Impossible to Refuse
Caskett, Meeting AU
Rated T
When Rick Castle agrees to a meeting with the head of one of New York's more efficient crime families, he has no idea what he's getting into, or how it's going to change his life. A 2016 Castle Hiatus Mini-Ficathon story that would not have been possible without my favorite enablers. <3
Chapter One
More than once in his life, his mother has said his curiosity will get him killed, but this is probably the first time he's ever considered that she might be right.
As a mystery writer, he has met a number of – ahem – interesting individuals while researching for his books. A few CIA agents, the head of FDNY, even enforcers from a couple of the more notorious "organizations" in the city. But never anyone from this one. And after almost half an hour being under the scrutiny of two "representatives" from one of New York's less famous, but historically more "efficient" crime families, he's a little bit glad for that.
No, that's a lie – the terror curling at the edge of his stomach is still really cool. He just has to hope he makes it out of all of this without being fitted for concrete shoes should this meeting not go well.
"Hey, you know I didn't get your names," he starts, tilting his head in Moose and Jimmy the Enforcer's direction. "I'm Rick Castle."
They stare back at him, looking anything but eager to make his acquaintance. The taller, dark-haired one turns back to his coffee, taking a liberal sip from the steaming mug without flinching. The fairer one eyes him for a moment longer before looking away and gesturing for a refill to his own mug.
Licking his lips, Rick continues, "Look, I really appreciate you guys talking to me. Or well, hanging out here with me, since you're really not doing much in the way of talking, and technically I'm meeting with your boss."
They blink in response, sharing a look before going back to ignoring him.
"Anyway, I just wanted to put it out there that I'm not trying to screw you over or anything like that. I'm just doing research for one of my books." He swallows. "Not that there's anything to screw you over about, after all, you're running a legitimate business here, and –"
The men stand, making their way toward him. He jumps to his feet, holding up his hands in surrender.
"Whoa, whoa, easy. You've made your point. I'll just shut up and observe. No need to be touchy."
Still, they take a step closer.
"Cut it out, guys. That's no way to treat a guest. Especially one I invited."
The goons stop, quirking unrepentant smirks over Castle's shoulder.
Rick turns, finding a woman with bright hazel eyes and upturned lips watching him, appraising him.
He does a rapid evaluation of his own. She's his height – almost his height, at least – clad in a deep blue blazer, cream blouse, and figure hugging jeans. Her dark hair has been flat ironed straight, landing at her shoulders in sharp points, but side-swept bangs add a softness to her look, breaking up the severity of the style. She's gorgeous, model gorgeous, and nothing at all like he had been expecting.
"Just wanted to see his reaction, boss," the dark-haired one says, clapping his partner on the shoulder to get him to stand down. "He did alright, I guess."
"Uh huh, cute." She rolls her eyes. "Relax, Mr. Castle. They're just messing with you. You're my guest and they know it. And if they didn't before," she adds, sending a pointed look in their direction, "now they do."
"I, ah, well thanks. I appreciate that. I feel better knowing my face won't be rearranged today."
Her lips quirk again, and he can practically hear her saying that he watches too many movies before her smile disappears and the all business mask falls back into place. "Why don't you come to my office?" she offers, her tone betraying none of the amusement he saw mere seconds ago. "We can talk there, and then you can observe more out here if you'd like."
He nods, reaching back for his notebook and the pen he had dropped upon standing.
"Sounds great."
His mystery woman – though not really a mystery, he knows exactly who she is – gives his new pals a nod before striding away, her steps confident in the pumps he hadn't noticed before now. He hangs back, his eyes lingering on the razor-thin heel, the impossibly long, slim lines of her legs, the firm curve of her a–
"Eyes up, Castle," she drawls without ever looking back. "Come on."
He follows, wondering for just a moment if she'll sic her men on him should he tell her just how hot that is.
Though it isn't exactly loud in the diner, when the door with the stern "employees only" plaque falls shut behind him and they make their way down a narrow hallway, he's struck by the absence of kitchen noise and idle chatter.
"I'm sorry about those two back there," she murmurs once they reach the door at the end of the hall.
"Who? Mutt and Jeff? I let them think they were getting to me. Wouldn't want them to feel like they're losing their touch."
Her laughter welcomes him into the office. For a woman whose reputation suggests a certain degree of stoicism in her personality, she's been particularly demonstrative with her amusement so far.
Maybe she likes him. After all, she did approach him for this meeting and not the other way around.
Oh, maybe he's about to become a mob boss's boy toy. He could live with that. Provided her enforcers out there don't jump him and make him sorry he ever walked into the diner.
"I know you had a cup outside, but feel free to help yourself to another coffee," she says, stepping around him to the cart and the cornflower blue Keurig machine at the far end of her office. He watches her lift the white mug with the bold, intricate "K" to her lips and pushes forward to join her.
"Thanks. I think I will." He reaches for plain black ceramic and studies the machine in front of him. "You know, I've been trying to decide whether to get one of these, but I can't decide if it's worth it. Do you like it?"
Most of her face is obscured by her mug, but he sees her eyebrows jump. She wasn't expecting small talk. "It makes a decent enough cup," she answers after a long pull of said coffee.
"Well, good. Glad to hear."
"Mhmm," she agrees, watching the coffee maker hum to life under his hands. He makes quick work of doctoring his coffee with cream and two sugars before turning back to her.
"So…" Rick begins, taking an experimental sip. She was right; it isn't a bad cup of coffee.
"Why don't we have a seat and talk?" she interrupts, gesturing for him to settle into one of the plush chairs across from her desk.
