MY FATHER’S KILLER, MY MAFIA LOVER

Chapter One My dad got a closed casket because of his hands. His knuckles were busted wide open. His nails were gone, ripped off. His fingers looked like they'd been chewed up. The funeral director said they could not fix it. Three days ago, Dad was alive. He was complaining about his baseball team and eating soup in my kitchen. Now I was burying him. The police called it an accident. They said he fell into a shipping container at the docks. My father worked at the docks for thirty years. He did not fall. Someone killed him. I was twenty-four, unemployed, and broke. My aunt was the only family I had left. She stood beside me, crying as the priest prayed over the casket. Then I felt someone watching me. I turned toward the iron fence. A man stood thirty feet away in a black coat. Rain soaked his dark hair, but he didn't move. Damian Cross. The heir to the Cross mafia family. His father, Elias Cross, was the man I suspected had killed mine. Why was Damian at my father's funeral? I lifted my phone and took a picture. Click. Damian stared straight into my camera. He didn't even blink. Then the priest finished praying. I looked back at the fence. Damian was gone. My phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent me a photograph. It showed me walking away from the cemetery, taken only seconds earlier. Someone had followed me. Across the road, a gray sedan sat with its engine running. Its windows were blacked out. Before I could get a better look at the driver, it pulled away. I saved the photograph. If the police wouldn't be investigating my father's death, I would do it myself. I had to find his killer before they buried the truth with him. The next morning, I went to the police station. The officer barely looked up from his computer. "We'll note your concerns, ma'am." "My father's hands were torn apart. You expect me to believe he fell?" "Accidents happen at the docks." "Then check the cameras!" He finally looked at me. "Do you have proof someone killed him?" I had no answer. I left the station with nothing. By the time I reached my apartment, I was angry enough to smash something. Then I noticed my balcony door. It was open by an inch. I always locked it before leaving. Someone had been inside. A manila folder sat on my kitchen counter. I had never seen it before. Inside was another photograph. Me, standing outside the police station that morning. Under it, someone had written: We need to talk, Ivy. Call this number. I reached for my phone. The deadbolt clicked behind me. I spun around and grabbed a knife from the kitchen block. "Who's there?" A man stepped into view from the hallway. Damian Cross. Rain dripped from his coat onto my floor. I raised the knife. "Get out!" His eyes moved to the blade. "Put it down, Ivy." "How do you know my name?" "You took my picture yesterday." "So you followed me?" "I came because you didn't call." I tightened my grip on the knife. "Did your father kill mine?" Damian's expression changed. "Your father was not supposed to die." My heart skipped. "What does that mean?" "It means someone wanted him dead. And now that you're asking questions, you're in danger too." "Why should I believe you? Your family controls the docks where he died." "Then don't believe me." He slowly reached into his coat. I pointed the knife at his chest. "Don't move!" He stopped and pulled out his phone with two fingers. A photograph filled the screen. Dad stood beside a shipping container. Another man stood next to him, his face turned away from the camera. "When was this taken?" I asked. "Three days before your father died." "Who is that man?" "That's what I'm trying to find out." "Why show me?" Damian looked straight into my eyes. "Because your father sent me a message before he died. He told me to find you if anything happened to him." I shook my head. "My father never trusted your family." "He didn't trust my family." Damian put his phone away. "But he trusted me." Before I could ask another question, his phone rang. He answered. "We found her," a man said. "The woman who took the picture." Damian's eyes moved to me. "Where?" "At home. Alone." His jaw tightened. "Get away from her building. Now." He ended the call. "Who was that?" I asked. "Someone looking for you." "Who?" "Someone connected to the people searching for your father's records." "How do you know?" He didn't answer. My phone buzzed on the counter. Another message from the unknown number. Damian Cross is lying to you. I looked up at him. He was already watching me. "Who sent that?" he asked. "You're the one who should tell me." His expression hardened. Then he said something that made the knife slip in my hand. "Your father wasn't the only person they planned to kill."