The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,56

They even covered the back window, completely blocking out the city.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the images. I spotted a photograph of Vitale Lombardi stepping out of a car, Evelyn O Fiaich neé McDermott’s birth certificate, copies of the Benéitez Cartel’s Anti-Mafia documents. There was even a photograph of Konstantin Tarkhanov, at what looked to be a horse race.

Then I found the Chicago Outfit wall.

My entire public life was before me, scrapbooked without my knowledge. From my first Valentine’s Day with Alessandro, us sitting together at a table in Nicoletta’s, to my birthday party at the Circuit di Chicago. Even my walks with Polpetto were cataloged.

Sitting in church pews with Don Piero, laughing with Mary Inada at a Historical Society meeting, visiting my sister’s grave.

Even my precious baby had been photographed. Dante’s christening, walking through the park. There was even a blurry photograph of us leaving the hospital, me tucked under Alessandro’s arm as he got us to safety.

I covered my throat, swallowing down a scream.

I had known this—known they were watching. And yet...to this extent? So many times, I had walked through the city of Chicago, and all of them were recorded and hung up the FBI’s crime wall.

Catherine had liked to keep a record of things, hadn’t she? The USBs shed left inside of Dolly had been proof enough of that.

I stepped back from the wall and eyed the collection of desks. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one was hers. It was the cleanest, with a collection of familiar book titles leaning against the computer. Her pens were ordered, lamp dustless.

Nothing like my desk at home, which was a nightmare to sort through. Alessandro cringed every time he saw it.

I stepped closer to my sister’s desk, an image catching my attention. Framed, but half-hidden behind the computer, was a photograph of Catherine and I. Both of us were crouched down, mud covering our knees, and barely older than fourteen.

I wasn’t even looking at the camera, instead my palms were cupped in front of me, a glow bug almost trapped between them. The green light of the bug lit up my face.

Catherine was looking at the camera, eyes bright. She wasn’t grinning but she was happy.

I didn’t even remember this, I thought, bitten by sudden sadness.

I picked up the frame, twisting it around. On the back, she had written, I promise never to lie to you; I promise never to leave you.

I put it back when I had found it.

“Everything alright, Sophia?” Alessandro’s voice asked. We had to keep contact to a minimal, in case someone overheard.

“Fine, fine. Almost done.”

This is not the time to reminisce, I warned myself. You need to hurry it up.

I turned on her computer, fishing my own USB out of my pocket. Her login came up. Since she was fourteen, Catherine had been using the same password for everything.

Mariacristina25111991.

The name of her beloved doll, followed by her birthday.

Her desktop popped up, the background an image of her and Dupont. Both were smiling at the camera, happy in their own way. I would be happy for her if Dupont wasn’t such a dickhead.

I hurried through her files, looking for ones that looked the most private. Or had any mention of the words di Traglia.

27th October, one was named.

That was my son’s birthday.

I copied the entire file, not bothering to waste time flicking through it.

“Padovino, you’re working late.”

Shit.

I paused and slowly turned around.

Before me, was...a beautiful man. Tall, black hair, olive skin, and bright electric blue eyes. Paired with a sharp jawline, long eyelashes and cupid-bow shaped lips. Dressed in a blue button down and khakis, he couldn’t have been older than 34, and looked like he just stepped off the runway.

And right now, he was giving me a friendly smile.

I almost started blushing.

He asked you a question! I told myself. “Uh, oh, yeah.” I swallowed. Sound like Catherine, sound like Catherine! “I just wanted to get a few things done before the weekend.” Deflect, deflect. “You, too?”

The beautiful man nodded. “Diana has taken the girls to her parent’s place for the weekend. Is Tristan coming back this week or is he extending his time in Chicago?”

I had no clue. “He hasn’t said yet. He wants to see...if anything happens.”

“I know it’s hard not being able to join him,” the man said. “But it’s not safe for you in Chicago.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.”

He eyed me, his blue eyes deep enough to drown in. Who was this male model and why was he working