“I need a disguise,” Luc muttered.
“Nah. Embrace it, man. Get yourself a cape. I’m thinking velvet,” Lopez said. “I bet Clark Kent knows just the place to get that shit dry-cleaned.”
“Hilarious. I haven’t heard a million superhero jokes from my brothers, so please, bring it on.”
Lopez grinned unabashedly. “I bet the Moretti cop clan is loving their little bambino being all famous and shit.”
“You have no idea,” Luc muttered.
Luc was the youngest in a family of cops. He couldn’t even get in the door to Sunday dinner without his brothers bursting out of the bushes, pretending to be the paparazzi.
Generally speaking, his bambino status was hell, but he’d happily go back to taking shit about being the baby over this latest brush-with-fame crap.
Lopez skidded to a halt beside Luc, his eyes boring through the crowd as he slowly extended a warning finger. Luc followed his partner’s glare to a sulky teen boy in saggy jeans and greasy hair parted down the middle. The kid was seconds away from attempting to ride his skateboard down a very busy midtown sidewalk.
Lopez said it all with one finger and look. Not cool, kid. Don’t make me come over there.
Luckily the kid correctly interpreted the warning and had enough sense to keep his board tucked under his arm until he got to a less crowded part of the city. Or at least until he got out of sight of cops.
“Wish they were all that easy,” Luc said as they resumed walking.
Lopez grunted before turning his attention back to Luc. “So how’s your dad reacting to your newfound celebrity? I bet Big T’s either disgusted at the circus or thrilled at the prestige.”
“A little of both,” Luc said, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “He’s always thought cops were supposed to be unsung heroes, but he’s not above wanting the Department to look good.”
“Even now?” Lopez asked. “He’s retired. He’s not supposed to care about anything other than sports and annoying your mom.”
“Especially now,” Luc replied.
“Ah,” Lopez said, nodding in understanding. “He bored?”
Luc grunted as he surveyed the crowd out of habit. “Just last week he threatened to take up paint-by-numbers if one of us didn’t go over there to watch the game with him.”
“Can’t be easy for the guy,” Lopez replied. “One day you’re head of the fucking NYPD, the next day, bam, you’re looking at a future of mundane arts and crafts projects.”
Lopez had a valid point. Just a year ago, Tony Moretti had stepped down as police commissioner. The adjustment to retirement had been a rough one, made easier only by the fact that four out of four sons were cops to carry on his legacy.
Or so Tony liked to claim.
What Luc was pretty sure his father actually meant was that Luc’s three older brothers were carrying on the family legacy. But Luc…Luc suspected that deep down, his father didn’t expect much out of Luc. Not since the Shayna Johnson case had gone to shit.
Luc’s brothers may push the envelope on respect for authority, but none of them had had their partner die on the job.
No, that horror was Luc’s private torture. Private, because nobody talked about it. Ever.
But at least the rest of the Moretti siblings were on a clear path toward securing the Moretti family name as NYPD royalty. Despite his brothers’ penchant for bending the rules, all had made a name for themselves as some of the city’s best.
Luc’s oldest brother, Anthony, was next in line for captain in his zone.
Vincent was one of the city’s best homicide DTs. The best, according to Vin. Modesty had never been his strong suit.
Marco had taken his fair share of crap for moving to California to follow his girlfriend, but he too was moving up the ranks of the LAPD at an obnoxious rate.