The tension between Gary and I dissipated slowly. I quit dropping hints that I knew the real nature of his business with the Brancatis, and he stopped acting like a petulant child. Well, he mostly stopped acting like a petulant child. From what I knew about Gary from the few weeks we’d worked together, he was temperamental even on his best days. So, he did his best to be no more temperamental than normal.
I drove us on our daily route. By the third or fourth time, I was able to do it without asking him where I should turn, and he stopped asking me to make detours to laundromats, pizzerias, and cigar shops. It truly seemed as if we were going to move forward and have a normal partner relationship. Of course, I had to assume Gary was still doing business with the known players in town, but at the very least, he was no longer doing it during work hours, and for that I was grateful. Things were finally looking up.
After one particularly long day full of paperwork and an incredibly grouchy, non-caffeinated Gary—someone had broken the precinct’s coffee machine, and Gary refused to order a new one until the culprit came forward—I returned home with big plans to take a long bath and watch trashy reality television.
My apartment was small and in a less than safe area of town, but it had a claw-footed bathtub, and that was all I had ever wanted. Since moving in, I’d taken a bath at least five days out of every week. The question of which bath bomb I should use had me so distracted that I almost didn’t see the person reclining in the armchair in the corner of the room.
As I flipped the light on and slipped out of my coat, I heard the chair squeak, and screamed, jumping back against the door so hard I bashed my head.
“Ouch,” Zico said, wincing playfully, a smile on his face.
I rubbed the back of my head. “What in the hell are you doing in my house? How do you know where I live? What in the hell are you doing here?”
“You already said that.”
I repeated it again, annunciating every word, my heart still pounding against my rib cage. “What. In. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
“I’m here to help you.”
“You want to help me? How can you help me?” I asked, moving to the opposite corner of the room, putting as much space between us as possible.
Zico put the footrest down, the metal gears inside the chair squeaking and clicking into place, and rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled under his chin. “You seem like a nice person. A moral person. A good person,” he said, almost as if all of those things were an insult. “So, being partnered with a dirty cop has got to be putting a heavy strain on those solid values of yours, am I right?”
I wanted to nod in agreement because, honestly, it had been a strain. Knowing Gary was doing side work with the mafia made me feel dirty. And, on top of that, knowing our sergeant didn’t care about Gary’s dirty dealings was even worse. How many other dirty cops worked in my precinct?
Before moving to the big city, I’d had an idyllic vision of police officers as upstanding, righteous people. People who simply wanted to do good and help others. Now, though, I had to question their true intentions. I had to question every officer I came into contact with. Still, I didn’t want to tell Zico the truth. I didn’t want him to think I was vulnerable. Instead, I decided to say nothing and simply fix him with a hard, cold stare.
“I have a plan that could help you get rid of Gary, and could help me,” he said.
“How would getting rid of Gary help you?” I asked. “Isn’t he working for you guys?”
Zico nodded. “See, that’s the problem. Joey thinks Gary has maybe gotten things a little confused. You police officers are all the same. You all assume you’re in charge, regardless of where you’re at. The thing is, though, Gary isn’t in charge. He works for us. I think he has forgotten that.”
“Okay, so what am I supposed to do about that? I’m not involved with any of this business. It sounds like you should be taking care of this on your own.”
Zico continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Gary has been dealing with the little guys for a long time, but now that he is dealing with the Brancatis, he thinks he is big shit. He thinks he can hold things over our heads and that he has any sort of power whatsoever. He thinks he is untouchable. That is not the case. And, as much as I hate to say it, you seem to be feeling that way, too.”
“Me?” I asked, my face screwed up in confusion. “What do you mean I’ve been acting that way? How do you know how I’ve been acting? We met once.”
“Twice,” he corrected me, with a wink and a lick of his lips.
My hand balled into a fist, but I continued. “Fine. We met twice. You don’t know anything about me.”
“This is the exact kind of disrespect I’m talking about,” Zico said, standing up and pacing several times in front of the chair. “You two act like we are some small operation. As if we don’t own this town. We have eyes everywhere. We see everything.”
“Okay. So, what have I done?”
