Be With Me: Chapter 45

“Do you have any suspicions about who’s behind this?” the detective asked.

I glared at her through narrowed eyes. “No. For the third fucking time.”

The dissatisfaction wafting off her was almost as strong as her cloying perfume. “Neither did your brother. He also had no clue why there were no remnants of the bomb at the scene.”

“Yeah. Isn’t that your job to find out?” The plastic chair creaked beneath me. “We both know this is a waste of time.”

Blood was still caked to my face. They’d sent Alessio to the hospital and dragged Cosimo and me in here for questioning.

As if we’d ever say a damn word.

She chewed loudly on a piece of gum. “I’m going to let you go. For now. But, Mr. Ferraro, I hope I don’t have to warn you against trying to take things into your own hands.”

“I’ve got no clue what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“It might seem like a great idea to you right now, but trust me, it won’t in the morning.”

“For fuck’s sake, Detective. I don’t need your advice. I need to help my family make arrangements.”

She sniffed. “Sorry about your father.”

Dead. My dad was dead.

Didn’t seem real. We used to joke he’d outlive all of us.

I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the body—or what was left of it—myself.

The detective clicked her pen once. “All right. We’re done here. For now.”

A cop escorted me down the hall and to the lobby. Cosimo stood outside, barking orders into his phone next to a running car that had one of our guys in the driver’s seat.

As soon as he saw me, he gestured for me to get in before doing so himself.

“How’s Alessio?” I asked, grabbing a bottle of water from inside the door.

“He’ll live,” Cosimo said. “A concussion and a fractured arm. Could have been a lot worse. Besides Dad, he was the closest to the bomb.”

“Have our guys found anything?”

“They’re analyzing the bomb fragments right now,” Cos said.

We got as much of the debris out of the penthouse as we could before the cops showed up. We didn’t need them sticking their noses in our business. No one in the family would talk. Everyone knew better than that. While the detective tried to put together a theory based on the scant evidence we’d left for them, we’d track down who’d done this.

And we’d make them pay.

Whoever had ordered the hit were dead fucking men.

I swiped my palm over my mouth. “It was the fucking bonsai. Have you talked to Zia Lisa?”

“She never returned to the party, and she’s not picking up her phone. We’re going to her house right now.”

“Fuck, seriously?” In the aftermath of the explosion, things had been chaotic. We’d only had minutes to get the key evidence out of the penthouse before the cops and the paramedics had shown up. Some of the family had scattered—leaving the building before it became a crime scene—which was exactly what we’d wanted them to do.

There was no way Aunt Lisa had known what she was bringing into the house. But if she hadn’t come back with her pasta dish…

Jesus. Was she involved?

“The Santoros have motive,” Cosimo said, still typing something on his phone. “Revenge for us getting the deal. They found out last night. They might have been planning a surprise for us for a while in case it happened.”

I finished the water and crushed the bottle between my palms. “Who the fuck are these people? Dad was going to tell us right before. Mother must know. They’ve never had any secrets between them.”

Cosimo’s jaw tightened. “She knows. She’s still being questioned at the precinct. I’ve arranged for someone to wait for her there, and he’ll call me when she’s with him. We’ll talk to her then.”

Out of habit, I reached into my pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I remembered losing it in the chaos…

Fuck. I needed to call Mia.

I didn’t call her before the party. I’d put it off since I was still trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to say.

But after the explosion, once the shock had worn off, everything had become clear. Brushing fingers with death had a way of cutting through the noise.

She’d stayed. Despite everything, she’d stayed.

And that could only mean one thing.

Romolo, I…

Christ, I walked out on the only woman I ever loved. And if my gut was right, she loved me too.

Not the kind of love I was used to—one that came with checks and balances and interest payments—but the real fucking deal.

I wasn’t going to let it slip through my fingers. I would fix everything I ruined with her, and then I’d spend the rest of my life doing everything I could to never ruin it again.

Mia Morales was going to be mine.

“Need to use your phone,” I said to Cosimo. As soon as we figured out what the fuck was going on with Aunt Lisa, I’d go to Mia. But first, I had to call her. If she saw the news and heard my family’s name mentioned, she’d worry, and I didn’t want her to worry about me.

He tossed me his device. Mia’s numbers—both the one for the phone I’d given her and her regular one—were stored in my memory. I’d made a point of memorizing them just in case, the same way I had my brothers’ numbers.

It went straight to voicemail.

Without my phone, I couldn’t check her calendar. Maybe she was doing an interview or at some event. I’d try again later.

“For some reason, I always thought Dad would be shot,” Cos said, his voice rough. “And that he’d manage to kill whoever got him.”

“I think that’s how we all hope to go. No one wants to be killed by a faceless killer.”

“Or by a fucking plant.”

I dragged my thumb over my lip. “It means you’re don now.” The capos had to swear loyalty to him, but it was a formality. We’d handle it after we dealt with more pressing matters, like figuring out who the fuck had killed our dad.

Cosimo took the phone from me and slid it inside his jacket, his expression unreadable. If he was hurting inside, he wasn’t showing it. He was already behaving the way the head of the family was expected to behave in a situation like this.

We’d crossed the bridge and were now in Hoboken, just minutes from where Aunt Lisa and Uncle Mario lived. When we pulled up to their two-story home, their cars were missing from the driveway, and all the lights were off.

“I assume you called Uncle Mario too?”

“Yeah. No answer.”

We got out of the car, and the cold night air bit at my skin. I glanced through the windows, watching for any movement inside while Cosimo rang the doorbell. The house was eerily still. No one was moving inside.

“You see any neighbors around?” Cos asked.

I scanned the street. “You’re good.”

Cosimo’s shoulder slammed into the wood with a heavy thud, and the door buckled under the force. We stepped inside and flicked on the lights.

“Son of a bitch.” The words escaped me in a harsh breath.

Most of their stuff was gone.

The silence in the house was deafening, broken only by the soft creak of floorboards beneath our feet. Every room we checked confirmed the same thing—Aunt Lisa and Uncle Mario had cleared out. They’d left the furniture, but they’d taken their personal belongings.

“They didn’t just leave,” Cosimo muttered, running a hand through his hair. “They fled.”

My fists clenched at my sides. “She knew. She fucking knew what she was bringing into the penthouse.” The fact that this had come from someone within the family cut deeper than I’d expected. “Do you think Mario was involved, or just Lisa?”

Cosimo shrugged, his expression grim. “Does it matter? They’re both gone now.”

“We need to find them.”

“We’ll find them. But right now, we need to regroup. There’s too much we don’t know. Were they carrying out someone else’s orders, or acting on their own? We need to talk to Mom to find out if anything had happened between Dad and them recently. Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.

I followed him out. The car was still running, our driver waiting for instructions. As we slid into the back seat, Cosimo was already on his phone, giving orders to start a search for Lisa and Mario.

I stared out the window as we drove away from the empty house. My mind drifted to Mia. She must have heard the news by now.

When Cos was done, I took his phone again and dialed her number.

Both of her phones went straight to voicemail.

My gut tightened. What was going on? It was possible she’d tossed the burner in the garbage after yesterday, but what about her other one? I couldn’t remember her ever having her phone off for so long.

I tipped my head back and blew out a rough breath. I needed to wash this blood and grime off my skin and calm the fuck down. She was probably just busy.

But even as I told myself all that, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.