**Dahlia**
I was getting really pissed at Antonio. One minute, he couldn't keep his hands off me, his touch lingering in ways that set my skin on fire. The next, he'd disappeared without so much as a word. Ghosted. Three damn months of silence.
No calls. No texts. Nothing. Why was I even chasing him?
I wasn't some lovesick teenager mooning over her first crush. I had better things to do than obsess over a man who clearly didn't want me, and any sane person would've let this go weeks ago. But no matter how much I tried, that unrelenting pull toward him wouldn't let me. It gnawed at me day and night, and I was starting to wonder if I'd imagined the connection we had.
Maybe I'd scared him off. That thought stung more than I wanted to admit. After what happened at the hospital, I hadn't exactly been subtle, but I wouldn't call myself the volatile one in that situation. That had been all him. The perpetrator couldn't even speak, his mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish gasping for air every time he got questioned. It had unnerved me. Not just because of the suspect's reaction but because of Antonio himself. There was something dangerous in his expression that day, something I hadn't seen before—or maybe hadn't wanted to see.
If anyone should've been ghosting the other, it should've been me. But instead, here I was, sitting with unanswered questions and a nagging suspicion that Antonio was hiding something from me. What that something was, I didn't know. Not yet.
Which is how I found myself at "The Slug," the grimy little bar where Val and I often hung out. It wasn't much to look at—dim lighting, worn leather barstools, floors sticky enough to make you wonder about the last time they were mopped. But it had character, a kind of rugged charm that made it feel like a haven after a long day. Val and I always ended up here, whether to laugh over shared memories, commiserate about life, or drown our frustrations in a drink or two.
Sliding onto a familiar barstool, I ordered a whiskey for Val and a water for myself. The bar was its usual dim-lit self, the air thick with the smell of old beer and faint cigarette smoke. The bartender gave me a knowing nod as he handed me the drinks, his movements practiced and efficient, like he already knew my order before I even sat down.
I tapped my foot impatiently against the footrest, glancing at the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Val was unusually late, which was rare for him. He wasn't the type to keep me waiting—not without a damn good reason.
Just as the drinks arrived and I paid, I felt a prickle run up the back of my neck. It was subtle at first, like the faintest brush of air against my skin, but it grew stronger, heavier, like a shadow looming behind me. That familiar feeling of being watched settled into my gut, twisting unease into my chest.
I gripped the edge of the bar, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the room. The hum of conversation seemed to grow quieter, replaced by the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears. The bar's dim corners looked darker than usual, every flickering light above the tables casting exaggerated shadows across the walls.
I swallowed, trying to push down the paranoia. My instincts had saved my life more times than I cared to count, and they were rarely wrong. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my senses sharpening as I slowly turned my head, searching for whoever—or whatever—was watching me.
And then—
"Dahlia!"
Val's familiar voice cut through the heavy tension like a knife, breaking the spell in an instant.
I exhaled sharply, the unease in my chest dissolving as I turned toward the sound. There he was, weaving his way through the crowded bar with that effortless confidence that made him impossible to miss. His athletic frame and broad shoulders cut through the haze like he owned the place, his dark brown hair neatly styled, catching the dim overhead lights.
If he hadn't literally made me cry and throw up in one of our training sessions, I might have thought he was handsome. But there was no forgetting the devilish glee in his eyes as he pushed me to my absolute limit, barking orders and then smirking when I finally snapped. Handsome or not, Val was a pain in my ass, albeit one I didn't mind so much.
The teasing glint in his hazel eyes was already there, and the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth was so familiar it felt like he'd somehow mastered the art of being both annoyingly smug and reassuring all at once.
"Val," I muttered, trying to sound annoyed, though the small smile tugging at my lips betrayed me.
He stepped closer and slid into his usual barstool beside me, his presence effortlessly filling the space with an ease that only he could manage. The faint scent of his cologne—clean with a hint of spice—mingled with the familiar tang of leather and gym sweat, a combination that was distinctly Val. Even in this dingy bar, dressed in nothing more than a simple black shirt and jeans, he somehow managed to look annoyingly good. It wasn't just his appearance, though—it was the way he carried himself.
Val didn't just walk into a room; he owned it, radiating a quiet confidence that felt like it was etched into his very bones.
"Ah, Dahlie," he repeated, his voice laced with that familiar teasing tone as he leaned casually against the bar. "So, what's the deal? Have you been avoiding me?"
I rolled my eyes, my earlier tension melting under his charm. "Avoiding you? Please. I've been busy. And frankly, you owe me a round of drinks—or maybe ten rounds—for that disaster of a blind date you set me up on."
Val winced, a crack in his otherwise unshakable confidence. "Ah, about that…" He scratched the back of his neck, the edges of his grin faltering just slightly before it returned, playful and teasing. "Didn't think you were capable of running off even the likes of him."
I scoffed, leaning back against the bar. "Yeah, well, I must've scared him so badly that he left his physical body behind and became a ghost. It's been months, Val. Months. Radio silence. And you know how much I hate being left in the dark."
His grin faded, replaced by something softer. His hazel eyes held mine for a moment before his hand slid across the bar to cover one of mine. His touch was grounding, steady—annoyingly so.
