His lips quirked up in the corners. “Thanks for the heads up.”
I glanced away again, spotting my husband talking casually with my greatest enemy across the room. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I offered distractedly.
We finished the song without another word being spoken. I got the feeling he appreciated my loyalty to my family and understood my threat to be legitimate, which was all I’d been after. When the song ended, I excused myself back to my table, and Nico returned to his bride. He hovered over her protectively. My warning wasn’t going to hurt anything, but it most likely hadn’t been necessary. The two loved each other with a devotion I couldn’t even fathom.
I was quickly losing my heart to Matteo, but would we ever love each other with the same timeless fidelity that Sofia and Nico had experienced? With so many secrets still swimming like sharks in the waters around us, I didn’t see how it was possible.
Earlier that day, Tamir had called me with more information. His law enforcement connections had given him access to Laura Wilkerson’s murder investigation. The files revealed a statement from a coworker at the coffee shop who witnessed her talking with an older man outside the shop the same November day she had been killed.
The description had been a perfect fit for Angelo.
There was always a chance he had gone to the shop for coffee, but in my experience, coincidences didn’t exist. Matteo’s alibi had been watertight. He’d attended a city council luncheon with affluential members of the city’s business elite. He’d been questioned and dismissed as a suspect from the start.
Tamir then informed me that the small group of feds still tasked with monitoring our actions had noted something interesting during that period. While most of the country’s organized crime budget had been redirected to fighting terrorism, there was still a small taskforce dedicated to keeping tabs on The Five Families and other similar organizations. That group had noted a subsequent change in Angelo’s routines shortly after Laura’s death. For the first time, Angelo didn’t attend the Gallo family Christmas gathering. Not only that, but there were no longer any sightings of him, and all informants reported that the Gallo boss had become a recluse in his own home.
I thought about what I’d learned for the rest of the day, the information a blessed distraction from the wedding. I noted how Diego Venturi addressed Matteo—how he’d spoken to him since the day I’d met Matteo—as if Venturi was reporting to his boss. Perhaps Matteo was the only means of communication with the reclusive head of the family, but I didn’t buy it.
If it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, no need to pretend it’s anything but a fucking duck.
The moment we were able to sneak away from the wedding reception without appearing rude, I had Matteo drive us home. We exchanged quiet conversation in the car, discussing the food, the people who had too much to drink, and the absurdity of wedding toasts. While our conversation was light, it was a stark contrast to the heaviness saturating the air around us from the mountain of words left unsaid. Not just a simple elephant in the room, the two of us actively ignored a bright pink wooly mammoth shoved in the back seat as we made our way to Matteo’s Manhattan apartment.
By the time we stepped inside, I couldn’t take it a minute longer. The uncertainty. The doubt. They were a hive of angry bees circling me, the gentle kiss of their wings a far cry from the painful sting I feared they had in store.
“Did you kill Angelo?” I blurted before I’d even set down my purse and jacket.
Matteo’s movements faltered for a beat, then resumed. He placed his keys on the entry table and strolled in front of me. His hand took one of the loose tendrils of my hair and threaded it through his tattooed fingers as he considered his answer.
“Yes.” His eyes met mine, rich cypress needles against an arctic blue sky.
“I don’t mean two weeks ago in California. I mean last November, after Angelo killed Laura.”
Matteo’s hand stilled, then slowly lowered to his side. His eyes never left mine, but his jaw flexed and contracted with strain. Time slowed, magnifying my senses until I could hear the insistent ticking of the second hand on his Bulgari watch.
“Yes,” he finally admitted, before turning away and retreating to the bar for a drink.
“You loved her.”
“Is that a question?”
“I suppose not.”
“Even if it was, the answer is irrelevant. She’s dead. You’re my wife.” His words weren’t meant to be cruel, but pain stabbed through my chest, nonetheless. Yes, he’d loved her, and I was simply the woman to whom he was married.
I quickly triaged my wounded heart and continued. “Why did he kill her?”
