The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,60

there any photos of Union members on the FBI’s wall?”

“I didn’t see any. But there were thousands of photos. I could have very easily missed them.”

“It’s kind of creepy they’re keeping so many photos of us,” Nero said.

“They’re not keeping photos of your ugly ass, Nero,” Sergio teased.

Nero shoved at Sergio’s shoulder, but the two stepped back from each other when Alessandro shot them a warning look. Oscuro looked like he was trying not to laugh.

It was strange to see the Outfit’s assassino and enforcer more relaxed. But then again, Alessandro wasn’t capo all the time, and wasn’t Principe of Chicago when he was with me.

I suppose masks were a part of this life. We had to act a certain way, perform certain tasks. But didn’t everyone in the world? Did you cry on the subway or walk around naked at the supermarket? Different places—different people—dictated certain rules, certain actions.

I was just lucky to find someone who I didn’t need to worry about all of that with. Someone who had seen straight through my mask and demanded I take it off. Not only to show him, but to show myself. To remind myself what I had kept hidden beneath the makeup and the manners and the smiles.

Images of Dupont and Catherine flashed through my mind. How they had smiled, how they had looked at each other.

And even though I wanted to wrap my hands around Dupont’s throat, I was happy for my sister. I was happy she had found someone to take her mask off with.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding another person to take her mask off with, when all was said and done.

Perhaps I could set her up with the sexy FBI man, I thought, then said to the men, “I met someone weird in the headquarters.”

Alessandro looked up at me, expression accusatory. “Oh? Who?”

“A man. He was tall with blue eyes and black hair. He looked mid-thirties.” He was also gorgeous, but that wasn’t important to his description. “I could have sworn he knew who I was. He said that Chicago would grow boring soon, and that New York was the place to be.” At Alessandro’s hard look, I added, “Not in a threatening kind of way. More like...like he accepted our leadership?”

“The only person I can think of with that description is Giovanni Vigliano,” Alessandro said. The other men nodded in agreement. At my questioning look, he clarified, “He runs the ports along the coast of Maine. Nothing comes in and out of the Northeast without him knowing about it. I don’t know why he would be in Washington, or an FBI agent.”

Oscuro passed me his phone. The man I had run into stared back at me: blue eyes bright, even through the phone screen. In this image, the man was walking across the street, dressed in a sharp suit, phone to his ear. Two bodyguards followed him.

“That’s him! Except, his hair is shorter.”

“Did you look at him for a long time?” Toto grinned nastily at me, but it did not feel as malicious as it had in the past. Instead, it felt like it was his attempt at trying to tease me.

In response, I gave him a mocking look, which only caused his grin to widen. My husband watched us both with a hard expression.

“Does Giovanni have a twin?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Alessandro said.

“He’s one of Lorenzo’s bastards, isn’t he?” Sergio asked.

Nero nodded. “One of them,” he snorted. “Lorenzo left bastards all over the States. Giovanni’s the only one with enough balls to claim the surname Vigliano.”

Toto snorted in agreement. “I think Lorenzo even left a few in Chicago. Though I’m sure my father dealt with them. He never liked Lorenzo Vigliano.”

I decided to let Toto’s bone-chilling words hang in the air untouched. To my husband I asked, “Is there nothing about where Adelasia’s baby might be?”

We continued to sort through the information. A lot we already had, or was about other organizations. Useful, Alessandro assured me. But it was not what we wanted.

A few minutes out from Chicago, we had gone through all the files I’d found. There was nothing regarding Adelasia and her baby.

I couldn’t help my sense of guilt. I had gone through all that and still not found a clue to where our nephew was.

I only hoped, unlike his mother, that we found him before we found his body. We had failed Adelasia; we couldn’t fail her son too.

Alessandro told me that his brother was also at