Damian's POV
I need to pump some lead right now.
Once June identified Santino, the lineup disappeared. She initialed her information on a report and we were free to leave the 46th. The same NYPD supplies, message announcements, furniture, and gear set up in a different building layout. It was oddly familiar but something was off.
I was more than happy when we left, with a small wave from June at her new friend Sarah behind the front desk. Even in an unfamiliar precinct office for a perp ID, June carried herself with kindness, thanking officers for their service. A few stopped and blinked, which I would've also done if I wasn't so used to her... June-ness.
Why is she still with an asshole like me?
My hand extended in June's direction. Once my fingers brushed over hers, I curled her small, soft hand into my palm and squeezed it tightly. "I know where we can go to feel better."
June's softest and most suggestive voice always shot straight down to my balls. Even outside surrounded by rustling street noises, my focus narrowed on her down to the last pale freckle on her cheeks. She murmured quietly, with a tone reserved for confessing a naughty secret, and her full, pink lips pursed around one word.
"Really...?"
My free hand cupped my chin, facepalming my poor choice of words.
Why is every normal phrase or word dirty?
Interest brightened June's irises into glowing halos around her enlarged pupils. By the traitor that swelled between my legs, my lower head was in full agreement... Half-support to start but if I thought on her same wavelength then my cock pitched a tent for a June-only campout.
"Not that," I corrected, and adjusted, myself. When her eyes dimmed and an adorable pout graced her lips, I cupped my hand around her cheek. "Later."
"Promise?"
My thumb traced light arcs across her rash of freckles, which she didn't like but I did. Beyond pussy whipped by this woman, I still offered, "Promise."
We rode in silence back to the 34th, where I dropped off the cruiser. Once we hopped on my bike, a smile pulled across my mouth and relaxed my forehead. I was always happy when she sat with her front pressed against my back, her elbows and hands cupped around my ribs. When we rode together, it was so... comfortable.
Not even the below-freezing wind that whipped over me tore the dumbass smile off my face. When we stopped outside a familiar 56th Street stop with a rectangular, black awning and red and green neon letters in its name. A chuckle tickled my throat when a squeal erupted from behind me.
"Ahh!" June's arms squeezed my chest after I cut my engine. With a gasp, she leaned forward, crashing her helmet against mine so hard my eyes blurred.
Her cried out words muffled behind her helmet, "Oh my gosh!"
The heat packed in mine disappeared as soon as I removed it. I lifted June's up over her head, stray brown strands sticking in every direction, and her lips smashed against mine.
"Aww!" She rushed out words in between each of her chicken pecking kisses, "Thank - you - Damian!"
Lowering my chin, I shot her a smirk. She returned it with a sheepish smile, pink spreading across her cheeks, and another quick kiss. "You want to go in, June?"
"How is that a question?" Before I responded to her muttered statement, June climbed off the back of my bike and leapt onto the sidewalk. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes danced with impatience, and both hands ushered me by waving at the glass entrance door.
"Right." I grabbed both our helmets as she held the door open to me. The top of my head was hit with over blasted, dry heated air mixed with smells of tomatoes, fresh basil, and...
"Cannoli," June moaned from behind me.
I was going to go with meatballs but should've seen that coming.
With a slow, deep breath, I braced myself for a torturous meal involving June moaning as her lips wrapped around each bite of food. She ate as normal, but my eyes and ears followed my cock's interest and tossed me straight into the gutter.
Worth it to cheer her up though.
"Welcome to Patsy's," a young girl with black hair bound in a tight bun greeted us in a warm, polite tone. She approached us, wearing a black and white server uniform similar to the one my sister Emma wore at her waitressing job, and stopped at the host station.
"Thank you." In my mind June trumped her sweetness factor even with a simple reply to her name tag. "Christina."
Christina's dark brown eyes dragged up and down my leather coat as if I was an item on the menus she clutched in her arm. June's eyes were glued to the glass dessert counter. I was pretty sure my hair was also windstorm-blown but couldn't care less.
"Dining in or taking to go?" Her lashes batted at me, ignoring June in front of her and stroking her red nails up and down the menu.
I dropped my eyes to my cannoli enthusiast, who lifted her eyebrows. "Both?"
"Both it is," I told Christina.
Her eyes glued on mine, then her lips parted and she flicked her tongue in between them. "How many for your table, Sir?"
"Two," I replied in a flat, emotionless voice. We were alone in the lobby area, but I pointed at me then June. "One and two."
Family-owned, Patsy's Italian restaurant had survived in the New York food service business since the 1940's. With yellow lighting, a mirrored wall, and salmon-colored paint, the inside could've been decorated by my grandmother, complete with a sense of family wholesomeness.
No wonder it's one of June's favorites.
"Can I get you something to drink, water, soda, beer?" Christina led us to a wall side table, where June plopped in a seat, slipped off her coat, and beamed at me. Along with my amused expression, her messy hair reflected in the mirrors behind her.