“Because he’d become paranoid and delusional. I assume you know what he did to his own wife. He believed Laura was a threat—a spy trying to gain access to our family. When I learned what he’d done, I knew he had to be stopped.”
“Why the secrecy? Why pretend he was still alive?”
“Two reasons. Angelo had a solid following in our family. The most ruthless, unforgiving faction of our organization idolized him for not bowing down to anyone. They saw his erratic actions as a perfectly acceptable strategy for inflicting fear in those around him rather than for the madness it was. I had no desire to alienate myself from those men as I sought to take over as boss. And secondly, having him as a decoy allowed me to keep my feet in the trenches. People address you differently, keep more things hidden, when they know you can bring them to their knees. We discussed the matter and decided continuing as if nothing had happened would be best for the time being. Recently, even Angelo’s name has been detrimental to our business, forcing our hand.”
“You and Venturi? He knows as well, doesn’t he?” I already knew the answer but wanted confirmation from his lips.
“Venturi, Filip, and I are the only ones who know. Diego and I witnessed the extent of Angelo’s mental illness—his bloodthirsty rages and inability to lead with a rational mind. It did no one any good to serve under a madman.”
I let the information sink in, nodding to myself. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about his confession. It was good to know he hadn’t killed the woman, but I’d never actually entertained the possibility that he had. More than anything, it all just made me sad. Would I ever evoke such emotion from a man that he’d willingly kill for me? Not likely. I was entirely too fucked up to inspire that kind of blind devotion.
We stood tersely for a handful of heartbeats before I offered a tight, awkward smile and started toward the bedroom.
“Confession time’s not over.” His ominous words lassoed my waist and grounded me in place.
I looked over at him, straightening my spine and icing my nerves with a blast of liquid coolant.
“Tell me why you really want Stefano dead.” Matteo slipped into his business persona, and it was something to behold. Commanding confidence. Absolute authority. Ruthless mob boss. It took every ounce of brashness I’d acquired over the years to keep from cowering under the cosmic pressure of his stare.
Why was he asking me that? What had Stefano said to him at the wedding? What exactly did he know? The questions tried to chip away at my armor, so I obliterated them from my mind.
“I told you—he was responsible for my brother’s death.” Each word resounded with finality, just as I’d intended.
“Rico didn’t even kill Alessia, and yet, you had no problem sending him to his grave. So tell me, Maria, why is Stefano still alive if he killed Marco?”
“Because it’s too personal. Too many years of hatred built up. I can hardly stand to look at the man. I’d end up screwing up and getting caught. I have no desire to go to prison for his death, and I certainly don’t want to open up my family to a retaliation hit for the unsanctioned death of a made man.”
“And your father? Does he not know Stefano’s role in Marco’s death? He sure had no problem welcoming Stefano to the wedding tonight. Enzo wouldn’t shake the hand of a
man who had killed his son.”
“He doesn’t know. My father ordered me to stop digging into Marco’s death years ago. He wanted our family to move on.”
“Goddammit, Maria. Stop the fucking lies!” he roared, slamming down his glass onto the marble bar top, sending ice and scotch splattering onto the floor.
My parted lips snapped shut.
My racing heart slowed to a dull thrum.
All arguments and pleas quieted in my chaotic mind.
I owed this man nothing, and that’s exactly what I would give him. Without another word, I strode evenly away, shutting myself in a guest bedroom for the night.
Chapter 22
Matteo
The morning after the wedding, I got a text from Filip. He had something he wanted to show me. I didn’t want to discuss his findings in the apartment with Maria, so I met him at a coffee shop nearby.
“What do you have?” I didn’t bother with a greeting as he joined me at a back table.
He extended a manilla envelope in his hand. “It took me a while to compile, but these are a dozen photographs of Stefano—half taken before his arraignment and half after. They’re in chronological order.
See what you think.”
