1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Lorenzo
I reach for it before I am fully awake, the sound cutting through the dark beside me.
Rinaldi. My head of security.
I answer and sit up. “What happened?”
“Police just took Alessio into custody.”
The last of the sleep leaves me.
“Why?”
“They arrested him for the murder of a woman named Genevieve Sorel.”
For one second, I hear nothing beyond the faint rush of blood in my ears.
“Where?”
“Outside the house.”
I swing my feet to the floor.
“Where is Edoardo?” I ask, speaking about my older son.
“He was there. He made sure Alessio said nothing as they were arresting him.”
“Did Alessio ask for an attorney?”
“Yes.”
Good.
“Where are they taking him?”
“Eighteenth District.”
I stand and switch on the lamp. “What do you know about the woman? Genevieve Sorel.”
“Very little. Twenty-five. Found dead tonight in a room at the Halston Hotel. The police believe Alessio was the last person with her.”
“Believe based on what?”
“Hotel cameras. He arrived with her shortly after 10:00 this evening and left alone just after midnight.”
I open the closet and pull out a shirt. “How did they identify Alessio?”
“We’re still finding out.”
“Do it quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is Edoardo now?”
“At the house. He wanted to follow them, but I told him to stay there until I called you.”
I pull the shirt on. “Keep him there.”
“I will.”
“What about the house?”
“Secured. Two detectives tried to come inside after they took Alessio. Edoardo refused entry.”
“Did they have a warrant?”
“No.”
“Then nobody opens that door. Make sure all the boys know that.”
“Understood.”
I button my shirt and walk toward the dresser.
“Was Alessio injured?”
“No. Angry, but calm.”
That sounds like my son right up until the point it stops being true.
“Did they search him?”
“Yes.”
“Take anything?”
“Phone, wallet, keys.”
Of course they did.
“Get me the names of every officer who touched him. Every detective who spoke to him. I want the arresting paperwork now.”
“I’ll have it.”
“And send someone to the hotel.”
“I have people ready to go. I was just waiting for your word, sir.”
“Subtle,” I emphasize as I fasten my watch. “Make sure nobody interferes with the police. We don't want any more attention on us than is necessary.”
A woman is dead. My son is under arrest.
“Call the attorney to make sure he’s on the way now,” I say.
“Yes, sir. Car is waiting downstairs.”
I end the call and head for the door while making another call.
Mario answers on the second ring.
“Lorenzo?”
“Alessio has been arrested for murder.”
There is a brief silence.
“Where are they taking him?”
“Eighteenth District.”
“I’m on my way.”
***
The car stops outside the Eighteenth District station, and Mario’s pulls in behind us.
A moment later, a black sedan reaches the curb.
Julian Mercer steps out, perfectly dressed in a dark suit and tie, carrying a leather case as though it is the middle of the afternoon instead of nearly 3:30 in the morning.
He looks every inch the attorney we pay him good money to be.
Mario joins me on the sidewalk.
“What do we know?” Julian asks.
“Alessio was arrested for murder,” I say. “A woman was found dead at the Halston Hotel. They say he was the last person seen with her.”
“Has anyone spoken to him?”
“No. Edoardo made sure of it.”
Julian nods once. “Then let’s go get in front of this.”
We enter the station together.
The officer behind the desk recognizes us immediately. I see it in the brief wariness of his expression before he looks at Julian.
“I represent Alessio Conti,” Julian says. “He invoked his right to counsel before he was brought here. Take me to him.”
“You’ll have to wait for the detectives.”
“No.”
The officer straightens. “Excuse me?”
“My client requested his attorney. I am here. You will inform the detectives now.”
The officer looks past him at Mario and me.
Mario rests one hand on the desk but doesn’t say a word.
He usually doesn’t have to.
The officer holds his gaze for a moment, then reaches for the phone.
Julian sets his case down beside him and checks his watch.
The officer’s mouth tightens as he speaks quietly into the receiver.
A secured door opens less than a minute later.
A detective steps into the lobby. His attention moves over the three of us before settling on Julian.
“Counsel can come back.”
Julian picks up his case. “Has anyone questioned my client?”
“No.”
“Has anyone attempted to?”
The detective pauses.
Julian’s expression does not change. “I will be making a note of that.”
“He hasn’t made a statement.”
“It wouldn't be admissible if he had,” Julian says.
The detective looks at Mario and me. “The family stays here.”
He turns away.
Julian stops beside me before following him through the door. “I’ll see Alessio, find out exactly what they have, and come back to you.”
“Bring my son out with you,” I say.