"It's not like that," he said, his voice quieter now, a note of sincerity cutting through his usual charm. "I talked to him. He has his reasons. I can't explain everything about him—about us—but I promise you, Dahlie, he feels just as much as you do. You've got to give him time to pull his thick head back on straight."
I sighed, turning my gaze away as frustration tightened in my chest. "It doesn't matter, Val. I don't even know why I'm so obsessed. I've never felt something so instant before. When I saw him, it just… clicked. Like all that romance crap people talk about finally made sense. Now? It feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over my head. I'm done chasing him. It's humiliating enough as it is."
Val chuckled, the corners of his hazel eyes crinkling with amusement. "There's a certain irony in you chasing him, given your profession. But I won't go into that."
I groaned, picking up my glass of water and taking a sip. If I wasn't working tomorrow, I'd have been seriously tempted to steal Val's whiskey instead.
"You're not as funny as you think you are," I muttered, the words coming out more absentmindedly than I intended.
Whatever he meant, I wasn't quite getting it, and I wasn't in the mood to analyze it. My brain was already too full of tangled thoughts about Antonio to try and decipher Val's cryptic humor.
"Sure, I am," he said with a grin, leaning back against the bar. "Anyway, if it makes you feel better, Antonio's been a miserable wanker the last three months."
I smirked despite myself, a flicker of warmth breaking through the icy frustration in my chest. "Yeah, that really helps. Let Casper brood."
Val barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Casper! Oh, he'd hate that nickname. You should absolutely call him that to his face. The fucker needs to loosen up anyway. And that? That'll definitely get under his skin."
I returned a laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, when—if—I ever see Antonio again, I'll be using much more colorful language and creative words for him."
And then, as if conjured by the mere mention of his name, my phone rang. The opening chords of my In This Moment ringtone cut through the noise of the bar.
I glanced at the screen and froze.
Antonio.
My heart leaped into my throat as I stared at his name, my fingers tightening around the phone. Finally, I swiped to answer, holding up a finger to silence Val, who had already started leaning closer in curiosity.
"Hello?" I said, my tone cautious, wary.
"It's me," Antonio said, his voice calm. Too calm.
I gripped the phone tighter, trying to steady myself against the wave of emotions his voice stirred—relief, anger, and something far more dangerous. "What do you want, Antonio?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Val mid-sip, only to choke on his drink. His eyes went wide as he realized who I was talking to.
On the other end of the line, I swore I heard Antonio take a deep breath, like he was gathering himself. But over the buzzing noise of the bar, it was hard to tell. Meanwhile, Val's gaze burned into me, his expression openly curious. Damn bastard was always too nosy for his own good.
"I want to see you," Antonio said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to talk to you."
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, colliding like cars in a pileup. I debated whether agreeing to see him would make me look desperate. He had ghosted me for three months. Three agonizing months. It would be stupid to give in so easily. But damn it, I wanted answers.
What made me pause, though, wasn't just the words he said, but the desperate plea woven into his tone. There was something raw, something real in his voice that I couldn't ignore. And if I was being completely honest, I also wanted to see him.
"Fine," I said, keeping my voice as cool as I could manage. "But not at my place. Meet me at the coffee shop downtown at 2 p.m. tomorrow."
I didn't wait for his response. I hung up before he could say anything else, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. Without a word, I reached across the bar, snatched Val's whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. The burn was sharp, but it did little to settle the chaos swirling inside me.
Val started playfully tisking, shaking his head as if I'd personally let him down. "I have to admit, I thought I'd need to slam a few more talks into him before he'd call you. And honestly? I expected you to make him grovel a lot more," he commented, already waving the bartender over to order another whiskey.
I paused mid-drink to flip him off, earning a loud, barking laugh from him that drew more than a few glances from the other patrons.
"Come on," he said, leaning back against the bar, his grin as wide as ever. "You gotta admit you gave in easy there."
I narrowed my eyes at him, though the playful grin tugging at my lips softened any real sting in my glare. "Unlike you, Val, I don't take pleasure in making others suffer."
Val's hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned closer, his grin morphing into something even more devious. "Oh, you're right about that and don't think for one second I'll be taking it easy on you when you finally drag yourself back to training after flunking for three months."
I let out an exaggerated groan, slumping dramatically against the bar. "Come on, Val, have mercy."
"Mercy?" Val echoed, chuckling as he took a sip of his newly poured whiskey. "Not a chance. You'll be lucky if you're standing by the end of the first session back."
The next morning felt like I'd been hit by a rollercoaster and then dragged along for the ride. Every bone in my body protested as I hauled myself out of bed, and my head felt like it had been used as a drum in a high school marching band. Not fun.
Val and I had ended up drinking far more than we should've, and though I'd caked on enough makeup to disguise my sorry state, I was sure it was still obvious to anyone who cared to look that I was fighting a hangover. When I rushed into the station, I kept my head down, offered brisk greetings, and beelined straight for my office.
