"Tell me what you know about the Black Rose," I demanded, my voice firm as I loomed over the suspect seated on the iron chair. We'd apprehended him after a heist at the fifth precinct downtown. He was caught earlier trying to steal a prized possession in the New Haven museum.
He was brought into the station and that's when we noticed he was part of them. He had their signature tattoo at the back of his ears. A black rose.
I lowered myself to eye level, my gaze locked onto his. "You will tell me what you know about the Black Rose." I gritted my teeth, struggling to maintain my composure. For the past five minutes, I'd been trying to extract information from him, but he'd remained stubbornly silent. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, I would've thought he was dead.
I took a deep breath and began to speak in hushed tones, my voice barely audible. "Years ago, I had issues controlling my temper.", I brushed his hair back with one my fingers, "I broke my fingers punching walls, trying to get the anger out. Trust me, it's not out of my system yet. I still need a good punching bag to flex my healed fingers on."
His eyes flickered, and he finally focused on me. "Non otterrete un cazzo sulla Rosa Nera da me, sbirro," he sneered, spitting on me. The glob landed on the side of my face, and I hissed, my anger boiling over. I grabbed his chin forcefully, tilting his head up to meet my gaze. "Enzo, what did he say?" I demanded, my eyes locked onto the suspect's, as I struggled to keep my emotions in check.
"Officer Laurent...", Enzo's voice was calm and collected as he replied, "He said, 'You won't get anything about the Black Rose from me, cop'." His eyes flicked to the suspect, then back to me, a hint of concern etched on his face. "Officer Laurent, perhaps we should take a break?"
I ignored Enzo's suggestion, my focus fixed on the suspect. My grip on his chin tightened, and I leaned in closer, my face inches from his. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what I want to know," I growled, my patience wearing thin.
The suspect smirked, his eyes glinting with defiance. He spat again, this time aiming for my shoe. I felt a surge of anger and frustration. This wasn't going as planned. Not in any way.
Enzo intervened, placing a restraining hand on my arm. "Officer Laurent, let's take a step back. We can try a different approach." His voice was soothing, but I could sense the underlying tension. It went unheard as my arm moved on its own and I punched him.
His face fell, forcing me to loosen my grip. I cupped it once more and punched him again and again and again. I could see the blood spilling from his nose, face and lips. Some of it tainting my fist and the rest on him.
I should stop. I should let him go. But I didn't.
Enzo's voice was a distant echo, a faint whisper in my ear, urging me to stop, to calm down, to think. But I was beyond reason, beyond thought. All I could feel was the burning need to break the suspect, to shatter his resolve and extract the secrets he hid.
"Officer Laurent stop!" I heard someone yell as a hand tried to push me back. I resisted and just kept on hitting him with my fist.
"Get out Laurent!" I could hear the voices of those behind, willing me to stop but I was blinded by rage as I kept on hitting the guy restricted and sitting on the iron chair in the center of the interrogation room.
It's been two hours since I was set free from the cell I was held and told to go home. I've made a fatal mistake, putting my career on the line like that for little to no information. And now, I stay seated on a black plastic chair on the loft of my apartment, staring at the keychain in my right palm.
The metal felt cold against my fingertips. Empty. Just like I felt. I wanted to cry,I wanted to thrash out so bad and punch a wall.
"Two weeks suspension and demoted to patrol duty," I whispered to no one. The words of Chief Marcus still rang in my ears.
His disappointed face flashed in my mind. "You've got potential, Laurent. But that temper... it's going to cost you everything one day."
Today wasn't that day, but it felt damn close.
I stifled a sob as I stood up, tossing the piece of metal onto my coffee table. It clattered against the wood, the sound echoing through my empty apartment. Walking to the wall where I'd pinned everything I knew about The Black Rose, I traced the red threads connecting the photos, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes.
"I'm never going to get close to them from inside the NHPD," I muttered, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Kyle's name flashed on the screen. I ignored it, turning back to my wall of obsession.
The Black Rose. La Rosa Nera. The syndicate that had its fingers in everything from government to police force. The same syndicate that had something to do with ny parents death...I think.
I closed my eyes, memories flooding back. The screams. The heat. The whispers I'd heard that night at my uncle's house. It all felt like my life was coming to an end. Ever since, I have been nothing more than a shell of what I'd once been and that doesn't even count considering I had barely spent a decade in this world when I lost everything. I was nothing but a child.
My eyes snapped open, determination replacing the emptiness I'd felt moments ago. If I couldn't get to them from inside the system, I'd do it my way.
I grabbed my leather jacket from the coat rack and headed to the door. But something made me pause. In the back of my closet, hidden behind winter clothes, was a box. I pulled it out, opening it to reveal my personal gun. Not department issued. No traces.
Perfect.
Tucking it into my waistband, I left my apartment with a singular focus. Find the Maestro, the man who'd clawed his way to the top of The Black Rose. About two years ago,news from Black Rose members brought into the precint had it that a new leader has found its way at the top of the syndicate. He wasn't my target but he might have answers.
I had leads. Whispers from the streets about a meeting at the old Drexler building downtown. A business tycoon who'd crossed paths with The Black Rose one too many times, Drogo. I was seventy percent certain the Maestro was going to be there. He was said to be an assassin that worked for the black rose before he somehow became their leader. He had made multiple kills, probably the most wanted in the entire black rose. He was like a shadow,never seen except his work of arts he leaves for the police to clean up.
Night had fallen by the time I reached the building, its windows dark against the city skyline. Slipping inside through a service entrance, I climbed the stairs, careful to keep my footsteps silent.
The sound of voices drifted down the hallway. I followed, gun ready, heart pounding.
Through a partially open door, I saw him. Tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. Standing over a man in a business suit, blood dripping from the fancy bronze dagger in his hand.
The CEO's throat was slit, a perfect line across his neck.
I should call for backup,wait for backup. But backup wouldn't come,not for me and waiting wasn't an option.
I raised my gun, stepping into the room. "NHPD. Drop your weapon and put your hands on the ground!"
I wanted to laugh at my own words. Who was I deceiving? I wasn't NPHD anymore. But he didn't need to know that.
He turned, and our eyes met. Dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce right through me.
And then, he did the most unexpected thing. He smirked. A slow smile stretched across his face, those eyes gleaming with something I couldn't read.
In that moment, I knew. This was just the beginning. And somewhere deep inside, a part of me whispered that I'd just walked into a game where the rules were unknown, and the stakes were higher than I could imagine.
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