Chapter 2

Angela Collins

MY WHOLE LIFE has been a train wreck. When I was six years old my parents thought I was mute. They took me to a doctor who ended up giving me a fake diagnosis that stuck - until I turned seven and started reciting passages from 'Principles Of Mathematical Analysis' resulting in my parents switching districts for a better environment - and also a better doctor. I could never really communicate what I was trying to say, and because of this, my talents never breached the surface from where they hid within me. Although my brother's talents definitely had. Mom and dad adored his work in literature as well as his capabilities in football. I was never jealous though. Never. Because my parents never treated me like I was less. I just feel like I could of given them more and made them more proud if they knew me now. Truth is, I could run faster than any girl in my year at school. Any guy too. And although I didn't really understand poetry or narrative, my ability at math was uncanny. I just never applied myself. Or...really showed my self per sé. Then, my parents were brutally murdered on what was supposed to be a normal summer day but turned out to be an obviously shitty kind of one. Only two days after that, the police came to tell me that I also seemed to have OCD. Which turned out to be a delight. Things just always seemed destined to go wrong for me. Except for today. Today, my bitchy ass is going to be pampered with pats on the back and congratulations as I walk around the office. Because recently, I found and brought in Alex Romanov. A narcissistic name, I know. What's more interesting about him, though, is who he is. Alex Romanov is the leader of, what we now know is called, the Romanov Mafia. A Russian mafia that was transported here to America over decades ago. The mafia is notorious for some of the biggest drug rings in the country, and also most known for never leaving a loose end. Until some rookie detective who's only been on the force for four years showed up. That would be me by the way. "Collins!" A voice calls, echoing through the small office. My head perks up at the mention of my last name, scanning entryways for the voice with squinted eyes only for them to relax once landing on Jonathan Wilds. Standing up, I walk over to him with a practiced smile etched into my features and give him a quick, polite hug. Jonathan has been here for over a decade, and he was the one who actually showed me around and introduced me to this line of work three years ago. It seems like a nice thing to do. But it was indeed a very passive, aggressive introduction when he was spewing facts about how women in the force don't really contribute much. Which is why it feels so much better that I arrested Alex Romanov and not him. Especially when it's the case he's been looking at for years. "I heard you brought in quite the bounty." He smirks as we pull away from the hug. I give him a small scoff and roll of the eyes as I return and sit back down at my desk with him following closely. I have some idea what this is about. "Are you perhaps upset someone solved it before you?" I suggest, gathering papers from different corners of my table. "No, actually." Jonathan says, and I shoot him a mocking look of surprise. "I know, I'm surprised too," he chuckles. "It's just I can't really be mad when the case that's ruined my life for ten years is finally over." "Well," I spin in my chair to give him my full attention. "You're welcome." "Don't get too cocky now; although your work is ineffable, I'm sure you're about to regret all the extra work that comes after." He shakes his head with amusement. "Oh, but you underestimate me, Jonathan," I shake my head. "The afterwork is my favourite part." "Why? Who in their right mind likes doing all the interrogating and paperwork when they're done bringing someone in?" He asks, scrunching his face up. "It's the part that puts the story together," I shrug. "It's the most interesting." Jonathan stays silent for a moment before speaking, "I guess you're right. I'm just more into catching the perp." "You're more into the Die Hard Soniry," I roll my eyes with a scoff, "You're like a douchey version of Jake Peralta." "Douchey?" He frowns. "Why am I douchey?" "Because you only care about bringing the bounty in and not ridding the streets of drugs and blood." I answer swiftly. Stuttering is something I never do. Not once. Which should be a good thing, but my parents thought it was odd when I was younger - and would you look at that I was sitting across from a shrink. "That doesn't make me douchey!" Jonathan exclaims with his hands in the air to exaggerate his point. "You're wearing eighties cop sunglasses inside." I deadpan. "Good call." He agrees quickly, taking them off and putting them in his shirt. My shoulders shake slightly from the silent laughter that escapes my lips as I shake my head and stand up to make my way towards the interrogation rooms. "Hey! Wait up!" Jonathan calls from behind, jogging up to me and stopping me in place. "Can I...work on this with you?" He asks. "Why?" I ask, trying to sound curious. "Kid, I've been working on this case for ten years of my life. I need to know how it goes down. I need a result." He says. "No." I hum. "Whyyyy?" He wines. Because we both know how this goes, I'm a young female and you're an older guy - If I let you put even a fingerprint on this case all the credit goes to you, I want to rant. "I've worked hard on this. And I plan to finish it alone," I answer. "I won't take any credit - any work either," He pleads, "I just want to be there to know." Squinting my eyes at him accusingly, I continue walking down the hall with him on my foot as I shuffle the papers in my hands to neaten them. "Your name doesn't go down on anything, hear me?" I say. "Yes ma'm." "You will not be talking to my perps and clients. Only watching from the two way mirror, or receiving information when I give it to you." "Fair." He nods. "And you will not give your opinion on anything. I work my way, or no way." "Okay, but-" "Nope." "Fine. Deal." He says, putting out his hand for me to shake. I deny it, turning around and walking to the glass frame that sits in the centre of the room. I'm not shaking his hand for anything - I don't like using some physical connection to promise things. I use my word, or declare debt. Those are the only ways. "Well then, meet Brianna Romanov, Alex's secret daughter."