I pulled out the photos. Some were black and white surveillance camera shots—not the best quality. Others were personal photos taken with Stefano and other people smiling at the camera. I did a cursory scan through the pictures before starting from the beginning and analyzing them more slowly. The second I got to the seventh photo, I immediately noticed the difference. His ring was gone. From that point on, his right hand no longer bore the Gallo family ring he had sported in all of the earlier shots.
“Fuck. It was his ring,” I murmured, eyes still glued to the photos.
“Yeah, but he had an alibi for the day of the kid’s death, and I can’t scrape together a single thread of evidence connecting him to the Pagans.” Filip took out the lighter he toyed with when he got agitated. He didn’t smoke, but the engraved silver lighter had been a gift years ago.
I slid the pictures back in the envelope. “I don’t give a damn about alibis. The ring is too damning—he’s involved, and I want to know how. Bring him in. It’s the only way we’re going to get answers.”
“The basement?” he asked, rising from his chair.
“Yeah. Let me know when you’ve got him.”
The family owned a building in Queens that we used for business matters. It was in a shit location, which helped keep us from drawing any unnecessary attention. The ground level housed a laundromat and above that were cheap-ass apartments. We reserved a couple apartments for the family, should someone need a place to lay low. All other tenants were strictly non-associates—ordinary people with whom we had not done business. The last thing we needed in one of our make-shift headquarters was a disgruntled crackhead sniffing around.
Access to the basement from within the building had been sealed off. The only way in or out was a solid metal door on the side of the building facing the alley. The basement was reserved for private matters, and as such, the entire space had been expertly soundproofed.
When I got a text from Filip saying he had Stefano, I made my way to the building and let myself inside the dimly lit basement. The stairs led down to a landing and two hallways extending in opposite directions. There were half a dozen rooms in total, along with a supply closet and a small conference room.
Two soldiers stood out front of the closest room, arms folded over their chests.
“Hey, fellas. How’d it go?”
“Asshole tried to pull a gun on us—you believe that?” the big bald one said, shaking his head. I was pretty sure he went by “Chancy,” but it was hard to keep track. As underboss, I primarily communicated with the capos who filtered information down to the soldiers and associates.
“Hopefully, he’s still in talking condition?”
“Oh yeah, boss. He’s in real good shape, just like you asked.”
I nodded, letting myself inside. Stefano Mariano was tied to a chair bolted to the cement floor over a metal drain. His mouth had been duct taped shut, and a single trail of blood trickled down his temple. His nostrils flared at the sight of me, but he made no sound.
Filip leaned against the side wall next to a small rolling cart of tools, scrolling nonchalantly through his phone.
“Hope he wasn’t too much trouble,” I said evenly, rolling up my sleeves.
“Nah. No more than any of the others.”
“Good. I’ll take it from here.”
Filip didn’t move. My gaze floated to his, meeting his persistent, unspoken questions with a blast of commanding authority. His lips thinned, but he pulled away from the wall and left without comment.
“We need to have a talk, Stefano. I’m going to take the tape off, and I expect your cooperation. You’re not some moron off the street. You know how these things go. It’ll only get ugly if you don’t tell me what I want to know.” I reached out and took the corner of the tape, yanking it from his pasty skin.
He pulled away, moving his jaw around to combat the sting. “What’s this all about, De Luca? I’ve always been loyal to the family. Forty years I’ve been a made man—before you were even born. No one has ever questioned my loyalty.”
I ignored him. I wasn’t there to answer his questions or calm his nerves. “It was your ring Enzo Genovese presented to the Commission to justify the outbreak of war, wasn’t it?” I studied him closely as I asked my question. He could lie as well as the rest of us, but his reactions would be harder to disguise. He was taken completely by surprise.
“Why the hell are you asking me about that? What does it have to do with anything? That was over a decade ago.”
“I’m not explaining myself to you. Just answer the question.”
His face contorted in annoyance. “It could have been; my ring was stolen days earlier.”
