Geno texted Raffaele Rossi to let him know the detectives were on their way up and he wanted him on standby.
Raffaele texted back he would be dropping by.
Francesca got up and added plates and silverware to the sideboard. “Perhaps we should invite the detectives to dinner.”
“Only you would think of that,” Stefano said.
She smiled at him. “It never hurts to be polite. It will make it much more difficult for them to be nasty to us.”
Geno liked her thinking. That was the thing about Francesca—he always managed to learn something from her. She was right. Inviting the detectives to sit down and eat with them, even if they refused, would make it much harder for the two men to say or do anything that would be impolite, especially with the women in the room.
“How is it this detective became your friend, Geno?” Taviano asked. “He couldn’t have grown up in your circle and you didn’t attend local schools. None of us were allowed. We were all on accelerated programs. Where did you meet him?”
Geno glanced at his brothers. Lucca grinned at him. Salvatore raised an eyebrow. Geno leaned back in his chair and slipped his arm around Amaranthe’s slender shoulders. He found himself being very aware of the difference in their sizes since he’d made love to her. It hadn’t been a thing before. Now it was.
“Geno?” Francesca prompted.
“His mother, Mauve Bowden, was a piano teacher,” Geno admitted with obvious reluctance. “She came to our home and brought Patrick with her. He was my age. His mother was nice. I really liked her.”
“We all did,” Salvatore added. “Patrick was like her. She was like Francesca. She always saw the best in people.”
Lucca nodded. “And she brought out the best in people.”
“In some ways, Patrick inherited that trait from her,” Geno continued, grateful the topic was off piano playing and back onto the detective. “He was always kind. He has good instincts as a detective. I’ve often wondered if he has a strong psychic ability, because he gets on the right track fast even when there’s very little to go on. I’ve followed his career.”
“Becoming a police officer seems a strange career choice for a man with his character traits,” Stefano ventured.
“The Bowden home was broken into, and Mauve was violated and murdered.”
Geno’s voice went completely expressionless. He couldn’thelp it. He’d lost his parents by that time. They’d shut themselves behind doors, and those doors may as well have been a brick wall. Mauve and Patrick had continued to be in his life until then. The blow of losing her had been visceral. He’d been eighteen.
Mauve might not have known what was going on in his household, but she was shrewd enough to make a good guess, and she treated not only Geno but also his younger brothers with extra kindness. With extra care. She showed them love without making them think she felt sorry for them.
The loss of Mauve had gutted him, and Patrick had seen his reaction before Geno had been able to mask it. That was probably what had bound them together after her death. Patrick had needed money, and Geno hired him to continue his piano lessons. Eventually, Geno found out through their conversations that Patrick wanted to go to the police academy. His mother’s killer had been found but wasn’t convicted. He was certain the man was guilty, but the evidence had been compromised.
Geno had provided the money for Patrick to go to the academy through a scholarship. He had no idea whether or not Patrick was aware the money came from him, but Geno never said a word about it to the man, nor would he. There were many such scholarships for those residing in the Ferraro territory. His family looked after the people they considered their own and tried to give them every chance to succeed in education and business.
After Patrick became a policeman, they saw little of each other. Over the years, their paths went in two different directions, but when they did see one another, they remained friendly. Geno respected Patrick and kept track of him. Patrick had been brilliant at police work. He was diplomatic with people and had a good reputation. Geno had expected nothing less of him.
Once Mauve’s killer had been released, Geno had both teams of investigators thoroughly look into the crime and the mountain of evidence that had been unable to be usedin the trial. He had them investigate the suspect to determine whether they believed he had been the one to rape and kill Mauve. There was more than enough forensic evidence on Mauve’s body and in her house to convict the man. His DNA was everywhere, but it had been contaminated and was unable to be used in court.
Geno took a deep breath, his fingers dropping to the nape of Amaranthe’s neck to massage any tension there. The tension was really in his neck and shoulders. “That was the most difficult moment for me as the leader of my family and the shadow riders. I wanted to be the one to bring justice to Mauve’s killer,” he admitted to his family. “It was so hard to make the decision to follow protocol and turn the evidence over to Stefano and allow the Chicago riders to handle it while we looked like dumbass playboys partying it up with our cousins, showing them a good time in the clubs.”
“He’s dead,” Stefano reminded. “Justice was served. Not revenge. Justice.”
Geno inclined his head. “I’m not always as evolved as you, Stefano, no matter how hard I try.”
The elevator opened, and the app on Geno’s and his brothers’ phones announced the visitors. Salvatore immediately got up to escort their visitors through the great room to the open kitchen and dining area.
The two detectives looked startled to see the amount of people seated around the table. Geno rose immediately, offering his hand to Patrick first.
“We were just sitting down to dinner. A few of my cousins are here celebrating my engagement to Amaranthe. You met her the other day, Patrick. This is Detective Patrick Bowden, everyone.” He switched his gaze to Bowden’s partner. “And his partner, Detective Terence Laker. You’re welcome to join us. Francesca and Taviano are excellent cooks. There’s plenty of food and plenty of room at the table.” He waved toward the sideboard, where delicious smells were emanating from the warmers.
“I’m sorry to come at a bad time, Geno,” Patrick said.
Geno noted he sounded apologetic. Their phones played again, and Raffaele Rossi strode in. He wore a dark blue suit. His dark hair curled in every direction. He looked more like a model and less like a lawyer than anyone Geno could imagine. He was a shark in a courtroom.
Grinning, he winked at them. “Sorry I’m late, everyone. Met a girl on an elevator.” He stopped abruptly as though just seeing the detectives. “I see we have company. Is this an official visit, gentlemen?”
