Page 152 of Be With Me
No. Not now.
My knees gave out, and I fell. And this time, there was no one there to catch me.
CHAPTER45
ROM
“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.”
