Owned By The Mafia King

CHAPTER 2 - NO PLACE TO HIDE

Back at the station, the adrenaline from the raid was finally beginning to crash and Damian had been led straight to the interrogation room.

I sat at my cluttered desk, nursing a paper cup of lukewarm coffee between my hands just to keep them from shaking. Almost immediately, my colleagues began swarming around me, throwing slaps on my back and shouting praises that made my head spin. Everyone was talking about how a rookie cop like myself had managed to single-handedly capture Damian Sinclair, the untouchable Mafia Prince.

"You're going to get a promotion for this, Morgan!" one of the senior detectives yelled over the noise.

I forced a tight, fake smile, nodding along to their congratulations. But for some reason, my mind couldn't rest. A heavy, suffocating knot was tightening in my stomach.

I was supposed to be celebrating, right?

I had just pulled off the arrest of the century. I had put the city’s most dangerous billionaire in handcuffs. But instead of feeling like a hero, here I was, wallowing in a strange despair, staring at the locked door of the interrogation room with an overwhelming sense of dread, because It felt too easy.

A few minutes later, the steel door of the interrogation room flung wide open. My breath hitched as Damian stepped out, looking completely unbothered, as if he had just finished a casual business meeting rather than a felony booking.

His expensive suit wasn't even wrinkled. Right behind him was a man in a sharp grey suit, carrying a leather briefcase and loudly addressing the Captain with a tone of smug authority. That had to be his high-priced lawyer.

Suddenly, my heart started beating rapidly against my ribs. The chaotic noise of the police station seemed to instantly die down as Damian locked eyes with me the exact moment he stepped out.

What was happening? Confusion and a sudden spike of panic flared in my chest. He was supposed to be in a cell.

Instead, Damian took his time walking across the room. He didn't head straight for the exit. Instead, he took a deliberate detour, his long strides bringing him right toward my desk. The officers around me went completely silent, watching in shock.

He stopped right in front of me, leaning down just enough to invade my space. The woodsy scent of his cologne washed over me again.

"Nice try, sweetheart," he whispered.

A sinister smile spread across his face. He gave my silver badge a look before straightening up and walking out of the glass double doors, his lawyer trailing quickly behind him.

I stared at the glass doors long after Damian’s car had sped away, my mind spinning in a chaotic loop. He was gone. Just like that.

"Officer Morgan. Office. Now." The Captain’s voice echoed loudly.

I turned my head to see Captain Lawrence standing at his office door. His face wasn’t full of the rage he usually had when a criminal got off on a loophole; instead, his expression was completely blank.

My stomach dropped as I stood up, my heavy boots feeling like lead weights as I walked into his office.

"Shut the door, Morgan," Lawrence said quietly, not looking me in the eye.

I closed the heavy wood door with a click. "Captain, what is going on? How did Sinclair's lawyers throw out the warrant? The evidence from the club was……"

"The warrant isn't the problem, Morgan," Lawrence interrupted, finally looking up.

His eyes were heavy with a mixture of disappointment and disgust. He slid a clear, plastic evidence bag across the desk. Inside the bag was a black flash drive. I frowned, looking up from the drive.

"What is that?"

"That is a flash drive filled with the Sinclair family's secret bank accounts," he stated. "An anonymous caller informed me that a detective in this precinct stole these files. They claim you were blackmailing Damian Sinclair threatening to expose his illegal money unless he paid you millions."

"That's ridiculous" I gasped, a cold sweat breaking out across my neck. "I've been tracking Sinclair for months to lock him up, not to rob him!"

"Then explain why we just found this exact flash drive hidden at the bottom of your personal locker, Morgan," he continued. "Along with fifty thousand dollars in cash."

The room tilted and air left my lungs as if I’d been punched squarely in the chest. My locker? Someone had been in my locker.

"I'm being framed," I whispered, my voice cracking as I looked frantically at Captain Lawrence. "Captain Lawrence, you know me! You knew my father! I would never take a bribe, let alone from a Sinclair. Damian did this. He planted it to get back at me."

"That's enough, Morgan," Lawrence sighed, rubbing his temples. "The drive has your fingerprints on the casing. Until IA runs a full forensic sweep on your accounts, my hands are tied. The media is already outside. If the press finds out the detective who arrested the city’s biggest billionaire is dirty, this entire department burns." He took a deep breath and gestured to his desk.

"Unclip your weapon. Slide your badge across the table."

My breath hitched, a hot tear finally spilling over my eyelashes. Shaking violently, I unholstered my Glock, the heavy metal clinking against the desk. Next came my silver badge the shield I had bled for, the only thing that gave me the power to face my past.

"You are suspended indefinitely without pay," Lawrence muttered, looking away. "And because of the high profile of this case, the judge has ordered immediate house arrest until the hearing next week. Go home, Morgan. And stay there."

The hum of the police cruiser that dropped me off felt like a funeral procession. By the time I made it up the stairs to my small apartment, the sky had completely gone dark as the downpour began.

I sat numbly on the edge of my mattress as a somber-faced police technician snapped the heavy, cold black tracking monitor around my bare ankle.

"You step one foot outside this apartment, Detective, and an alarm triggers at the precinct," the technician muttered, not even looking me in the eye before packing his tools.

He left as my front door clicked shut from the outside. I was trapped. In less than three hours, I had gone from the city's hero to a criminal locked in her own cage. My badge was gone, my gun was gone and my father's memory was officially dragged through the mud.

A choked sob finally escaped my throat. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my hands as the tears finally spilled over. I cried until my ribs ached, the exhaustion and pure despair eventually dragging me down into a heavy sleep.

Few hours later, a strange, thick warmth suddenly settled over my body, heavy enough to yank me out of my deep slumber.

My internal cop instincts screamed that the air in my bedroom had changed, it was suffocatingly close, smelling faintly of rain and expensive tobacco.

Before my groggy brain could even process the threat, a large, calloused hand wrapped firmly around the lower part of my face, sealing my lips shut and pinning my head back into the pillow.

My eyes snapped open, my heart hammering so violently against my ribs I thought it would shatter. In the dim moonlight of my bedroom, a massive silhouette was hovering directly over me. One of his heavy knees was planted firmly on the mattress right between my thighs, completely locking my lower body down and trapping me beneath his weight.

The moonlight shifted, catching the sharp, beautiful angle of his jawline.

Damian.

He leaned down lower, his chest pressing against mine until I could feel the rapid thrum of his own heartbeat. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction of a predator who had just backed his prey into a corner. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear as his thumb dug gently into my jawline.

"Hello, Officer," he whispered, his deep, smooth voice sending a terrifying shiver straight down my spine. "Did you miss me?"