When the door clattered open, he and Amelia both straightened. As Amelia blinked and rubbed her temple, Zane could only assume she’d just pulled herself out of a spiral of doubt similar to his.
SAC Keaton flicked the lock into place before she moved around her desk and dropped into her chair. “I apologize for the lack of advanced notice. For what it’s worth, I was blindsided when he reached out to this office a few days ago. I personally vetted everything he said, though, and it checks out.”
Zane kept his expression blank. “Well, we can add this to what we’ve got for the RICO case so far.”
“Right.” Jasmine propped her elbows on the desk. “I realize that the scope of this task force has gotten to be a little too much for two people to handle. You both know that I’d been planning to bring in a couple others, and I’m going to move up the timetable on that. You have a meeting scheduled with the Assistant U.S. Attorney today, don’t you? When is that?”
Sunlight caught the face of Zane’s pricey watch as he checked the time. “It’s at eleven-thirty. About four hours from now.”
“Okay. That works fine.” Jasmine’s dark eyes swept over him and Amelia. “I’ve got a meeting at noon, but I’ll stop in to make sure the U.S. Attorney’s office got everything straight. Once that paperwork goes through for Carlo Enrico, you ought to be able to go pick up that detective. When you get back here, you can start briefing Agent Kantowski on the Leóne family.”
“Straightforward.” Zane sipped his coffee. “I like straightforward.”
Even as the words left his mouth, he knew.
Nothing with the Leónes was ever straightforward.
8
Those damn Feds were useless. Carlo had gone through the trouble of hiring a new lawyer—one who wasn’t affiliated with the Leóne family—to keep his deal with the FBI a secret, but the two agents hadn’t fulfilled a single aspect of their agreement. A full twenty-four hours after he’d met with them, he was still in the general population.
As he returned his breakfast tray, he looked over the inmates seated at a cluster of stainless-steel tables. Casually scratching at the stubble on the side of his face, he took a good long look at the other inmates. None of the men on his floor were affiliated with the Leóne family, and now that he was trying to forge a deal with the Feds, the absence of a familiar face was likely for the best.
Still, Carlo had never been to prison. He’d never even been arrested before that damn Fed had chased him through the cornfield behind their warehouse.
Carlo should have been free and clear.
He’d put the barrel of a handgun to the back of the Fed’s head. He’d taken the guy by surprise. All he’d had to do was pull the trigger or knock the man unconscious.
But somehow, the Fed had turned the entire situation around on him. Though Carlo’s wrist was on the mend, a dull ache still marked the site where the bone had broken. When he thought back to how the Fed had twisted his wrist, he couldn’t help but cringe.
Gritting his teeth, Carlo pushed past the mental imagery in an effort to curb his visceral reaction.
He’d fared better than Alton or Matteo, but the comparison didn’t mean much. Matteo had blown his head off, and Alton had committed suicide by cop. Carlo had at least tried to make an escape, ducking into the maze of corn, not that it had worked.
If any part of life was fair, Matteo would have been the one locked up. If Carlo had escaped and fled to the middle of nowhere in Kansas, he wouldn’t have killed himself. Besides, Carlo had never laid a hand on any of the girls who came through the warehouse basement.
Sure, he’d stood by and collected his share of the payment when the videos were distributed to interested buyers on the dark web, but Alton and Matteo would have conducted their sick enterprise with or without Carlo’s approval. At the least, he’d made a little cash from the two men and their perversions.
Three men, he reminded himself. Maybe more, but all he could remember was the tall guy, a detective in the Chicago PD.
At the thought of the dirty cop who’d frequented the Kankakee County farm, Carlo jerked himself out of the past and looked around the cafeteria.
That detective was still on the loose, and until those worthless Feds put Carlo in a safer part of the prison, he had to stay sharp. The Leónes would see his deal with the FBI as a betrayal, but he wasn’t a rat. Carlo just needed to set the record straight.
He’d go down for the murder of that nosy reporter, sure. He’d committed that crime. Even though he didn’t want to be imprisoned for the rest of his life, under normal circumstances, he’d have kept his mouth shut and taken his chances in a courtroom.
But he’d be damned if he went down for Alton and Matteo’s kiddie porn. If the Leóne family thought otherwise, then they could go to hell.
Rubbing at the dull ache in his right wrist, he scowled at the tan line on his left ring finger. The wedding band, like any other accessory he’d worn, had been confiscated by the FBI when they booked him.
Normally, his decision to turn on the Leónes would ostracize his wife and three children from the rest of the family. But Tina was a Piliero…Leóne royalty. Tina and the kids would be fine, and as long as the Feds pulled through on their end of the bargain, Carlo would be safe too.
With another glance around the area, Carlo limped his way past a handful of empty tables. The brace he’d been wearing to hold his busted kneecap in place made it hard for him to move with any speed. But at least he could move. Lunch hour
