everywhere, and if this leaks before we have an airtight case, we're dead in the water."

A flicker of determination burned in my chest. "I'll lead the team. We can do this, sir."

Ashford gave me a firm nod, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

As soon as I stepped out of his office, my eyes swept the bullpen. Luke was already at his desk, nursing a cup of coffee and looking half-asleep.

I dashed downstairs, grabbed my laptop, and then marched over to his desk, tapping it.

"Conference room. Now."

Luke blinked up at me, raising an eyebrow. "What's the rush?"

"We've got something big. Vitale big."

That got his attention. He abandoned his coffee without a second thought and followed me to the conference room.

I shut the door behind us, flipped open my laptop, and pulled up the email.

"This just landed in my inbox. It's huge—detailed financials, surveillance photos, direct ties between Vitale and organized crime. But we have less than 48 hours. If he catches wind of this, he's gone."

Luke ran a hand over his buzz-cut as he scanned the files. His face hardened. "Shit."

"Yeah." I exhaled. "We need to put together a team. Who do we trust?"

He didn't hesitate. "Lisa and Scott. Lisa's our best analyst, and Scott has solid street connections."

I nodded. I had worked with them for years and trusted them. Neither had any ties to Vitale—I was sure of it.

"I'm also coordinating with Liam Hunt from Violent Crimes," I added. "He's been working Declan's case and can support us from his end."

Luke's expression grew serious. "Then let's get to work."

Twenty minutes later, we were all gathered in the conference room. I briefed them quickly, distributing copies of the evidence.

Lisa flipped through the documents with laser focus, Scott leaned back in his chair, absorbing the surveillance photos, and Hunt listened, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Once I finished, I met their gazes. "This could be our only shot. If Vitale leaves JFK and gets wind of this, he could disappear for good. We work around the clock until he's in cuffs."

"What's the plan?" Scott asked.

"We go through everything—piece by piece—until we build a case so airtight that a judge won't hesitate to sign the warrant on short notice. No loose ends. No gaps. We need smoking guns—undeniable, irrefutable proof."

Luke sighed, rubbing his jaw. "And here I thought my last week as a bachelor would be a little more... relaxing."

I smirked. "Let's make sure that by the wedding, Vitale is cooling his heels in a Supermax. Otherwise, Chloe will have our heads if we screw up her big day."

The room filled with a burst of nervous laughter—a fleeting moment of levity before the storm.

And as we got down to business, the weight of the task ahead settling heavy on our shoulders, but I felt something unexpected stir in my chest.

Hope.

We were going to pull this off.

We had to.

The office became our battleground.

We ran on caffeine, adrenaline, and stolen fifteen-minute naps, the hours bleeding together as we sifted through a mountain of evidence—each piece more damning than the last.

The weight of it pressed into my shoulders, winding tension through every muscle. Failure wasn't an option. The thought of Vitale slipping through our fingers haunted me, his victims' faces flashing through my mind like ghosts demanding justice.

Every document, every surveillance photo, every transaction—we dissected it all, cross-referencing it against known associates, financial records, and past intelligence reports. Informants were questioned, timelines reconstructed, airtight connections established. We made sure there were no loopholes. No room for doubt.

By the time dawn broke on the day of Vitale's arrival, we had our case.

Ashford moved fast, contacting a federal judge he trusted, setting up an emergency meeting. There was no time to waste. Luke and I gathered our evidence, shoved it into a briefcase, and headed straight to the courthouse, sirens wailing in my head.

The judge leaned back in his chair, skepticism deepening the lines on his face.

Each second dragged, stretching into something unbearable. My palms were clammy, my heartbeat too loud in my ears.

I took a slow, measured breath, forcing my voice to remain steady as I addressed the judge. "Your Honor, if Vitale steps out of JFK, he'll vanish. We need this warrant now. Every minute we delay gives him a chance to slip away."

The judge's gaze flicked between me, Luke, and the stack of evidence before him. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with the weight of the moment.

This was it. Our only chance.

After what felt like an eternity, the judge finally looked up—his decision made. The pen scratched across the paper, the sound like a gavel striking down fate itself.

The warrant was secured.

But there was no time to celebrate. Vitale's plane was less than an hour from touching down.

Luke and I raced out of the courthouse, jumping into our car. The engine roared to life as we sped toward JFK, ready to welcome Vitale with open handcuffs.

