Chapter Text
People say that journaling can be a good way to work through problems. It feels a little “Dear Diary” to me, but right now my life is spiraling out of control. So I decided to try it.
I let Frank Mosca ply me with Dom Perignon last night. Then I let myself get into a situation I never wanted; one I should have been able to predict. They say pride goes before a fall, and isn’t that the truth?
As I got dressed for the get-acquainted evening with Mosca, I thought about being prepared. There was no deal to make, we were going to dinner in public, we’d be around other people. I had discussed with the Lieutenant whether it would be a good idea to wear a wire, or carry a concealed bug in my purse. He wanted me to carry a bug and use a safe word. We went over whether Switek would be able to do remote surveillance of the house. Trudy had wanted to come with me or work undercover at the restaurant, but I thought that would immediately put Frank Mosca on high alert.
In the end, I decided against a bug or remote backup. This was such an early-stage contact I thought there was no way a slick customer like Mosca would give away any incriminating information. In an attempt to compromise, I agreed to conceal a .38 Special pistol in my purse. Castillo gave me that look of his, but in the end he went along with me. With 20/20 hindsight, it feels like a bad, bad decision, on his part as well as mine. I can be stubborn, but why didn’t he override me?
Sonny came by while I was getting ready. He had pulled his usual dog-in-the-manger act at work—I wasn’t his girlfriend, but he also didn’t like me being with anyone else. Then he treated me like a teenager in need of guidance, and then joked about my undercover assignment being a “date.” A date! As if he would ever refer to his own undercover work that way. You’d better believe I told him where to get off!
Anyway, he stopped by; admired my dress in the sweetest and weirdest way, as if he’d never seen another woman dressed up, and said he wanted to apologize. I believe he meant it. One thing about Sonny, it might take him awhile to admit he’s wrong, but he will. I let him fasten my necklace to show he was forgiven. He’s always so strangely helpful when you really need him…
Okay, that wasn’t my smartest decision, either. He fastened the necklace, then put his arms around my waist from behind. He’s always been a touchy-feely guy; he’s that way with everyone. He said something about knowing I could handle things, and asking me to be careful—“I just don’t want you to do anything reckless.” Right, as if he wouldn’t! As I stared at our reflection, I could feel him nuzzling my hair—he always liked the scent of my shampoo—and then he leaned over and kissed the side of my neck.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Levelheaded,” I said. Then I turned and reached up, putting my hands on either side of his face—and then I kissed him on the lips.
Oh, I know it was stupid of me to let it go that far! But he felt so good… it’s been a long time since a guy I really liked held me and kissed me. And I knew I could ask Sonny to stop, and he would. I’ve never had to worry about being safe with him. For a second it felt as if we were still together.
I said good-bye; I didn’t want to be late for this assignment. Mosca’s driver was picking me up soon, and I needed to be alone and settle into my cover—Gina Troiano, interior designer. This was a chance to gain Mosca’s trust, so I’d eventually be able to get some solid information from that piece of scum. Then maybe I’d stop hearing the hooker jokes and be that much closer to my own gold badge.
Sonny left.
As I locked the door behind him, I came out of my trance and realized what I’d done—what we had done. Sonny is married, the jerk. To someone else. And his wife is out of the country, touring. So he—and I—cheated on her; emotionally, at least.
I don’t know if he even thought we did anything wrong. I’ll never understand him. Sometimes he treats me like a kid sister who needs protecting… and sometimes like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. If I’m so precious, why wouldn’t he commit to me?
I thought I was over him—Sonny, I mean. I wanted to be over him. I’d wished him and Caitlin happiness; I’d been 100% professional at the office; I didn’t play along when he tried to make wisecracks about my hooker assignments. I don’t know—don’t want to know—what the cheating bastard was thinking when he was nuzzling my hair and kissing my neck.
Old habits?
Lonely with Caitlin out of town?
Trouble in newlywed paradise?
Managed to forget he was married this time?
