Here's the next part for you:
Flashback. New York 1995:
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and still he kept a watchful eye over the people he cared about, lurking in the shadows and keeping his distance. The visits to his old apartment became less as his loved ones moved on with their lives, leaving him feeling completely alone. Soon they stopped visiting at all, giving up on him and picking up the pieces of their lives with him no longer in it.
He had told Agent Collins of the torture and murder of Luca Del Marco but the faint sense of hope he carried with him flickered out when the FBI agent told him it wouldn't be enough to bring the Malucci brothers down. "We need more than that," the other man had told him.
"But I saw it, I was there. Isn't that enough?" he countered.
"Not unless you can bring me the murder weapon with Frankie's prints on it, can you do that?" the agent asked, deliberately goading him
"Not without getting caught, surely my statement is enough to at least get him arrested." He knew he was grasping at straws, but his desperation to get out of the undercover operation now consumed his every waking thought.
"And who would believe you? A former NYPD detective who lied to his colleagues and tampered with evidence, the defence attorney would tear you to strips in minutes."
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "What is it that you expect me to do, what evidence do you need to make the charges stick?"
"I need cast-iron proof of the brother's involvement in their criminal activities; perhaps it would be prudent for you to wear a wire."
"No. No way," he balked at the agent's suggestion. "Benny still doesn't trust me; I get patted down every time I'm called to meet with them. If they find a wire on me I'm a dead man."
"Then maybe you should work at strengthening your position within the organisation, become their right hand man, so to speak."
"But that could take months, I'm not sure I can keep it up for that long." The thought of carrying on with this façade all but drained the little bit of hope he'd had when he entered the meeting.
"You don't have a choice, Kelly. Who do you think got the possession charges against you dropped?" The FBI agent adjusted his tie before continuing, "You've just admitted you were present at the murder of Luca Del Marco, which makes you an accessory to the fact. If you walk away now you'll be looking at a long stretch in Rikers, I'm sure there are some inmates who'd love to thank you for putting them there."
He realised the other man was right; he was in too deep now to try to crawl his way out. He was out of options; the only choice he had was to carry on until Collins was satisfied he had something to pin on the Malucci brothers. "How long is this going to go on for?" he asked defeated.
"For as long as it takes for you to bring me the information I need. We need more on how the organisation works, where they store their drugs and how they launder their money, most importantly we need a direct link to Frankie and Benny and the criminal activity."
"I'm never getting out of this, am I?" he asked quietly.
"Not until your work is done, or you get caught out. Whichever comes first."
Since his meeting with Agent Collins he'd kept his head down and concentrated on keeping up appearances with the Malucci brothers. At first they had given him menial tasks like collecting protection money or shaking down local drug dealers for their profits. He found that the physical side of the job came remarkably easy to him, beating information out of small-time criminals became and everyday occurrence. There were no feelings of guilt when he pounded them into the sidewalk; punks like them had poisoned the streets of his city with their junk. He rationalised that he was doing the NYPD a favour; he never hurt them enough to kill them but just enough to keep them out of action for a while. "Another thug off the streets," he would tell himself as he walked away from the bruised and battered body of his latest unsuspecting victim. Each night he would burn the gloves and clothes he had worn, destroying the evidence of his violent actions before trying to blank the day from his mind. The message the Malucci's sent to the people who didn't pay up was clear, it didn't matter if his victims saw his face; they would be too scared to say anything to the police for fear of retribution.
He found the whole business of extorting money from innocent and hardworking people much harder to stomach. There was simply no way he could justify what the Malucci's had asked him to do. He hated himself as he threatened shopkeepers and landlords for their profits; sometimes the mere threat of violence was not enough. More convincing methods were needed in some circumstances, smashing the place up usually had the desired effect and made the business owners turn over their money. Through it all he refused to use physical violence on any of them, they were innocent victims of a cruel criminal organisation. They done nothing wrong, they didn't deserve to be threatened and beaten. Many of them had wives and children, the look of fear on their faces as he entered their establishments and took their money made him feel sick. He would shove the money he had collected into a bag, refusing to touch it with his bare hands before getting it back the Malucci's as quick as he could.
Soon the brothers began to trust him with more of the day-to-day running of the organisation, showing him how their operation worked and as the months rolled by he had risen to the rank of lieutenant. He grew frustrated that the information he relayed to the FBI never seemed to be enough, Collins had asked him once more to wear a wire and still he refused even though he was no longer searched each time he met with the brothers. He kept on refusing the agent's requests until one fateful night everything changed.
A/N: Sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger but I'll be away for a few days and won't be able to post any new chapters until I return.