By the time I collapsed into my chair, I was feeling marginally better—at least physically. My brain, however, had decided it wanted no part of the day. I stared down at the department's budget booklet, trying to focus on the columns of numbers, but they swam and blurred like ink bleeding across wet paper. Were numbers supposed to look like moving black blotches?
I groaned, rubbing my temples. I was definitely too old to drink like I had last night. And though I was technically an adult who had made my own choices, it was far easier to blame Val. His stupid grin and his even stupider comments had swayed me into saying fuck it and going for that extra drink—or three. My throbbing head was his fault. Entirely his fault.
With a sigh, I pushed the budget booklet aside and let my forehead rest against the cool surface of my desk. The churning in my stomach wouldn't stop, and I had a sinking feeling it wasn't just because of the hangover.
I was nervous.
Nervous to see Antonio. Nervous about what he might say.
A small part of me clung to hope—hope that he'd show up and give me an honest, reasonable excuse for ghosting me. But the more cynical part of me whispered that he probably didn't have one. Not one that could explain away three months of radio silence and avoidance, anyway.
And then there was Val's cryptic comment. I spoke to him, and he has a real reason. I can't explain everything about him—about us—but I promise you, he feels just as much as you do. Just give him time to pull that thick head of his back straight.
What had he meant by "about us"? Since when did Val, of all people, have secrets? The man was an open book—or at least, he liked to act like one. What could he possibly know about Antonio that he wasn't telling me?
And what was this "real reason" that Val apparently knew but couldn't share? The words rattled around in my brain like a loose screw, refusing to settle. If it was so important—so real—why couldn't Val just come out and say it? He wasn't exactly the type to mince words or dance around the truth.
And then there was that weird remark about the irony of me chasing Antonio. It had been tossed out so casually, with Val's usual mischievous grin, but the way he'd said it nagged at me. Like there was some inside joke that I wasn't in on.
The questions swirled in my mind, feeding my frustration. I hated secrets, and I hated being left in the dark even more. If Antonio wasn't willing to give me the answers I deserved, maybe it was time to find them myself. I'd made him an exception to my usual rule—no digging into someone I was interested in. I'd wanted this to feel normal, to feel different. But Antonio wasn't acting like someone with ordinary secrets.
A soft knock at my door made me wince. I shot up in my chair, quickly schooling my expression so I didn't look like I'd just been caught napping—or nursing a hangover.
"Come in," I called, forcing my voice to sound steady.
Officer Radley stepped into my office, her uniform pristine, not a crease out of place. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she carried a thick case file in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Despite her no-nonsense demeanor, there was a warmth in her smile as she approached my desk.
"Good morning, Chief," she greeted, setting the coffee down before holding out the file. "I brought you some coffee and the latest update on the Scarlet Blinders case you requested. I also took the liberty of pulling together files on the Corenza Family since the Scarlet Blinders seem to be escalating into a full-blown war to take out one of the biggest crime families in the OCG."
"Thank you," I said, taking both the coffee and the files. I set the folder down beside the neglected budget documents I'd been struggling with earlier and took a grateful sip of the coffee. It was strong, just the way I needed it.
"Keep me updated," I said, my tone sharpening as the weight of her words settled over me. "If there's war on the horizon, I want to know about it. There'll be a lot of blood spilled if we don't get ahead of this."
"Yes, Chief. We're on it," Radley replied firmly, her voice steady. She turned to leave, but something tugged at me.
"Wait," I called after her.
She stopped and turned back, her brows lifting slightly in curiosity.
"I actually have a personal request for you to look into," I said carefully, gauging her reaction. "Can I trust you to keep whatever you find strictly confidential?"
Her expression grew serious, and she gave a sharp nod. "Of course, Chief. You know you can."
I hesitated for a moment, my fingers drumming lightly against the desk. Radley had always been dependable. She'd handled my more personal requests before—background checks on blind dates and other things I'd wanted to keep under the radar—without a hint of judgment. Antonio had been the one exception. I hadn't dug into him because I'd trusted Val's word, and I'd wanted to believe in something normal, something real.
But now, with Antonio's sudden ghosting, his reappearance, and Val's strange, cryptic comments yesterday, I couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play.
"I'm going to send you a picture and a name," I said finally, my voice even despite the unease gnawing at me. "Run it through the database. Call me once you've found everything you can—if there's anything to find."
Radley nodded again, her professional mask softening just slightly with a knowing grin. "On it. Send me what you've got, and I'll have it to you by the end of the day."
"Thanks, Radley," I said as she turned and left the office, the door clicking shut behind her.
The moment she was gone, I let out a slow breath and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the message Val had sent me months ago—Antonio's picture. I'd insisted on having it after that first night, after I'd felt that strange, magnetic pull toward him. Back then, I'd thought it was a harmless request. Now? It felt like crossing a line I'd sworn not to cross.
But Antonio didn't seem like someone with ordinary secrets. If he wasn't going to give me the answers I needed, then maybe I'd have to find them myself.
I forwarded the photo to Radley and put my phone down, resting my head in my hands. The uneasy feeling sitting in my gut wouldn't go away, and I couldn't tell if it was from guilt or the lingering sense that whatever I was about to uncover might change everything.