Whatever, I needed to be on my guard. I know Sonny cares for me; he loves me in some way, he probably wasn’t over me, but he never loved me enough to commit. In the few minutes he was in my apartment, I found out I wasn’t over him after all. The words blazed through my mind: I love Sonny Crockett, I do; with all his strengths and all his faults. I’d do anything in my power to protect him, if it ever became a choice. Only now, he was totally off-limits as anything more than a professional colleague.
Never again—this could never happen again. I don’t mess around with married guys. I took a few deep cleansing breaths to calm myself and put Sonny Crockett somewhere very safe.
* * *
Anyway… Frank Mosca was gallant and debonair, treating me like some kind of princess. He can certainly be charming and funny, too. We went to dinner with another couple. The man was obviously one of Frank’s associates and a major player in his organization. The wine flowed freely—Mosca was in a celebratory mood, and kept pouring the Dom Perignon. I concentrated on everything he and his associate said, and turned up the charm as Gina Troiano, fascinated interior designer. It was one way to get Sonny’s face—and his hands… and his kisses—off my mind.
Mosca was really talkative, opening up and giving all kinds of details about his business operations. My undercover persona was killing it. He was buying into me—into my act, that is—big time.
After dinner, Frank’s driver took us back to his house, supposedly for me to give him more suggestions about interior design, but really because he wanted to flirt with me some more. He opened another bottle in the car, and we both had some. By the time we got back to the house, he had talked a lot about all of his “banks in different cities”; clearly a euphemism for money-laundering schemes like the one Wilson Cooke ran for him in Miami. I was more in the bag than I realized at first, and he put on some music. We danced for awhile… Frank was about as good a dancer as Sonny, meaning not very, but he kept treating me like I was someone special. He was very physically affectionate, charming, and witty. Concentrating on my undercover role, I flirted back; it helped me keep Sonny, and my feelings for him, to the back of my mind.
Then Frank started putting his hands all over me… and kissing me… he pushed me down onto the sofa, pulling at my clothes… and when I said “no” and tried to stop, he didn’t.
I realized how stupid I’d been to tell Trudy and Castillo I didn’t need backup. If I didn’t give in to him I’d have to blow my cover. Even though I’d carried the pistol in my purse, when things reached that point, I couldn’t get to it and was too impaired to use it. Besides, while I didn’t know exactly where Frank’s bodyguard was hanging out at the house, if I’d attempted any self-defense, I’m sure he would have been within arm’s reach immediately—and armed, too.
He didn’t stop. In the most difficult masquerade of my life, I had to convince Mosca I bought in. Just like that, I had to use Sonny and my feelings for him to try and forget about this murderous criminal asshole. It wasn’t so hard. Sonny was never going to be easy to forget. This creep—like that piece of slime Ramirez—was nothing in comparison. Nothing.
After two rounds, I managed to convince him to have Billy drive me home, using the excuse of an early meeting with a client of my interior design business.
* * *
Now I feel so dirty, so cheap… and so ashamed. I thought I had covered all my bases. When, and how, did I lose control of the situation? No doubt the DP had something to do with it all…
I should never have agreed to go back to Frank’s house after the dinner, but I was on a roll with the information he shared so openly. It was a chance to prove myself, to up my profile in the department.
This morning in our squad meeting, I felt—and looked—like a wreck. In order to say how I learned the details I did about Mosca’s money-laundering operation, I had to tell everyone that I drank too much with him; all but admitted I’d slept with him.
I mean, I’m sure everyone could read my face. The guys didn’t say anything. Switek looked embarrassed; Rico disapproving; Sonny—well, Sonny looked at me once, when he first came in, and then mostly he stared at the floor. The Lieutenant surprised me. He just told me to stay on it—on the case. I thought maybe Sonny was going to say something, because he hesitated for a second before he followed the others out of the conference room, but he didn’t. Trudy tried to talk to me after they all left. She could tell. She tried to let me off the hook, tried to suggest it was just the champagne. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about him… I couldn’t even admit it to her, but if I was going to be really honest, under my cover of flirting with Mosca during the dinner and the dancing, I was using him to put Sonny--and my feelings for him--out of my mind.
The way Sonny looked at me… I know he knew. His words pinged around inside my head.
“I just don’t want you to do anything reckless…”
