“Patrick,” Terence cautioned.
“For God’s sake, Terence. We checked his alibi every time. We know where he was tonight. We saw him.”
“He’s a billionaire. He can pay for whatever he wants.”
Good cop, bad cop routine in your own dining room?Stefano asked.
“I’ve known Geno a long time, Terence, and in any case, I can tell you, someone’s out to get him, not the other way around.” Patrick looked stricken. For the first time Geno could see that he mattered to the detective. “I’m serious, somebody either wants you dead or in prison. Tonight, Lyna Marchel was murdered in the same way your parents were murdered. In the same way Noemi and Caio Diliberto were murdered. In the same way Viola and Marcelle Marino were murdered. A similar weapon was used on the young woman murdered on the porch of Miranda’s Miracles.”
Beside him, Amaranthe placed her fork on her plate and turned her face up to his, shock in her eyes. “Lyna? Why would anyone kill Lyna?”
“They dipped her finger in blood and wrote your name, Geno, as if she named you as her killer,” Patrick persisted. “It was your good luck that you went straight from the studio to your home, and every traffic light confirmed it, and then the security cameras in this building confirmed it. Your car was easy to track. The time of her death was easy to establish. At that time, you were going into the condo. You have enemies, Geno. I want to know who they are.”
“Patrick, if I knew who killed my parents, don’t you think I’d tell you? If I had a clue who was doing this, targeting people who matter to me.” Geno gestured around the table to his cousins. “I was afraid to have my brothers here in New York with me. I asked them to stay away. I was afraid to have my cousins and their wives here. I don’t likeAmaranthe going to work. She’s supposed to perform and needs to go to rehearsal. It terrifies me to have her go because I’m afraid she’s a target. Honestly, I even worry about you,” Geno admitted. “That someone might find out you matter to me.”
There was a short silence. “The lasagna smells good,” Terence said hopefully, looking at Raffaele. “I’m practically family with that admission.”
“Patrick’s family. You’re—I don’t know what you are,” Raffaele denied. “Fine, sit down. Food’s great. Amara, I’m sorry about Ms. Marchel. You’ve been having a difficult time of it.”
Terence hastily filled a plate with food and sank into a vacant chair. “We’ve been at this for hours. I’m starving.”
Patrick sat, but he didn’t take any food. He looked more distressed than ever. “Geno, your people must have files on threats made to you.”
Francesca got up, moved around the table to the sideboard and immediately fixed a plate of food for the detective.
“I’m Stefano Ferraro,” Stefano introduced himself, “Geno’s cousin. My brother Taviano; his wife, Nicoletta; my wife, Francesca. We’ve looked at all those threats numerous times. We have teams of investigators looking at them. We have other cousins with teams of investigators looking at them. Like you, we feel the threat to Geno and his family is very real. We have no idea why, and we’re searching for a reason.”
“I buy and sell companies,” Geno offered. “I try to save them, if possible, but there are times I can’t. People lose their jobs. I have no way of knowing if someone lost their job years ago and is holding a grudge. Why would they kill my parents? Or relatives my mother was raised with, but I had little interaction with? It wasn’t like my brothers and I spent holidays at their homes.”
Patrick looked up at Francesca when she put the plate in front of him. “Thank you, ma’am. That was kind of you.”He picked up the fork she laid by the plate, looking for all the world as if he was on automatic pilot when it came to food.
“You need to eat if you want brain cells working,” she replied.
I love you, Francesca, Geno said.You’re an amazing woman.
Francesca flashed him a smile and took a seat beside her husband.
“My brain cells haven’t been working for a while now,” Patrick muttered. His eyes met Geno’s. “This may have nothing to do with it, but it’s been nagging at me. When things bother me and won’t let go, I find I’m usually on the right track.” He indicated Terence. “My partner and his wife like to go clubbing.”
Terence grinned. “Met my wife at a dance club. We go out most weekends. Try to drag Patrick as often as possible.” He took the salad bowl Salvatore offered him. “This is damn good. I was starving.”
Patrick ignored the byplay. “I was at the bar, and a woman came up to me. She was really cute, had an accent and was flirting like crazy. That doesn’t happen in my world. I’m not very outgoing. The club, by the way, was your club, The Fast Lane.”
“She was all over him,” Terence confirmed. “Little Australian woman. She danced the night away with him.”
The moment Terence identified the woman as Australian, Geno went on alert. “How long ago was this, Patrick?”
“About seven months. We dated for approximately two months, although not steady. I was uncomfortable with her questions. When we were in the club, she asked if I knew the owners. I didn’t answer her, but she was persistent and kept repeating the question. Eventually, I said I’d met you in passing, but we obviously didn’t run in the same circles. I told her I was a cop, and you were a billionaire. I think I laughed, and she let it drop. At least that night she did.”
Geno glanced at Stefano. Seven months earlier.Someone had been already setting them up. They did know about Patrick, so they’d done thorough research on Geno and his family. They knew about the connection between the Bowden and Ferraro families, which meant Patrick could be a target.
“Sometime after our third or fourth date, your name came up again. She asked casually if I’d been to your house. If you lived with your parents. If I had ever been to the house. She said the reason she asked is because she had been sightseeing and she saw the house your parents lived in, and it looked huge and quite cool. She claimed it looked like a mansion. Had she kept the conversation to the house, it wouldn’t have raised a red flag, but she kept bringing you into it and asking personal questions about your parents.”
“You dumped her,” Lucca stated.
“At first, I was polite and just tried to fade away by being busy. I’d told her from the beginning that I worked quite a bit. But she continued to call me,” Patrick admitted.
Geno had to smile. That was Patrick. He didn’t like hurting people. He might be a brilliant detective, but he was still that kindhearted kid his mother had raised.