"Why do I feel like you're about to make me an offer I can't refuse?" he jokes, easing onto the cushion in time to see her mask shutter into place. Her amused half-smile is gone, replaced by stony blankness.
"I assure you, Mr. Castle, while some in my family might have taken that approach in the past, that's not what I'm about."
Rick nods, setting his mug down on the edge of her desk. "Of course. I didn't mean to offend you."
Her head bobs in understanding. "I know. But just to make sure we're clear, we're simply having a conversation. You are free to leave at any time, you're free to decline my proposal, as well. You won't be penalized, your family won't suffer if you say no, and you are free to come back and spend some time up front to observe for your book."
"But," he prompts, sensing a catch to that last part.
A wry smile touches her lips. "But you'll probably be ignored ninety-nine percent of the time. Nobody's going to want to talk to you. At least not for a very long time, and I'd guess by how quickly you agreed to this meeting that you're on a deadline. Your books usually come out in September, don't they? It's already February."
Ah. Well, stories are kind of his bread and butter, so silence isn't preferred. Especially since Black Pawn wants something from him soon, and he wants something to live up to Derrick Storm during the glory days. But if push comes to shove, he can make it work.
Then again, how cool would it be to get the inside stories? To make his characters real, true, multi-dimensional even, instead of relying on old tricks and stereotypes.
He's already picturing a character with her grace, her wit, her presence – her story. The story that has a woman he would expect to see in a courtroom or a medical suite smack in the middle of a crime family. He needs to know. He needs to know everything.
"What's the proposal? Do you want me to be your special friend? No strings attached?"
Her lips purse at that, the glimmer of enjoyment back in her eyes. "No, thank you. I'm not looking for a date, strings or otherwise."
"Damn. Well if you change your mind, just so you know, I would be happy to be your love slave."
She snorts at that, twisting to open one of the lower drawers of her desk. "I'll keep that in mind, Castle. For now, though, I'll have to pass. But I do need your help."
That gets his attention, knocking the silly back into its place. She needs his help?
"With what?" he asks. Anticipation flares in his chest, wild and desperate to know, forcing him forward in his chair.
She returns with an ordinary office file, sliding it across the desk just far enough for him to see the label on the side. Beckett, Johanna.
Lowering her eyes, she sucks in a deep breath and pushes her hair away from the delicate slashes of her cheeks, gathering her thoughts. For the first time since she appeared behind him out front, she looks vulnerable, exposed, and he wisely keeps his mouth shut, waiting her out.
Finally, Kate Beckett, granddaughter of the late leader of the Sarto crime family and current head of the organization, looks back up at him, her hazel eyes shining fierce gold in the late afternoon sun.
"My mother's murder. I need you to help me solve my mother's murder."
Rick gawks. Okay, that is not what he had been expecting from this meeting, not even close.
"I," he falters, licking his lips. "You do know I'm a mystery writer, right? I don't… well usually I just imagine crimes, I don't really solve them."
Her hands drop to the folder, and he watches her fingers curl against the manila surface. "No, I know. But I also know your work, and I know your reputation for… researching… with various groups, and I think you can give me insight I haven't had before."
He nods, careful not to commit himself yet. Yet.
"I thought… I thought usually the family took care of things like this?"
Kate Beckett's eyes flash once more, in annoyance this time. "You need to stop watching so many Coppola movies. Yes, my family has a history of questionably legal practices, but that's not what we're talking about here."
Okay, he's still intrigued. Not quite happy to have pissed her off again, but he can tread lightly.
"What are we talking about then?"
"My mother – Johanna Beckett, formerly Sarto – was a lawyer. She wasn't in the life at all, hadn't been since she left home at eighteen. One night we were supposed to go to dinner, but she never showed. When we got home, there was a detective waiting for us. She had been found in an alley, stabbed, all of her belongings still on her."
Rick nods again, knowing there has to be more to it than that. Why come to him, a writer of all things, instead of the police? If her mother wasn't in the life…
"The police attributed it to family business, didn't they? A rival family or someone from your own?"
She clears her throat, looking away for a moment. "They were less than cooperative, let's just say that."
"What happened?" he presses, resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. His fingers flirt with the edge of the file, but he doesn't take it from her. He won't until she is ready to hand it over.
"They wrote it off as a random wayward event, said it was probably gang violence, but the insinuation was made that someone from another family could have 'had her whacked,' as you'd probably say. Didn't see any reason to investigate further, because – according to them – the family would take care of something like that," she adds, echoing his words almost verbatim.
Point taken.
"I'm not a cop," he says, wondering again why she had asked for him. "I know a few cops – good cops, a former ME, even an FBI agent – who might be able to help me, but –"
"I read an interview you did a few months ago," she interrupts. "You said there's always a story, and that story matters, and that's why you're so focused on doing research, on getting things right."
He remembers that interview. He also remembers posturing for the reporter because she'd been flirty and cute and the magazine had provided some really good champagne to help get him talking, but at the heart of it that answer had been the truth. Knowing why matters, even if, in the end, the answer is not what people want to hear.
"So give me the story for this, Mr. Castle. Give me the chain of events that makes all of this make sense." She jabs a finger into the center of the folder, quoting his interview once again. "And I'll help give you everything you need to finish your next book."
Licking his lips, Rick splays his hand wide over the file.
A/N: This fic can be summed up as the plot bunny that ate my brain a.k.a "how I accidentally finished the mini-ficathon on a two-ish word prompt (Mob AU)."
I hope you all enjoy this little journey. It will be 9 chapters (including this one) and an epilogue.