“Agent Alvarez. Thank you for meeting me.” I thrust my hand out to Donato’s contact in the FBI, assessing as we shook. He had a few years on me, the lines around his mouth indicating he was very likely a smoker. The ones around his eyes were deep set, evidence of the things he’d seen that no amount of booze, painkillers, or time could erase.

“You certainly got my attention with your phone call.” He unbuttoned his black suit coat and slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Mind if we walk?” I’d chosen Rockefeller Park instead of a restaurant or the apartment because I needed the air. And Vivian loved it here. Somehow she gave me strength even when we were apart.

“I could use the fresh air.” He lifted a shoulder. “Well, outside air,” he amended.

I was supposed to crack a smile, but couldn’t find it in me. Instead, I wandered along the Hudson, hands in my suit pockets mirroring the agent. I took in my surroundings as I walked. A ferry glided across the water. Buildings stretched high above, kissing the sky. Fall wind caressed the trees, leaves raining to the grass. A couple jogged past, their pace in step as they weaved around us.

Agent Alvarez waited for me to speak, seemingly content to match my strides for as long as I wanted. I reminded myself that Donato trusted him, so I’d have to as well. This decision was easy, and yet I was stalling. I could make up a reason for why I’d phoned him and then go get Vivian. Pretend it was out of my hands.

Except that wasn’t who I was. It wasn’t the man she expected me to be. And with all the shit with Vinny, maybe this was another way to protect her.

“Donato didn’t murder my father,” I said evenly without slowing my steps. I turned to face Agent Alvarez, our eyes meeting. “I did.”

I had to give the man credit. Only one brow slightly lifted in surprise before his expression turned neutral. “Daniel, before you say anything else, I want to be sure you know the penalty for this can be life without parole.”

“Did you know my father spent all of my mother’s money? That he treated her like shit, and she never once complained?” I looked out at the river, picturing my mother’s smile. “She passed away when I was young. Then there was no one to protect me from him.”

These were things I didn’t discuss, but he needed motive, and I was going to give him plenty.

“None of that means you killed him,” he pointed out.

I ignored him and went on. “Did you also know that when I was fifteen he sold me out to Francisco Angelone?”

I waited for him to answer with a level stare. He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t aware.”

“He always looked out for number one. And the fucker never stopped until the day he died.”

“A lot of people hate their father without killing him.”

My brow creased. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the guy was trying to give me a way out. “Get out your recorder or a notepad. This is my confession.” I looked at him directly in the eyes. “I killed my father.”

Agent Alvarez made no move; we just kept walking as I detailed what happened that day as I’d rehearsed it in my head a thousand times. The last thing I needed to do was say too much.

Finally, the man stopped. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out, offering it to me. I declined, and he lit up. He took a long drag and tilted his head toward the sky, blowing out a long stream of smoke.

“He protects you. And you’d do anything to protect him.” We weren’t talking about my father anymore.

“Do you have kids, Agent Alvarez?” I leaned against the railing that ran along the path, and he joined me.

“Three. A girl and two boys.”

The smoke wafted toward me, stinging my nostrils. We should have met at a bar. I needed a stiff drink right about now.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for them?” I asked pointedly.

“Not a damn thing.”

I wrapped my fingers around the thick metal railing that was cool to the touch. “Until I was fifteen, I had no idea what that was like. Really until later if I’m being honest. It took me quite some time to realize that all fathers are not monsters.”

“You’re doing this with or without me,” he concluded.

“Justice needs to be served. I can’t let you put an innocent man away for my crime,” I said smoothly.

He sniffed, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Donato? Innocent?”

“He is in this matter.”

“Then I guess this is where I take you in.” With one last drag, he flicked the cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it out with his shoe. He pointed his chin in the direction of the city.

“Isn’t this the part where you read me my rights and cuff me?” I asked wryly as I pushed off the railing.

“I’ll do it in the car. And I won’t cuff you until we get to the station. Somehow, I don’t think you’re a flight risk.”

We pulled into an underground garage, and I regretted not taking one last breath of fresh air in the park. It hit me that I didn’t know when I’d see the outside world again. Until I was certain that Donato was cleared of my father’s murder, I wouldn’t try too hard to get out. In fact, I’d do all I could to stay in.

Agent Alvarez doubted me, but I had to trust that he’d go with it. I had the motive. More motive than anyone else. That was going to have to do until I found some concrete evidence to point in my direction. I’d been working on it, but with a crime that happened so long ago, definitive proof didn’t come easy.

I stood tall as we ascended. Alvarez loosely handcuffed me, and I followed him out of the elevator onto the sixth floor lobby, which was all gray. Gray walls. Gray carpet. Gray ceiling. All in varying shades. The hallway and the holding room in which I was placed were no different.

Alvarez shifted the cuffs so that they were in front of me. They were frigid against my skin, as if none of my warmth had seeped into the metal. I tested the resistance. Being restrained made me itch to be loose. How had Vivian tolerated my ties, my belt, her stockings wrapped around her wrists? She relaxed in my binds, but this was nothing like that.