"Water please." June's eyes sparkled with zero intentions that she needed her menu. "With lemon."
"Same." I pretended that I studied my beyond predictable girlfriend and gestured at the hostess to stay. "I think we know what we want, please."
"What can I get you, Sir?" Christina leaned in, placing her hand on my bicep.
A soft hum escaped June as her eyes studied Christina's face. "We'll have the eggplant rollatini shared between us. I'll take the house special cannoli and he'll have the filet mignon marsala, extra mushrooms."
My lips pulled into a grin at how fast Christina blinked at June, my girlfriend appearing out of thin air. With one elbow shrug from me, she snatched her hand back as if my forearm was on fire. If any guy touched June, he wouldn't have kept full use of his hand, but my girlfriend was too nice for her own good.
"Exactly what my girlfriend ordered," I added in a smug follow up.
With a string of muttered, "Of course"-type phrases that I didn't pay attention to, Christina bowed out. My elbows hit the table between us and I leaned closer to June. Hinging my forearms down, I slid my hands to her, palms up. She cupped her hands over mine and I thumbed her delicate fingers.
The longer she sat, a faraway look glazed over her eyes.
June's greatest strength was her heart. She never ceased to amaze me with its infinite depths of empathy and compassion. Even though her heart was and would always hurt from losing her parents, she hadn't closed it off from the world that took them away.
She's a better person than me for that.
Her weakness was her absolute inability to hide or deceive how she felt. She had no poker face, impassive blank expression, or even resting bitch face.
Which I only know because Emma tried to teach her. Twice.
At one lunch together, Emma accused June of being 'too sweet,' which I didn't know was possible. June got ripped off left and right with coupon deals, an infinite amount of animal hair collected in our condo, and her rescue plant operation had less than a fifty-percent success rate, but all of those efforts made her happy.
My sister wore the bitchiest face of all without trying, but had the nerve to coach June, "Chin down, eyes dead, think of the most awful, annoying thing that ever happened."
June giggled, shifting her eyes to me and smiling. "Sorry, I thought about when I threw my underwear on you."
I pressed my lips together and held back the 'which time?' question that twitched up the corners.
Gets my attention doing that now but her resting bitch face...
With her head retracted back, her neck tensed, face strained until pink crept up into her cheeks, lips pursed and eyes unblinking, June looked...
Constipated.
June gazed around the restaurant for an answer. With a squeeze of my hands around hers, I brought her eyes back to mine.
"June..." My eyebrows drew together and I traced an absent line around the tip of her index finger's knuckle with my thumb pads. "Are you alright?"
"Are you alright," she shot back with a half-smile, but the lightness she spoke with didn't carry up to her eyes. I sat silently, rolled my lower lip under, and released it. "You were the one who looked like he wanted to fist the mirror, Damian."
"I didn't..." I trailed off as my eyes closed. "I did. I would've knocked any of Santino's teeth into chiclets for you, June. Real ones and gold."
"Does that ever help?" she grumbled.
"It'd help me feel better." My thumbs rubbed the smoothness on the back of her hands. She shook her head, although we both knew I pounded out my frustrations at the gym later this afternoon.
Right after I'm done pounding -
"Eggplant," a flat, disinterested voice announced, followed by a hard clink of a plate dropped between our hands. June giggled while Christina placed our silverware and water glasses down, then walked away.
My eyes roamed over our lemon-less water glasses. "I'm not giving her the tip."
As expected, June's eyes fired up with indignance. "Oh, yes we are. Waitressing is long, hard, thankless hours that offer nothing but shitty pay and sore feet. Tip her, Damian."
"June..." I grinned and shoved a straw into her cup. "I'm kidding."
"Lemon." Christina shoved a small plate of wedges near my hand. I grunted, then dumped half in my glass and the other half in June's.
"Thank you." June's politeness was wasted on our now lackluster waitress. She plopped half the eggplant on an appetizer plate, then shoved it at me. I jabbed at the steaming pile and shot June a look that I hoped reflected the concern gnawing at my stomach.
And no amount of eggplant is going to settle that down.
"So..." June leaned closer with a frown. She cupped her chin in one hand and poked her eggplant around the plate, releasing upward curls of steam. "Teeth chiclets aside, tell me what you really think about Santino."
"I don't think he'll be in prison long enough," I gave her my honest opinion and death-stabbed my eggplant with a fisted fork. "And it won't deter him anyways. If anything, it'll motivate him and strengthen his ties."
Barring false evidence, Santino was guaranteed a longer prison stint this time. Unfortunately, networking with other MS-13 members detained at Rikers would help continue his expansion efforts.
Only if he takes a page from the Trinis' success book.
"Unless he's somehow deported?" June asked, pulling her lips into one cheek.
I shook my head because the guy was a legal, dual U.S. and Mexican citizen. By no coincidence, he was from Oaxaca. Located in the southern part of Mexico, which the ICE report cited as the U.S.'s top trafficking source, it was close enough to countries with enough political and social injustice to force innocent migrants into coyote exploitation.
