Page 63 of The Hidden Heir

“Detective Ethan Reece,” he says as he moves closer. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug. “I’m fine, Detective. Where is my husband? When can I go home? My son needs me.”

“We’re doing everything we can to get you home as quickly as possible, I promise. Mr. Petrucci is outside, talking to my colleagues. I just need to get your statement.”

“I already gave my statement to the uniformed police officers earlier.”

“Right,” he smiles subtly. “I have a few follow-up questions.”

He’s young. Maybe in his early thirties, at most. Judging by the slight accent, I’m guessing he was raised in Canaryville. The Irish pronounce certain words differently. He strikes me as the ambitious type, having gotten his detective badge at such a young age and so early in his career. But he seems warm and comforting—almost. I’ll bet he’s the “good cop” during interrogations, which makes me think that Luca is dealing with his “bad cop” colleague outside.

“Ask away,” I say, trying to remember exactly what I told the other police officers.

Part of being a good mob wife is sticking to your story, no matter what, and knowing when to stop speaking and call your attorney. So far, the police haven’t given me reason to worry. Luca and I were likely targeted tonight. That much I know. And it wasn’t just us either.

“Did you recognize any of the assailants?” Detective Reece asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Did your husband recognize any of them?”

“From what I could tell, no. He was too busy protecting me.”

“And your security detail?”

“Didn’t you talk to them, as well?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He smiles again. It has a cunning tinge to it that troubles me. It’s as if he knows more than he’s letting on, though it shouldn’t surprise me. If the city’s underworld knows all about the feud between the Petruccis and the Mancusos, then so do the police.

“I’m just hoping to find something, a name, anything that could point me in the right direction,” Reece says.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help, but the truth is, we were there in support of Mr. Gamberetti’s charity event. Wining and dining, chatting, writing checks, that sort of thing.”

“Off the top of your head, can you think of anyone who might’ve had the resources and the determination to organize the attack?” Reece asks. “You’re a Petrucci. Surely, you know folks in and around your husband’s organization.”

I gaze at him, an eyebrow lifted. “It was a charity event. My husband runs a number of successful businesses under the same conglomerate’s umbrella. I’m not sure what you’re implying here, Detective.”

“And what about your stepfather, Mauro Mancuso? Maybe he had a bone to pick with someone at the party.”

The detective is like a dog with a bone, and I need to shore up my defenses. I shake my head again. “I have no idea. But my stepfather and my stepsister were also present at the event. They were fired upon, too,” I say. “I hardly think anyone who masterminded the attack would put themselves in the crossfire like that.”

“And you know the victims.”

“Yes. All are either my husband’s business partners or family friends. We all know each other in our community, Detective.”

Reece nods slowly, taking notes on his pad. “Yours was an arranged marriage, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

My cheeks burn. I feel like I’m being probed. He’s trying to peek behind the curtain, though I’m not sure he fully understands the risk of sticking his nose into any Camorra family’s business. Maybe that’s what got him promoted to detective so early in his career. He’s curious. He takes risks.

Or maybe he just knows when and whom to ask these questions.

“I’m trying to get a better understanding of the current landscape in your ‘community,’” Reece says. “I know your son’s father was the late Stefano Petrucci, and I know Luca Petrucci tracked you down and brought you back into the fold. I also know Mauro Mancuso has been unfortunate enough to be left without an heir, and that you refused to take the Mancuso name when he offered to adopt you as a teenager.”

“You know a lot,” I say with a raised eyebrow.

Reece laughs lightly. “It’s my job to know, ma’am.”