“Yes.” She doesn’t even glance at me, her eyes fixed firmly on Alessandro. “You made a very serious accusation. The kind that demands a defense. Craig—come over here.”
Barbieri cautiously edges toward my mother, a frown on his face.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he’s here.
I glance at Alessandro, who has one arm slung along the back of the couch behind me, the other hand resting on his thigh. The only sign of tension he makes is a slow drumming of his fingers against his thigh—and the warning squeeze on my shoulder.
“Mr. Castellani here claims that someone tried to run him down the other night,” my mother says, once Barbieri has come around the sofa and into our view. Alessandro is in both their sights now. “In fact, Craig, he claims that it wasyouwho tried to kill him.”
Barbieri gives a chuckle, but his eyes slide sideways for a moment to my mother, as though he’s gauging her mood. “Strange story,” he says.
“That’s what I thought,” she agrees. “Except that he also claims to have video footage.”
That’s a total lie, but my mother is an extremely believable liar. We all see the change in Barbieri’s body language. I take a deep breath, praying that he won’t twitch so much that he accidentally pulls the trigger.
“And of course,” my mother continues, “Ihappen to know that Frankie Serra was your cousin.”
Alessandro’s fingers stop drumming and he tips his head, taking a closer look at Barbieri. “The FBI plant, Frankie Serra? He was your cousin?” he repeats softly. “How very interesting.”
Barbieri’s uneasy grin morphs into a ferocious snarl as we watch. My heart is racing as much as it did when I was scrambling around in my cell, trying to stay away from Julian. And then it hits me, the name, Frankie Serra—I’ve seen that recently—
“You’rePepperoni_lover!” I gasp. “That’s how you had all those tips for me, from FBI surveillance. And the Pacific Syndicate meeting at the docks—” I half-rise. Alessandro pulls me back down, but I’m too outraged to stop talking. “You were trying to usemeto get footage of Alessandro—”
“Shut your mouth, kid,” Barbieri hisses.
HeisPepperoni_lover, the sneaky bastard. And all those tips he’s sent me were only designed to win my trust—and then set a trap for Alessandro. “You sent me that fake tip about Lina Lamond so I would make sure Alessandro would be at that party,” I say slowly. “Were youplanningto try to kill him there? Kill him and blame it on the Bernardis? Or did you have an agreement with their Don? Were you working with Aldo Bernardi?”
“This is all bullshit,” he snaps, but his eyes are darting around, checking to see how my mother is taking all of this.
Alessandro leans forward. “Listen, Barbieri, I didn’t kill your cousin—but Frankie Serra was no innocent. I know the kinds of things he did to prove himself to my father. And heenjoyedthem.”
“Bullshit,” Barbieri spits again. “You people are monsters. Pretending Frankie was one of you? It’s not gonna fly.”
“Craig,” my mother says impatiently. “Did you try to run down Castellani or not? I’ve heard his story, and the timeline matches up. He left the party at the same time you did and youwerewatching him. That’s when you told me you were going to bring the car around to the front—but you took a long time doing it.”
Barbieri stares at my mother, and then gives a horrible little chuckle. “You know your son runs thatCute Crimswebsite, Monica? I bet the Assistant Director would berealinterested in that. The marvelous Monica Anderson—you’d never think her son offers up his ass to the very guys she’s chasing.”
Alessandro rises from his seat at once. “Come over here and repeat that,” he says softly.
Barbieri laughs, wild and angry, and so he misses the way my mother’s eyes have narrowed. But he takes up Alessandro’s challenge, walking a few feet closer, fingers tightening on his gun.
“Didn’t you know, Monica?” he goes on. “Your kid’sobsessed. You should see the kinky shit he posts on his website.” He licks his lips, his eyes widening even more as he takes in Alessandro’s murderous stare, and takes a step backward. “I’m not saying I went for this asshole or not the other night—” He waves his gun around, keeping his gaze on Alessandro but speaking to my mother. “—but if I did, I think it’d be pretty fuckin’ forgivable. Don’t you agree? You’ve got something on me, and thanks to your kid, I’ve got something on you. But if I keep my job, you’ll get to keep yours, too.” He points the gun right at Alessandro’s heart. “Sounds like a deal, right?” he tosses over his shoulder.
“No.” My mother’s voice is as icy as I’ve ever heard it, but Barbieri doesn’t even seem to register what she’s saying. His whole attention is fixed on Alessandro, and I can see fury warring with hatred in his eyes.
“I want to hear you admit it,” he spits out. “Admit that you fuckers killed Frankie.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alessandro tells him.
“Oh, yeah? What if I help refresh your memory? What if I—”
It happens so fast. Barbieri’s gun travels a few inches, coasting over toward me. Stopping on me. Alessandro is moving already, covering me, but I barely have time to register that I’m in danger before a shot rings out.
Craig Barbieri is no longer standing there, threatening me.
He’s lying dead on the floor—or, at least, he surelooksdead. A large puddle of blood is still spreading from under his body, creeping over the floorboards toward the decorative rug under the sofa area.
My mother shot him.