“Nothing, love. And that is the problem. Regardless of what you think, you are allowing a cop to be dirty right under your nose. You have the proof, yet you’ve done nothing with it. You continue working with him as if nothing is wrong.”
My head was spinning. Was Zico Brancati really angry with me for not ratting my partner out? I thought keeping your mouth shut was an important rule in the mafia. Shouldn’t he be thanking me for not blowing his deal with Gary? Plus, how did Gary not realize we were being watched? How had I not realized we were being watched? Were there cameras or spies? Did the mafia have spies? I always imagined spies to be a bygone thing of the past, but maybe they weren’t. Maybe my house was bugged, and this very conversation was being recorded.
“What do you want?” I asked, feeling tired and weak.
“I want Gary out of the game,” he said plainly. “In fact, we want Gary out of the game.”
“Who is we?”
“Me,” he said, pointing to his chest. “And you.” He took a step closer to me, looking at me with his big green eyes.
“I don’t want Gary out of the game. Why do I care?” I asked.
“I thought you might say that,” Zico replied, smiling. He picked up my DVD player remote and hit a button. The screen turned on, but it was fuzzy, nothing but static.
I’d had enough.
“Get out,” I said. “Just leave. You’re trespassing, and if you don’t leave now I’ll arrest you and call for backup. I’m serious, just get—”
My own voice interrupted me.
I spun around towards the television and saw a black and white image on the screen. No, not an image. A video. A video recording of the back room of the cigar shop. I recognized the table and chairs, the kitchenette in the sink. And worst of all, I recognized myself. I was in the room with Zico.
He fast-forwarded through our conversation—the manila envelope, the notebook, the wads of cash—and hit play again as I lowered to my knees in front of him. I watched in horror as I took him in my mouth and gave the second-in-command of the Brancati family mafia ring a blow job.
I turned away from the screen, tears burning my eyes.
“Oh no,” Zico said. “You’re missing the best part.”
I ignored him, and mercifully he hit pause on the tape, and the sucking noises were silenced.
“Fine. We don’t have to watch. Sorry if that upset you, but I wanted you to know what kind of position you’re in.”
I heard him moving closer to me, but I still didn’t turn around. I couldn’t face him. I knew what kind of position I was in. He had videotaped evidence of me colluding with known mafia members. Not only that, but I was seen giving him a blow job with money on the table. So, even if they couldn’t prove I was working for the mafia, any lawyer worth their law degree could spin it to make me look like a prostitute.
His hand touched my hip, and I flinched. His breath was heavy in my ear. “You help me bring down your partner, and this,” he said, gesturing to the television screen, “disappears. You help me, and I won’t bother you again.”
I regretted everything. Every decision I’d ever made that had led me to this point. I wished I’d never taken the detective job. I wished I was back in my Podunk town helping little old ladies with their groceries and busting teenagers for drinking light beer in the park. I wanted to pack up and leave and never look back, but I knew, no matter what, the tape would follow me.
Regardless of where I went, the footage would be released, and my name would be ruined. My reputation would be ruined. I’d thrown away my good name for Gary’s stupid black notebook. What had I been thinking?
“Fine,” I whispered, pushing his hand off my body. “I’ll help you.”
He put his hand back on my hip and slid it up my side and around, grabbing at my chest. Even through his jeans, I felt him growing at my hip, pushing against me. “How about we make our contract official?”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t suppose a handshake would suffice?”
He pressed his lips to my ear, licking my earlobe and sending a shiver down my spine. “No, I don’t suppose so.”
Quickly, and without warning, he spun me around to face him, his hands gripping my lower back. Then, he began untucking my shirt from my jeans, working his way from the back to the front, never once breaking eye contact. And, in a move I thought only happened in movies, he grabbed handfuls of the fabric over each of my breasts and pulled, popping all of the buttons and exposing my black lacy bra.
He pressed his face into my cleavage as he slid the ruined shirt off of my arms and then reached around my back to undo the clasp. He stood back as the bra fell to the floor, his eyes drinking me in, running from my waist to my now exposed breasts.
