The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,52
how Alessandro found us.
Oscuro leaned against the wall, pale, while I sat on a couch, head in hands. Unmoved, Adelasia remained where she was, still very, very dead.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the di Traglias. How would I tell them Adelasia was gone? How would I be able to lessen that pain, that failure of mine?
How would I stop them from breaking the Outfit apart?
You know, said a small dark voice in my head.
“Sophia!” Alessandro beelined straight for me, cutting off all thoughts about the di Traglias. His hands roamed over my head and arms, looking for non-existent injuries.
“I’m fine,” I murmured.
He spotted Adelasia next and swore.
When Sergio and Nero came in behind him, they had similar reactions to her lifeless body. Swearing and cussing, unable to figure out what the next course of action was.
“Did your brother do this?” I asked.
Alessandro couldn’t tell me no. “My brother is in Evanston, according to my father. And...he is not exactly known for getting his hands dirty.”
The many attempts on my life proved that. Not once had he been the one pulling the trigger. No, each time he had relaxed security, moved a few men around, and let those who had vendettas against me do all the dirty work.
The attack on Adelasia was not his style, but he could have easily encouraged someone else to do it for him. He may not have caused her wounds, but the blood was on his hands.
To his men, Alessandro said, “Call Li Fonti. I want to know the cause of death now.”
Sergio stepped away, phone already to his ear.
Nero stepped closer to the body, eyeing it coolly. “It looks like blunt force trauma to the head, boss. That’s where the blood is coming from.”
As the Outfit’s assassino, Nero probably had the most experience with bodies. Still, his blasé nature made me tense.
My husband left me and neared the body. Unable to be out of the loop, I rose and joined them, trying not to throw up at the sight of her crumpled skull.
Despite her wounds, Adelasia looked untouched. The sweater and pants she wore were not rumpled or ripped, only loose and comfortable. I tried not to imagine her relaxing, being comfortable. She was dead now, dreaming up anything else would only cause me pain.
Something caught my eye on her arm. I crouched down, ignoring the aroma of the blood, and eyed her wrist.
“She’s wearing a hospital bracelet.” I couldn’t believe it. Who had taken her to the hospital? Had anybody seen her? Perhaps there were security cameras...
“Does it say which hospital?”
I leaned closer, pinching my nose. “It does.”
Alessandro crouched down beside me, leaning in. “That’s right around the corner.”
I looked to her stomach, and gently reached out. The flesh was soft and squishy, not hard and swollen.
Another urge to vomit rose up in me.
“The baby...” I turned to Alessandro, he was already looking at me, jaw tense. “It would be premature, but there is a very good chance...”
He nodded once, rising to his feet. He stretched his hand down to me, which I took. I linked my fingers in his, holding tight.
“Nero, don’t let anything happen to the body. Sergio, Oscuro, you’re with Sophia and I.”
Alessandro’s strange anger had settled over him again.
That calm, quiet rage that he held. Both Oscuro and Sergio gave him a wide berth, keeping their eyes trained strictly on the road and trying not to breath too loud, less they set him off.
I sat in the backseat with my husband, trying to unravel this new fury of his.
“Why are you staring at me, Sophia?” he asked, dark eyes flicking to me.
I brushed down some wild strands of his hair. He leaned into my touch. “I’m trying to understand this new temperament of yours,” I whispered.
Alessandro’s eyebrows rose. “New temperament?”
Did he not realize? “You’re calmer, almost. No longer yelling and storming around the place, ready to enact violence. But...different somehow. It’s quite terrifying.”
“You don’t sound very afraid.”
“You need me,” I told him. “What would you have for dinner if I wasn’t here, hmm?”
Humor flashed briefly over his face. There and gone in an instant.
I leaned closer to him, creating our own little bubble in the backseat. “Why don’t you get as angry anymore?”
“I’m still just as angry.” Alessandro picked at a strand of my hair, wrapping it around his finger. “I’m just not as volatile.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a good answer for you. I just see you in my mind’s eye, calm and patient, and seem to relax.”
“So,