All Chapters of The Law And The Liar: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The worst part about meeting a man like Raffaele Moretti wasn’t the threat he posed, or the mystery, or even the stupid way he smelled like danger and designer cologne. No. The worst part was walking away and not knowing whether I’d just stared into the eyes of my brother’s killer… or the only man who actually knew the truth. And that made me furious. So naturally, I did the only thing a smart, emotionally-stable detective would do. I went for coffee. The little corner café I picked was run by an old couple who thought almond milk was some sort of conspiracy. The barista recognized me from previous caffeine-fueled breakdowns and just handed me a large black coffee before I even ordered. “You look like you fought God and lost,” she said, half-joking. “Close,” I muttered. “Just dealt with the devil in a suit.” She blinked, unsure if I was serious. I took my coffee and found a quiet booth in the back. My phone had two missed calls from Lembo and a text from an unknown number. “

"You followed me,” he said, like it was charming. Like it was a joke.It wasn’t.He stood in the open doorway of his penthouse, shirt half-buttoned, espresso in hand, looking like he had been expecting me. And maybe he had.“I’m not stalking you,” I said, brushing past him without an invitation. “You walked away mid-sentence. I had questions.”“And you thought following me home was the best approach?” he asked, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. “Admit it—you missed me.”He had no idea how close that was to the truth. And that terrified me.“I came for the truth,” I said, keeping my voice level as I took in the sleek, ridiculously expensive decor of his space. Minimalist, masculine, and impossibly clean. Of course.He walked past me, barefoot and smug. “And coffee, apparently.”I turned, arms crossed. “You’re enjoying this.”“Of course, I am.” He handed me a mug. “You’re in my home. You’re off-duty. You’re not threatening to cuff me. Yet.”“Don’t tempt me.”That smirk agai

I’d like to say I walked into Raffaele Moretti’s mansion with confidence, chin up, badge out, and justice on my heels. But no. Instead, I was soaked in sweat, nerves wrapped around my ribs like a corset, and I nearly tripped over one of his ridiculously polished marble steps. The damn place was a fortress—gates taller than my apartment building, cameras everywhere, and guards who looked like they could bench-press a car. I wasn’t even sure why I agreed to this meeting. Well, I knew why. Because he was a suspect. Because I needed to question him. Because he knew things about my brother Kaden’s death, even if he hadn’t said it out loud yet. And maybe—just maybe—because when he touched my hand last week, something inside me short-circuited. Now I was here. “Detective Black,” Raffaele greeted, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. He wore a navy dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out. His smile? Smug. Dangerous. Stupidly attractive. “I’m not here for small t

I’d barely made it home when I tore open the folded paper Moretti had given me. Five names. Two dates. A location I hadn’t heard since my brother’s funeral—The Kingsmill Dockyard. Abandoned. Sealed off years ago. Now it was just a graveyard of rusted ships and broken deals. I recognized three names on the list. All tied to petty crimes. Nothing big. But one name made my blood run cold. Marcus Vento. A dirty cop. Still active. Still shielded by the force. And worse—he used to be Kaden’s partner when he first went undercover. I sat on my couch, the paper in one hand, my service weapon on the table beside me, and a storm raging in my chest. I’d been chasing shadows for years, and now suddenly the shadows were chasing me. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. You’re digging in places you shouldn’t. Let the dead stay dead. I stared at the screen, pu

I didn’t sleep. Not because Raffaele Moretti was sitting in my living room, legs stretched out like he owned the place—or maybe like he was trying not to look too ready to kill someone. And not because I had just learned that Marcus Vento, my brother’s old partner, was framing Raffaele to distract from his own sins. No, I didn’t sleep because the whole world felt like it had tilted. The law—the thing I built my life on—suddenly felt like a crooked ladder. And the only hand reaching out to pull me up belonged to a man who probably broke more laws before breakfast than I had in my whole career. I watched him from the doorway. He hadn’t said much since the phone call. But his presence was loud. Calm, dangerous, watchful. Like a loaded gun on a velvet cushion. “You really think they’ll arrest you?” I asked, arms crossed, heart thudding. He didn’t even flinch. “They’ll try.