“You’re too pretty to be a cop,” he whispered, pulling me towards him and reaching down to unbutton my jeans. “Your body shouldn’t be hidden under black slacks and button downs. You need a dress. A nice red one that hugs your curves. That shows you off.”
“I’ll be sure to talk with my sergeant about the uniform,” I said, my voice shaking despite my attempt to sound tough, unbreakable.
Zico laughed as he slid my jeans down my thighs, his lips trailing his fingers, leaving fire along my skin. As much as I hated it, my body was reacting to him. Goosebumps spread down my arms and legs, and a shiver began at the base of my neck and worked its way down my spine. And, worse than that, I felt wetness between my legs.
I stepped out of my jeans, and he threw them on the couch, quickly moving his attention to my lacy underwear. I cursed myself for wearing sexy undergarments. I wished I was in my cotton period panties and a beige bra instead.
Zico whistled and looked up at me, his fingers hooking around the scant fabric at my hips and tugging them down.
And just like that, I was naked.
Zico threw my panties over with my jeans and stood up, pressing his clothed body against mine. I hated how uneven we were. I grabbed the flaps of his leather jacket and pulled it down off of his arms.
“I knew you felt it, too,” he said, leaning forward to whisper in my ear.
I ignored him and lifted the hem of his gray T-shirt up and over his head. I wanted this to be done with. I wanted him to get his kicks and leave. The sooner he was undressed, the sooner that would happen. Although I was removing his clothes to speed up the process, I couldn’t help but notice the ridges of his abs, the deep grooves under his pecs and along his hips. His skin was smooth and perfect. He was beautiful. I shook my head slightly, trying to refocus.
I reached for his jeans, but he grabbed my hand.
“Uh-uh.” He held my hand as he lowered down to his knees in front of me and looked up. “I think it’s time we even the score, don’t you?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but then all at once, I did. He pressed his lips to me and sucked my bud into his mouth. Despite myself, I moaned. His hands were warm and surprisingly gentle on my thighs, and he pulled me more firmly against his mouth so I could feel every movement of his lips, every stroke of his tongue.
I’d had men try this before, but they had always been in such a hurry. Always aching to get it over with so they could get back to pleasuring themselves. Zico wasn’t like that. He took his time. He ran his tongue in small, slow circles over me, alternating several small sucks. He repeated this pattern until my legs began to quiver and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay standing.
Zico sensed this, and he grabbed my arms and pulled me down until I was sitting in front of him, my knees up. Pushing on my chest, he made me lay down on the floor and then spread my knees apart with his hands.
Wasting no time, he dove back in. Only this time, he inserted a finger as well. Again, I moaned, my head rolling from side to side. He stroked me inside and out until I couldn’t think, until all I could think about was begging him to go faster, faster.
“Faster,” I whispered, not realizing I’d said it out loud.
Zico complied. He pumped one finger into me, and then added a second and a third, all the while his tongue was still drawing small circles around me. My hips began to buck against his face, lifting off of the floor so I could have more. More. More.
Finally, the ball of fire that had been growing larger and larger inside of me exploded, sending warmth to every one of my extremities. Completely out of my mind with pleasure, I reached out and grabbed onto the back of his head, holding him to me, running my fingers through his shiny black hair. My body convulsed, and my legs clamped around his ears as waves rolled through my body again and again.
Finally, they began to subside, and my muscles, fatigued from pleasure, collapsed into the floor.
Zico lifted himself up and crawled over me, his body resting between my thighs.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, my breathing heavy and labored. I was being blackmailed. Zico could have done whatever he liked with me, yet he chose to let me climax first. He chose to pleasure me. It didn’t make any sense.
“I may be a criminal, but I’m a generous lover,” he said, his eyes sparkling playfully. “But now it’s my turn.”
He unbuttoned his pants and kicked them off, all the while positioning himself over me, his arms on either side of my head. I was just about to remind him about protection when he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft, and I felt like I was melting into him. He sucked on my lower lip, and then lifted himself off of me, digging in the pocket of his jeans for a condom and unwrapping it. As soon as he had it on, he dropped down over my body and in one smooth move, slid inside of me.
