The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,21

at him, their little green targets trained on his body.

My breath caught in my throat, but Alessandro did not look worried. He held his hands up, weaponless.

Dupont gestured to me, and I followed after my husband.

“Cuff him,” Dupont told the men around him, “and the woman.”

“No,” Alessandro interrupted, holding out his wrists. “Not Sophia.”

His calm tone made Special Agent Dupont hesitate. My husband’s eyes were completely black, but his expression was almost...lax.

I knew in that moment that was the angriest my husband had ever been.

Using his common sense, Dupont relented and gestured for only Alessandro to be cuffed. I hovered by him as he was cuffed, arms behind his back. Dante had paused his crying, his little face scrunched up.

Like a herd of animals, the SWAT team escorted Alessandro and me out of our room. All the lights in the house were on now and I could hear people banging around, searching through all our furniture.

I felt sudden relief that Nicoletta had moved into Don Piero’s home the day before with Ophelia. All this commotion would’ve upset her.

We reached the top of the staircase, revealing the bustling foyer. All of the new inhabitants had FBI stamped across their chests.

“It’s okay, my darling,” I murmured to Dante, kissing his forehead. “You will back to sleep in no time.”

I paused by the top step, holding my son. Standing in the middle of my house, bulletproof vest and short golden hair was my sister.

Like she felt my stare, Catherine looked up at me, light brown eyes gleaming in the light. Her face was set in stone, but her expression softened ever so slightly when she took me in. Nightgown, hair unbound, barefoot and holding my newborn son.

The house seemed to quiet as Catherine and I took each other in. Two sisters, both on opposite sides of the law. We were like something out of a fairytale.

“You don’t want to do this, Catherine,” I warned.

She took a step toward me, causing Alessandro to tense. Dupont tightened his grip on him.

“You broke the law, Sophia. And now you will be punished,” was her response.

I made my way down the staircase, holding my head up high. The SWAT team followed after.

When I reached her, Catherine’s eyes went down to Dante. His eyes were open and taking in everything around him, especially the sound of my voice. A strange look crossed her face, like she was seeing something she didn’t believe existed.

Behind me, I heard the sound of clattering—most likely a piece of furniture hitting the ground.

I gritted my teeth. “And how does the law view bombing? Or assassination?”

Her eyes moved back to my face. “I suppose you’ll find out, won’t you?”

A loud yell caught my attention and I turned to see a large agent stomping into the room, a white pompom furiously chewing on his leg.

“Stupid dog!” he yelled.

“Polpetto,” I called.

Instantly, Polpetto let go and came trotting over to me. He whined and pressed himself into my legs, unsure of what was going on and who all the strange people were.

To Catherine, I said, “I have to call Dita to come and watch Dante. You can wait.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dita arrived, hair in disarray. When she spotted Catherine, she made a disapproving noise, like Catherine had left her wet towel on the floor and not betrayed the Outfit.

Once Dante and Polpetto were settled with Dita, we left.

The entire gated community were on their lawns, hair still in rollers and slippers still on. I saw many mafiosi being led into trucks, hands cuffed behind their backs. Toto the Terrible had been muzzled, and the FBI agent who was leading him had a bloody fresh cut down the side of his face.

Even Salvatore Jr was being led out of his house, his icy mask barely concealing his anger.

I sat next to Alessandro in the back of a Dodge Charger, Dupont and Catherine in the front.

Dressed only in his boxer briefs, you would think he would be freezing, but perhaps my husband’s anger was keeping him warm, because he was still hot to the touch. I buried myself into him, trying to get rid of the biting chill nipping at my bones.

I pressed my lips to his jaw, speaking softly, “What crime are they trying to link us to?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he breathed. “At the moment, they only have suspicions and circumstantial evidence—enough for a warrant but not enough for a sentence. They’ll try and make one of us talk.”

“Do you think one of us might?”

Alessandro’s