The problem loomed larger than the 34th, the NYPD, and the entire state of New York. Its weight hung heavy in my heart. I felt like I closed my eyes to focus on the tangible part, protecting victims within our jurisdiction, at the expense of missing the bigger operation picture.
"Once he's out, he'll lay low." I opened my eyes to concern flooding June's. "Reestablish himself quietly. He might even shift out of New York, let other members run his mara operations until he's ready to come back. Could be months, weeks, even years."
Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible level, so I leaned closer. "Do you... have any other suspects?"
"A few leads." My head shook again because they were more hopeful associations. "Maras don't have a single leader and loosely coordinate with other cliques. It takes time for us to find those associations."
Mari's forfeited badge reminded me of the resource commitment, not the officer and detective pay but their personal tolls.
The heaviness weighing in June's eyes prompted me to promise, "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're okay."
"Do you think..." She swallowed, making a tight, thick sound. "He's targeting... me?"
"Not you." I stared at her. "We were trailing Santino for the Baker Row case when he stabbed you. I refuse to believe he was in that neighborhood for a random Saturday night visit to Tribeca."
The most plausible explanation I had was Santino tailed me to Jason's building, saw my exchange with June, then attacked her. June said he mugged her of her jewelry, money, and phone but I believed that Bryson's intervention curtailed whatever his real intentions were.
Unfortunately, I had zero shreds of proof, and NYPD superiors dismissed my theories as 'overprotective boyfriend paranoia.'
"So far, there's no proof of that," I admitted with a sigh because, fuck, I drilled into that angle with every piece of evidence or intel Vice came across. My motive was concern for all my detectives, both plain clothed and undercover, and their significant others, but all breadcrumbs we followed led to empty trails.
"But we have recent undercover intel that suggests the MS-Thirteen cells are moving and expanding throughout the city, including the Thirty-fourth."
"That's..." June's eyes pulled wide and chin dropped. "Scary."
My head nodded and I plunged my fork into my mouth. The hot, steamy bite seared my tongue, watering my eyes. I focused them on June's untouched portion until she took a bite.
While she chewed, I swallowed and offered her the truth, "Santino wasn't working alone in Baker Row. When he picked up in South Bronx, he was starting up the underground sex trafficking as a silent cash flow stream. For what bigger purpose, we don't know. The Forty-Sixth's Vice unit believed he was starting an under-the-radar clique and the way that MS-13 works... They're a loose collection of separate gang groups but operate under a bigger general umbrella."
Her lips pursed as she blew into another forkful. "Bigger purpose?"
"Yeah..." my voice trailed off by the tightening in both my chest and throat.
My stomach rolled with discomfort as I remembered my superior's warning, the real reason he'd dropped additional casework about Santino. With a deep breath, I admitted, "Hernandez thinks they... might infiltrate NYPD."
I appreciated the snort June offered. "How could they do that?"
While I loved her for thinking all cops were good, honest, and pure upholders of the law, that wasn't reality. My hand gripped my water cup, the condensation dampening my palm. "If anyone wants to coerce or influence cops, they do it one of three ways. Corruption through bribery, infiltration by pretending to be a normal citizen and working there, or extortion through... threats."
"Pretty stupid to threaten cops," she chided.
"Not just the cops." My eyes narrowed at the light yellow wedges of lemon floating among the ice cubes in my glass. "Their families."
Detective Mariella wasn't the first undercover detective who resigned their badge under quiet threats. All a mara had to do was identify the right motive and put out a threat. Mari's weakness was her sister Amira, a nurse at Mt. Sinai Hospital, but we all had them.
Hernandez, his wife and daughters.
Bryson, his mom.
Me... June.
"From what I've seen, June... These people have no value for human life. Not even innocent lives matter." My chest heaved with a slow breath. "And the worst part is they're patient. Some of these developments take years, with witnesses and suspects disappearing but the bad guys aren't going away."
I didn't hold back the disgusting details from June, where women and children were stolen from their families, smuggled into the U.S. illegally, then prostituted or blackmailed to earn their 'coyote fees.' Her sympathetic heart bled for the victims but she understood the problem's severity.
The information I told her wasn't easy for any person to absorb, but I appreciated her eyes staying on mine. Even when she slumped back in her seat, she focused her gaze.
"I'll go," she muttered quietly. "The range, classes, whatever you want."
"Good -" I started when she shot forward and shoved her fork of eggplant into my mouth. The steaming hot bite shut me as she intended.
With a smirk, she withdrew her fork. "But I'm going to make you feel better." Her thumb rubbed over my lower lip. "I don't think it's necessary but I'll do it for you, Damian. Because I trust and support your judgment and instincts."
At the very familiar shift in her voice, deepening to a velvety sound that shot right into my balls, I choked down a hard swallow. Her gaze darkened and lips parted. "Now take me home because cannoli isn't what I'm hungry for anymore."
I didn't count Christina's tip before I dropped it.