I looked up at the ceiling, sighing and scratching at my throat. “So that’s how you want to play this?” I peered back down at him and shrugged. “Your choice.” I walked to the table, selecting a hammer from the assortment of tools.
“Fuck, Jesus. Look, you don’t have to do this. I’ve been loyal. I’ve always been loyal.” His words tumbled from his lips. I could almost hear his thundering heart pounding against his ribs.
Good. He needed to be scared because I didn’t believe him for a second. I walked back to him, then tilted my head as I assessed which kneecap I would decimate. Deciding on the right, I lifted the hammer to a chorus of ‘nos’ and began my downward swing when he finally caved.
“It was Sal Amato! Okay? It was all Sal. I had nothing to do with the kid’s death.”
My hammer followed through just beside his leg, sparing his knee … for the moment. The dots of sweat that had beaded on his forehead now dripped into his eyes as his chest puffed heavily with exertion.
I wasn’t necessarily surprised to hear Sal’s name mentioned. He’d recently attempted to have Enzo killed—it would stand to reason that his agenda against the Lucciano boss went back farther than I knew.
“Are you saying Sal used your ring to frame the Gallos?”
He slowly nodded, keeping his eyes cast down at the floor.
I used the hammer to bump his knee, demanding his attention. Only once his eyes returned to mine did I continue. “Stefano, that only stirs up more questions than it answers. How did Sal get your ring?” I asked with deadly calm.
The sixty-three-year-old man began to sob.
Now we were getting somewhere.
I’d been twelve the first time my father allowed me to witness an interrogation. It was only weeks after my mother had been killed. I learned that there were stages to a confession, much like the stages of grief. The faster we could move past denial, bargaining, and anger, the sooner we could get to acceptance … and the truth.
I didn’t ask the question again or give any more warnings. I swung the hammer back and blasted the metal head into Stefano’s
kneecap, the crunch of bone resounding in the small room. When I was younger, just witnessing such brutality would have sent my stomach rioting. I learned years later that holding the tool yourself and being the one to feel the tissue giving way under your touch was far more upsetting. What I never could have fathomed at that first interrogation was how little it would affect me twenty years down the road.
The wail Stefano unleashed and the bloody mess of his knee were simply a part of the job. Had he divulged what I wanted to know from the beginning, it wouldn’t have been necessary. He did this to himself. I felt no guilt or remorse on his behalf.
Again, I lifted the hammer, this time, with his left knee in mind, but Stefano’s cries halted me.
“No! Please, I’ll tell you. Just please, not again.”
I slowly straightened my back and crossed my arms, eyeing him impatiently.
“Sal figured out that I was the one who had killed a woman down the street from me. He used the knowledge to blackmail me into giving him my ring.” He lifted his gaze, brows bunched like two hands pressed together in prayer, pleading with me to accept his answer.
“Why did you kill her?”
Stefano’s eyelids drifted shut, and sobs began to wrack his body as the man broke.
“You have three seconds to answer the question.”
His breathing calmed, and the shuddering subsided, but his eyes stayed shut. “She figured out about my relationship with her daughter. Said she was going to the cops.”
Relationship? He’d been dating her daughter? Then, unbridled disgust bled into my veins as realization sunk in. “How old?” It was the only two words I could force through my clenched teeth.
“Eight.”
He was a fucking child molester.
Sal had figured it out and blackmailed him into using his ring to frame the Gallos for murder. He allowed the family to take the fall and get sucked into a two-year war. A war that had dragged all the families down and stolen countless lives.
Maria had been right, but how had she figured it out? And why hadn’t she simply told me or her father? There was something I was missing. I pictured Maria, anxious and almost scared, as she did everything she could to stay away from Stefano. Thought about Enzo’s depiction of how her behavior had changed when she was young. Recalled how Maria hated birthdays and weddings and any celebratory event where people gathered. How she’d admitted to seducing a teacher at the age of sixteen. Her nightmares.
Blood Always Page 20
