Chapter 9

A SLIPPERY THREAD

Pov: Detective Diane Davis

There are two kinds of criminals in this city. The ones who hide in the shadows and the ones who flaunt their power in broad daylight like the sun shines for them alone. Carmela Carlo? She was the second kind.

I'd been tracking the Carlo family for years—long before Carmela took the reins. Back when Vincenzo Carlo ruled Little Bellavista with an iron fist and a sly smile. But now? Now the reins were in his daughter’s hands, and she wasn’t playing by any rules I recognized. She was quieter, sharper. Every move calculated, like a chess player who's already ten steps ahead

And then Xavier Brooks showed up out of nowhere.

A nobody. A chef. A man with no criminal record, no past ties to the mafia. But he’d walked straight into the lioness’s den, and he hadn’t walked back out.

I sat at my desk in the precinct, a black-and-white surveillance photo spread out in front of me. It was grainy, taken from a street camera near the Carlo estate. But there he was—Xavier Brooks, standing at the front gate, talking to Gino, one of Carmela’s men.

I narrowed my eyes at the image. What the hell was a chef doing mixed up with the most dangerous woman in the city?

“Still stalking the chef, huh?”

I looked up. Detective Carl Ramirez stood at my door, a cup of coffee in each hand. He tossed one my way, and I caught it mid-air.

“I’m not stalking,” I replied, sipping. “I’m investigating.”

Ramirez chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re obsessed. Admit it.”

I didn’t answer. I just turned the photo around and tapped Xavier’s face.

“He’s not clean,” I said. “He’s involved. I can feel it.”

“Feelings don’t hold up in court,” Ramirez said, but his voice wasn’t mocking. Just cautious. “You’ve been after the Carlos for years, Diane. Don’t let this guy be your excuse to kick down a door without backup.”

“I’m not kicking down anything,” I said, standing. “I’m going to have a conversation.”

I found Xavier the next afternoon at the hospital. St. Bridget’s was tucked between two aging brownstones on the east side—modest, a little run-down, but clean. I’d done my research. His mother, Amanda Brooks, was in room 509. Terminal cancer, aggressive. The kind of illness that squeezed every cent out of a family and left them gasping.

He wasn’t at her bedside, though. He was on the rooftop, pacing with a phone in his hand, the city stretching behind him like a painting. I watched him through the half-open stairwell door. His voice was low, agitated, but I couldn’t hear the words. When he finally hung up, he leaned on the railing, staring into the distance like he could lose himself in the skyline.

I stepped out slowly.

“Mr. Brooks.”

He turned, startled. His eyes scanned me, trying to place the face. I didn’t give him time.

“Detective Diane Davis,” I said, flashing my badge. “Mind if I borrow a few minutes?”

His shoulders tensed. “What’s this about?”

I kept my tone light. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at the Carlo estate. Just wanted to ask a few questions.”

He frowned. “I’m her chef. That’s it.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I asked, tilting my head. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re getting awfully cozy with a family under federal investigation.”

“I cook,” he snapped, defensive. “That’s all. I cook for her, and she pays me. End of story.”

I took a step closer. “She pays you enough to cover your mother’s medical bills?”

That hit the nerve I expected. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Back off,” he said quietly.

I wasn’t backing off. I couldn’t afford to.

“Look, Xavier,” I said, softening just slightly. “I know you’re not one of them. You’ve got no record. You didn’t grow up in this world. You’re not like Carmela or the animals she runs with.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t walk away either

“You’re in over your head,” I continued. “And when this all goes down—and it will go down—I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

Still nothing. He just stared at me, his eyes unreadable.

“I’m giving you a chance,” I said. “Help me build a case. Give me something I can use, and I’ll make sure you walk away clean. You help me, and I’ll help you. I’ll even put in a word with the state medical board—see if we can get some financial support for your mom’s care.”

He laughed once. Dry. Bitter. “You think I’m that easy?”

“I think you’re desperate,” I said, not unkindly. “And I think you know Carmela isn’t going to save you in the end.”

He turned his back to me, his fingers gripping the rooftop railing. For a moment, I thought he might throw something. But he just stood there, breathing hard.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

I left him on the rooftop, but I didn’t walk away feeling victorious. Something about the way he stood there, shoulders hunched, eyes empty—it didn’t feel like a man who was making a decision. It felt like a man who already knew he was trapped.

Later That Night – Precinct Office

I sat alone, combing through files under dim desk light. The Carlo family tree was a twisted nightmare of dead cousins, missing accountants, and crooked politicians. Carmela had inherited an empire rotting from the inside, but instead of letting it fall apart, she’d polished the exterior and started recruiting new players—people like Xavier. Clean, skilled, useful.

I stared at his file again. His résumé was impressive. Trained in Paris. Worked with elite chefs in New York and Chicago. A rising star who somehow ended up back in the Bronx, scraping together gigs to stay afloat.

And then his mother got sick. Pancreatic cancer. Stage IV. One of the most expensive and aggressive cancers to treat.

Carmela had picked her target well.

“Goddammit,” I muttered, flipping the file closed.

There were good people in this city. People who didn’t deserve to be sucked into the Carlo family's mess. But good intentions didn’t stop bullets. And if Xavier kept walking down this road, I’d have no choice but to list him as a suspect when everything went to hell.

The Next Morning – St. Vincent’s Hospital

I came back the next day, hoping to catch Xavier again, but instead, I found a nurse—a tall woman with a kind smile—stepping out of Amanda Brook’s room.

“You a friend of the family?” she asked, glancing at the coffee I held in my hand.

“Something like that,” I said. “He around?”

“Downstairs,” she said, motioning toward the elevator. “He’s been sleeping here the past few nights. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s sweet with his mother. Carries all her favorite teas in a little pouch, keeps her company during chemo.”

Her voice was warm, almost affectionate. “He’s trying so hard.”

Yeah, I thought bitterly. And getting pulled deeper into hell for it.

Downstairs – Hospital Chapel

I found him alone, sitting in the back pew of the tiny chapel. His head was bowed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He looked exhausted. Broken.

I didn’t approach. I just watched him for a moment.

He didn’t pray. He just sat there like someone waiting for a miracle that wasn’t coming.

I stepped away without saying a word. I’d already planted the seed. The rest would depend on how fast it grew.