The terminal buzzed with organized chaos—passengers weaving through the crowd, occasional flight announcements slicing through the air, and the low hum of conversation blending into a dull roar.

Our team waited near the arrival gate, positioned like a storm ready to break.

The metal gate slid open, and we held our breath as waves of travelers streamed through. Our eyes searched for one face.

And then, there he was.

Vitale moved through the crowd with the arrogance of a man who thought himself untouchable. But the second he spotted the SWAT agents closing in, his expression flickered—just for a moment.

He knew.

For a split second, I thought he might run. That he might make a break for it, slipping through the mass of travelers like smoke.

But then—hands grabbed him. Hard. His smirk vanished, replaced by pure, livid rage.

I stepped forward, my pulse quickening with each step. The airport noise seemed to fade, leaving only the focus of this moment.

When Vitale noticed me, his eyes took on the look of a caged beast.

I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile as I pushed the warrant into his face. "Saverio Vitale, you're under arrest."

Vitale's shock hardened into something venomous. His dark eyes burned with fury as he spat, "Agent Parker. This is a mistake you'll regret."

I met his glare, unfazed. "You know, threatening a federal agent is another charge we can add to your list."

He lunged at me, but the SWAT officers already had him restrained, slamming him into submission as they cuffed his hands behind his back.

I watched as he fought, snarled, seethed, but it was over.

Vitale was done.

The days after Vitale's arrest passed in a blur. His empire crumbled faster than any of us expected.

One by one, his trusted men turned on him, their fear of prison outweighing their loyalty. They sang like canaries, eager to cut deals, and suddenly, the man who once ruled the underworld with an iron grip had no one left willing to protect him.

The charges piled up—racketeering, money laundering, fraud, conspiracy to commit murder. And among the testimonies came the confirmation we needed—Vitale had orchestrated Declan's murder. Hearing it said aloud hit harder than I expected, but it also solidified one thing—justice was finally being served.

And it didn't stop there.

At Vitale's properties and safe houses, we uncovered a goldmine—stolen antiquities, priceless art, financial records, and one particular painting—Corridor in the Asylum.

It was satisfying to know we had secured restitution—that the painting would finally return to the Met, restored to its rightful place rather than stashed away in some criminal's vault.

But for me, this case wasn't over. Vitale might have been behind bars, but the real thieves were still out there. And until they were in cuffs, I wasn't ready to call it closed.

Speaking of the thieves...

I glanced across the conference room at Luke, who was slumped in his chair, looking like he had gone ten rounds in the ring with sleep deprivation. The office was empty except for us, long past quitting time, but neither of us had moved.

I broke the silence. "Who do you think sent the email?"

Luke yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Probably one of Vitale's rivals. Crossing him was suicide—had to be someone with both guts and connections to get inside his operation."

I frowned.

Luke noticed immediately. "Oh, no. You've got that look."

I hesitated. "You'll think I'm crazy."

He sighed. "I already do. Spill."

I leaned back, fingers drumming against the table. "Everything happened right after Vitale killed Declan. What if the thieves realized they weren't safe with him still out there?"

Luke blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "You're telling me that our criminals decided to take down a crime lord, break into his operation, steal his secrets, and then... gift-wrap the evidence for the FBI? Out of the goodness of their hearts?" He snorted. "You're crazy."

I shook my head, ignoring his remark. "It's too perfect, Luke. Whoever did this knew exactly what we needed."

Luke sighed, rubbing his temples. "Or maybe they just hated Vitale more than we do."

"Maybe."

But something about it still didn't sit right.

Someone had risked everything to bring Vitale down. And I needed to know why.

I finally sighed. "It's just a hunch. We'll keep looking for them. But for now—"

I pushed away from the table, stretching my aching shoulders. "We should celebrate. Vitale's going away for life."

Luke grinned, the exhaustion in his features lifting for the first time in days. "Now that's what I've been waiting to hear. Drinks?"

"Absolutely." I smirked. "And to plan a certain someone's bachelor party."

Luke groaned. "And here I thought that certain someone had been conveniently forgotten."

I scoffed. "Oh, I could never."

We both chuckled, the tension of the last few days slowly unwinding.

But even as we walked out, one thing lingered in my mind. The case against Vitale was solid.

But something told me this story wasn't over. There were more layers waiting to be uncovered.

Somewhere out there, someone still held the final piece of the puzzle. And I wouldn't rest until I found it.