White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(50)

Cole shifts in his seat, and his stiff posture expresses his annoyance. “You think you’re a cop now? You’re barely on the right side of the law, Freeman. Why should I tell you shit?”

“Because you’re tired of blood being spilled on your watch. Despite being a hard-ass, you’re actually a decent cop. I want to end this, and I need your help.”

Cole tips back the chair to balance on two feet. “You want to fucking end this, and you want my help?” He swings his head from side to side. “Did I walk into the twilight zone instead of some fancy club?”

“No. But you can’t tell me you don’t want this over. You want to get the arrest and have your press conference where your boss calls you a hero, and then you have a chance to say you’re just doing your job and don’t want any recognition for something like that.”

With his eyes narrowed, Cole sits the chair back on all its legs. “You think you have me figured out, don’t you?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Then work on this—I’m not giving you a license to kill. You’re not James Bond or Batman. You want to end this shit with the Rossettis, then you turn over everything you have to me, and I’ll get with the DA and we put together a case that’s airtight and we take them down.”

I study him, weighing my next words before they come out of my mouth. “What happens if I agree to do it your way and no one goes down? What if bullets keep flying and take out someone else who matters to me? What then?”

“You know I can’t make you any promises, Freeman. That’s not how this works. So either get with the program or stop wasting my time. I got better shit to do.”

He says that, but I’m willing to put money on the fact that my offer to help is the best option he’s got.

“Did you get any surveillance photos of the car? You had to have gotten something, Cole. I know you were out there taking pictures of all of us coming and going.”

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, and that movement alone gives me all the answers I need. His statement confirms it.

“So what if I did?”

“Give me the license plate number, and I’ll dig up something decent to share with you.”

A harsh laugh escapes his lips. “Right, like I believe that shit for a minute.”

“I find the car, you go in and arrest the driver. How about that for a deal?”

Cole leans forward, his elbows on the edge of my desk, and speaks low and clear. “Car was found this morning, burned out under a bridge. It’s in the crime lab now, but I’m willing to bet my badge on the fact that there won’t be shit to find. No fingerprints. No DNA. Registration linked back to a shell corporation propped up by a bunch of dummy names.”

The dead end pisses me off, but I’m not going to show any reaction. At least now he’s sharing information with me.

“But you’ve got something else, don’t you? Another lead?”

“If I did, why would I tell you and risk getting kicked off the force?”

“Because I’m the best shot you have at ending all of this without spilling another drop of blood. You want my help, it comes with strings attached. Lots of fucking strings.”

“I don’t like strings, Freeman. If you’re serious about taking down the Rossettis without more bloodshed, then you need to drop ’em.”

“I’m not dropping shit until I know you’re on board. You want to hand an airtight case to the DA, I have all the information you need. And you’re right, I’m not fucking Batman, and I’m not going to deliver them all tied up next to a light on top of police headquarters with the bat signal, so that means you gotta walk in there and arrest them without getting killed.”

Cole kicks back in his chair, his arms crossed. “What if I don’t need you for an airtight case. What if I’ve already got someone on the inside who can give me what I need to get the DA to sign off.”

I sit up straighter, because that’s information I didn’t have before. But if Cole had everything he needed, he’d already have Giancarlo Rossetti and GTR in jail, awaiting trial. So he might have someone, but they don’t have enough information yet.

The real question, though—who the fuck do they have on the inside? I run through every man on the Rossetti roster that I can think of, and most have been in place for years. Dom and Enzo would know more about the newest guys, but I’m not involving them.

“You know you want to ask me who I’ve got,” Cole says, reading my mind.

“You’re not going to tell me, so what’s the point of wasting my breath? Now, are we doing this, Cole? Or am I handling it myself and you’re going to have to explain to your lieutenant why you’re not doing your goddamned job?”

Cole glares at me. “What’s your fucking plan, Freeman? Tell me, and then we’ll make a deal.”





34





Memphis





Hours later, a text makes my phone vibrate, and I scramble to grab it.

Not Cannon. Dammit.

I read the message from Eden saying dinner has arrived, and I’d better come get it before the guys eat everything.

I’m in the middle of reading about a grisly face-off between two mob bosses over the death of the wife of Sonny Mazzini. Mazzini, who I have to believe is Gianni Rossetti, the former head of the Rossetti family who was succeeded twenty-five years ago by his brother Giancarlo, the father of the notorious GTR.