Agent Alvarez left me on my own, and I sank into the cold metal chair. The feet scraped against the laminate floor, and the sound echoed through the room. I tested the resistance of the cuffs again, the links between them clanking as I pulled. Panic began to build.

I inhaled the stale air, attempting to steady my nerves. This was what must be done, I told myself over and over. I couldn’t let another man pay my penance…especially not Donato. Not after everything he’d done for me.

My phone vibrated against my chest from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. If I wanted, I could answer, but whoever it was would have to wait. I needed to concentrate on what was at hand. Forget about the outside world.

What if it’s Vivian? Or Muriella?

I lifted my hands and awkwardly fumbled for the now still phone. It took me four tries to get it out, and once I saw it was only Donato, I regretted my wasted effort. I dropped the phone on the steel table and sagged in my chair.

My foot tapped a restless rhythm on the floor. What if Vivian or Muriella needed me though? I hadn’t expected to be taken in on the spot. “Goddammit.”

“Already regretting your choice?” Agent Alvarez filed in with another man in a dark suit, both of them wearing skinny ties. His demeanor had shifted. When we’d been alone, he had almost felt trustworthy. Almost. Now, he appeared smug and completely unsympathetic. Like I was a murderer.

“There was no choice,” I said, picking up my phone and spinning it in my hand.

“I’ll be needing that.” He pointed his chin at the cell phone, but didn’t take it. “This is Agent Sampson.”

I acknowledged the other man with a flick of my eyes before returning them to Alvarez. Sampson had a notebook laptop under his arm. Both of them took a seat in the chairs across from me.

“Would you like coffee? Water?” Sampson asked. Ah…now he was the good cop. “I’d offer something stronger, but it’s against procedure.” A practiced smile graced his lips.

“Nothing,” I answered in a clipped tone.

If it affronted him, he showed no sign, simply setting up his laptop. Alvarez placed his phone on the table, pressing the screen a few times.

“You’ve waived the right to have an attorney present. Your statement is being written and recorded,” he said. I glanced at the red light on the camera in the corner of the room and wondered who else was watching on the other side.

I appreciated that Donato had kept me from this side of things, but hated feeling out of my element. I didn’t know what to expect, had no feel for what was coming next…other than a cell.

“Did either of you catch the Yankees game this afternoon? I haven’t seen the score,” Agent Sampson said. I couldn’t tell if he was actually doing anything on his laptop or just pretending to fiddle.

My gut reaction was to scream, but if this was how I had to play it, so be it. “They lost,” I said stoically.

The two men appeared surprised by my answer, though they recovered quickly. “Damn shame.” Sampson made a disgusted face. I simply stared. He cleared his throat. “Ready when you are, Mr. Elliott.”

“I killed my father, Keith Elliott,” I began. My voice didn’t waver. There was no hesitation. It rang of truth. “He phoned me for a visit to his motel. I argued the point, but eventually agreed to see him. We fought. He’s dead.”

Concise. To the point. Enough of a confession without giving too much away.

The questions began, a volley between the agents and myself. Whatever they wanted to know, I answered. In less than an hour, they had enough to hold me, without bond for now.

The clothes they had me change into before taking me to a cell were khaki pants and a shirt, not the orange jumpsuit I expected. The cotton was scratchy and thin. I wondered if they recycled these things. Had someone worn it before me, and did they get out of this place because they’d served their time, or did they eventually die in these clothes?

I took off the shirt. The material made me itch, reminded me of when I had no choice but to wear other people’s clothes. I’d vowed it would never happen again, and yet here I was. The past on spin cycle. Rinse and repeat.

I sat on the thin mattress and almost immediately popped back up to my feet. A restless energy ran through me. I was helpless in here. Yet another thing I’d promised myself I’d never be again.

I paced as my mind took in the reality of what I was in for. Six strides. That’s all it was between the door and the opposite wall. Two strides. The distance between the wall and the bed. Before getting locked up, I’d resigned myself to a life behind bars as what I had to do. Staring it in the face wasn’t so simple. My survival instincts were kicking in and wouldn’t be quiet. I needed out. This wasn’t where I belonged. With Vivian. That was my place in life.

“Fuck!” I punched the gray concrete block wall. Pain radiated from my knuckles up my arm. I stripped off the pants until I was down to the federal issue briefs I was reduced to wearing. In my current mental state, sleep would never come, so I dropped to the floor into the pushup position. With controlled movements, I lowered until I was a centimeter from the linoleum before straightening my arms. I did one hundred and jumped to my feet, counting in my head as I pounded out an equal amount of jumping jacks.

I repeated the routine until sweat poured down my body and my limbs felt like noodles. A thousand of each until I collapsed on the mattress, mentally and physically exhausted. This was it. No amount of fighting would get me out. If I did get out, the man who was truly my father would come here in my place. I couldn’t live with that. No matter what it cost me.