I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching out to clutch at his sides. I’d seen how big he was, but I still wasn’t prepared for it. He moved in slowly as my body stretched around him, creating space where it felt like there was none. Finally, his abdomen was pressed against mine, and I sighed, feeling fuller than I’d ever felt.
Then he pulled out and dropped himself into me, our skin slapping together. Once again, I gasped. Zico did it again and again, each time growing more urgent. My shocked responses seemed to urge him on, but I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. Each time he reentered me it was a surprise.
I felt his breathing growing heavy against my neck, but he never slowed down, never seemed to grow tired. He just slammed into me over and over until I was certain I had rug burns along my shoulder blades.
Finally, he pulled out of me entirely, and I wondered whether he was done. However, before I could react, he grabbed my hips and flipped me over on the rug. I flopped on the floor, but he didn’t seem to care. He grabbed my hips again and lifted them, propping me up on my knees as if I were a doll. I lifted myself up on my elbows, and before I even had a chance to catch my breath, Zico was back inside of me.
I moaned, burying my face in the carpet to muffle the noise. I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing what kind of effect he had on me, but in this position, he felt even bigger.
Grabbing at the flesh of my hips roughly, his fingers digging into me, he pulled me towards him as he pushed into me, our bodies meeting halfway.
Soon, without consent from my brain, my body began to do this for him, pushing back into him, begging for more. When Zico paused his thrusting, whether to catch his breath or reposition, I continued moving up and down on him. Finally, he was the one to release a groan. He fell back, resting on his heels as I lowered and lifted myself onto him, astounded every time by the size of him.
He grunted as I slapped against his lap, and leaned forward to kiss my shoulder blades, his hands exploring the curves of my sides and my breasts. Then, he ran his fingers down my abdomen and began making small circular motions against me.
I threw my head back in pleasure, my eyes closed. Zico grabbed my hair and tugged, forcing me to arch my back even further. I felt the skin of my scalp pulling, but somehow, it felt good. I dropped myself onto him again, but this time, rather than lifting back up, I ground down into him, moving my hips in a circular motion, grinding against him.
“Oh God,” he whispered, his finger forgetting my nub as his thighs began to tremble.
Just as I was sure he was going to finish, he pushed me off of him, sending me forward and back onto my knees. Then, he was inside of me again, thrusting harder and harder until my entire body was vibrating. I had never come twice in a row before, but I felt myself building towards a crescendo with every pump.
I pressed myself into him as hard as I could, ensuring I felt every inch of him inside of me, and buried my face in the floor, moans escaping my lips without my permission. Finally, Zico slammed into me and held it. I felt him twitching inside of me, and it was enough. My body clenched and unclenched around him. My legs and arms shook. If it hadn’t been for Zico’s hands on my hips, I surely would have fallen over.
Our groans filled the room, echoing off the walls I had yet to decorate. As we both finished, we collapsed into a heap on the floor, Zico still inside of me, his chest heaving against my back.
As the pleasure began to fade, it was replaced by anger. Anger at Zico for blackmailing me. But more than anything, anger at myself for enjoying it. I’d just had one of the best sexual encounters of my life, and it had been coerced by a mafia member. Who was I? Officer Grasso from the-middle-of-nowheresville wouldn’t have even recognized Officer Grasso from the big city. I felt ashamed.
“You are incredible,” Zico said, his lips moving against my spine, his hands running down my side.
When he pulled out of me, I quickly sat up and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Wasn’t I incredible, too?” he asked. “Based on your reaction, it seemed as if I was pretty incredible, but you didn’t say, so there’s no way for me to know.”
I glared up at him.
“Oh, are we back to that? Are you pretending you didn’t just have a good time?”
I still didn’t respond.
“Fine,” he said, buttoning his jeans and slipping his jacket on. “We can pretend you didn’t enjoy that.”
He walked past me, still naked on the floor, and went to the DVD player where he opened it and grabbed the recording of my blow job back at the cigar shop. He slipped it into an unmarked case and tucked it in his jacket pocket.
“Well, Detective Anna Grasso,” he said, walking to the door and pulling it open. “I’m thoroughly looking forward to working together. You’ll hear from me soon. Goodnight.”