His eyes hold mine. “That is the plan.”
The door closes behind him.
Mario stands beside me, watching it.
“They moved fast,” he observes.
“Yes, they did,” I say.
That is a problem. They know exactly who Alessio is, and they have already decided what that means.
I look toward the door that separates us from my son.
Then I take out my phone and call Edoardo to figure out exactly what the fuck is going on.
***
By the time we turn onto my street, the sky is beginning to lighten.
Alessio sits beside me in the back seat, staring through the window. He has barely spoken since we left the station. His shoulders are rigid beneath his coat, his face exhausted, his attention fixed somewhere beyond the glass.
Mario’s car follows directly behind us.
Julian went home after securing Alessio’s release, but we have an appointment with him later this morning. There will be questions, decisions, and more problems waiting for us in a few hours.
For the moment, I need to get my son inside.
We pull into the drive, and I look up at the house.
Every light on the first floor is on.
I know without seeing the cars parked in front of my house that the whole family is here.
Alessio finally shifts beside me and looks toward the house. He sees the same thing I do.
“Everyone is here,” he says.
“Of course they are.”
The driver brings the car to a stop. Mario pulls in behind us a few seconds later.
I step out first and wait as Alessio follows. He pauses beside the open door, looking at the house again.
Mario gets out of the car behind us. He closes the distance quickly, coming to stand on Alessio’s other side.
No one says anything.
There is nothing useful to say in the drive at 6:00 in the morning after spending the night getting my son released.
The front door opens before we reach it.
Edoardo stands there.
He looks as he always does, even when something has gone wrong: composed, watchful, taking in every detail. His gaze goes straight to his brother.
Behind him are Matteo, Tomasso, and Dante.
Of course they are here. All four cousins live together with Alessio in one large house. They were there when the police arrived. They watched him being taken away, and none of them would have gone back to bed afterward.
Diego stands farther inside the entryway.
My younger brother looks from Alessio to me, his expression hardening after his initial relief at seeing him with us.
We cross the threshold.
The smell of breakfast reaches me immediately.
Coffee. Eggs. Fresh bread.
It is 6:00 in the morning, and someone has already filled my kitchen with food.
You can always count on family.
The rest of them are gathered beyond the entryway.
Ricardo is there with Julia beside him. She holds one-month-old Cecilia against her chest, the baby wrapped securely in her arms.
Victoria stands with four-month-old Leonardo, Mario’s youngest son, in her arms. She looks tired, but she is dressed and awake, waiting with everyone else.
Mario moves toward her as soon as he sees them. Victoria reaches for him with one hand while keeping Leonardo close with the other.
Ricardo steps forward.
Diego comes closer as well.
Matteo and Tomasso remain near the door, standing like sentries, both of them focused on Alessio. Dante stands beside them, his attention just as fixed.
Edoardo does not move until Alessio is fully inside.
Then he reaches for his brother and pulls him into a hard embrace.
Alessio closes his eyes.
Matteo is next, followed by Tomasso and Dante. Ricardo grips Alessio’s shoulder. Diego embraces him. Victoria comes close enough to touch his arm, and Julia does the same with Cecilia in her arms.
They surround him before he has the chance to say anything.
I stand just inside the door and watch my family greet my son as though bringing him home is the only thing that matters.
***
By the time everyone settles around the table, the kitchen has filled with the usual noise of a family meal.
Plates pass from hand to hand. Coffee is poured. Someone asks for the bread. Matteo and Tomasso argue over who took the last piece of bacon, and Dante tells them both to stop acting like children, while holding baby sister Cecilia in his arms.
Mario shifts Leonardo against his shoulder while Victoria pours him coffee. Julia talks to Diego about something to do with work while Ricardo adds more eggs to her plate.
It looks ordinary.
For a few minutes, it almost sounds ordinary.
But there is only one thing on anyone’s mind.
Alessio sits across from me with a plate he has barely touched. He answers when someone speaks directly to him, but only with a word or two. His coffee disappears faster than his food.
That alone tells me how badly this has shaken him.
My youngest son has never struggled to fill silence. He can talk his way into a room, out of a problem, and through anyone’s better judgment. This morning, he keeps his eyes on the table.
Edoardo sits beside him, quiet in a different way. More of his usual way. His attention moves around the table, watching everyone and giving nothing away.
Diego asks Ricardo something about the coffee. Tomasso reaches for the bread. Victoria murmurs to Leonardo when he begins to stir in his father’s arms.
Then Alessio lifts his cup.
He takes a slow drink and sets it down.
“I did not kill her.”