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Stella

T he funeral for Weston Bertelli brings back fresh memories of my father’s service.

From what little Andre has told me, the Council doesn’t have any suspects. I’m sure the list of who wanted the hitman-for-hire boss dead is a long one.

I even suspected the old man of setting up my father’s death to look like a suicide. I’m sure it’d be easy for one of his assassins to pull it off.

God, I hope it was him and not Creed Ferraro.

Needing some space after the cemetery service, I tell Andre I’m heading to the car while he finishes speaking to Creed and some of his other minions, including Lorenzo.

There are tons of guards on the grounds, so we all should be safe.

I’m about to reach for the passenger door of Andre’s sports car to escape the cool January air when a man’s voice says behind me, “You and I have a lot in common.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see a short, stocky guy striding toward me with a long black jacket over his suit. Bowen Bertelli.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell him.

“Yours too. I was at Emilio’s funeral, but you probably don’t remember.”

“Of course.” I look past him to the gathering of Ferraros about a hundred feet away. Everyone else is still milling about the headstones or headed to their cars, including my brother who doesn’t even say goodbye. Why in the world is the son of the deceased over here talking to me?

I look at his face closer, at his eyes, and instantly know I can’t trust him. There’s something about him…

“Was there anything else?” I ask, anxious to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.

“My father set up Ferraro at that club raid.” He shoves his hands into his overcoat pockets. “Yours too. That’s why they killed him and Izaiah.”

His words are so random I think he must be on some of the same shit Izaiah was addicted to. Before I can ask what the hell he means, though, he walks away toward the car at the front of the line of vehicles where his sister waits for him in a group of who I assume are their family’s men.

Watching his retreating back, I replay his words.

Bowen’s father set up Creed at the club raid…the one where Creed’s brother Carmine was killed. I didn’t go to his funeral, but my father did.

It was the first funeral of three.

My father’s was a few weeks later. So close to Carmine’s death that I suspected the Ferraros. Now here we are at Weston Bertelli’s grave…and his son just told me Creed killed my father and Izaiah, whose body has never been found.

Just as I suspected from the beginning, before I married one of the Ferraros.

Speaking of my husband…

“Everything okay?” Andre asks while looking between me and the car pulling away with Bowen. “I saw you and Bowen talking. What did he want?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just blaming your family for his father’s, my father’s, and my brother’s deaths.”

Andre’s amber eyes widen. “Get in the car.”

“Don’t give me orders!” I shout at him.

“Will you please get in the car, baby? It’s cold out here, and there’s a lot to unpack.”

I only turn around and open the passenger door because of the first part. I’m fucking freezing. Andre even holds my door open for me like a gentleman before he goes around to the other side. Once he settles into the driver seat, he cranks the engine and turns all the vents blowing warm air toward me.

“What did Bowen say to you exactly?” Andre grits out.

“Did Creed kill my father?” I ask my husband point blank while staring at his face.

His eyes soften before he says, “No, baby. Creed didn’t kill your father.”

I search his gaze for a hint of deception, but there’s only sadness.

“You swear it?”

“Yes.”

“On our unborn child?”

“Fuck, baby. Are you late?” he exclaims, eyeing my lower belly as if he could tell by sight this soon.

“No, but I want you to swear it on any future children we might have together.”

There’s only a short pause before Andre says, “I swear on our future children that Creed did not kill your father.”

I believe him, even if his phrasing makes me pause. He sounds so…confident, as if he knows exactly what Creed Ferraro does every second of the day. What if his cousin killed my father and kept it from him?

“And my brother?” I ask.

Andre faces forward, puts the car in gear, and sighs heavily before pulling away. “The Sannas were supplying your brother with heroin after your father cut him off. I don’t know if they gave him too much or a bad batch…but his car was just outside their taxi company. The taxis are how they distribute product.”

“You think Izaiah died from an overdose, and the Sannas tried to cover it up?” I ask and Andre nods. “Do you think my father found out what they did and got killed when he confronted them?”

“That sounds like one possibility.”

I chew on my lip as I think over this new information. “My father’s suicide note mentioned he blamed himself for Izaiah’s addiction. I don’t buy that, though. He blamed Izaiah for not being strong enough to overcome it. But wouldn’t it make sense for the people responsible for Izaiah’s overdose to mention the drug abuse?”

“Yes,” he agrees, then chances a quick glance at me. “I’m sorry, Stella.”

“You should’ve told me about the Sannas selling to him before. I thought it was Ferraro this whole time. I figured Izaiah was stupid enough to try to take Creed and his brother out, failed, and Creed found out.”

Andre clears his throat, then says quietly, “I shouldn’t be telling you this but, it was Bowen Bertelli that set us up at the club.”

“That’s what Bowen just told me.”

The car swerves toward the right as Andre’s head whips in my direction. “He did? He just came out and admitted it?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking stronzo . He thinks he’s untouchable now.”

“Bowen told me my father was involved in the raid too.”

Andre faces forward and shakes his head. “No. Your father wasn’t behind what happened at the club. The little shit is just running his mouth, trying to start a war by telling you. He’s probably hoping you’ll tell Saint so Saint will take out Creed for him, since he missed the first time.”

Jesus. Mafia politics are so fucking confusing.

But…what Andre is telling me makes sense.

If my father wasn’t involved in the raid, then Creed wouldn’t have had any reason to go after him and my brother.

If Aiden Sanna’s drugs killed Izaiah, and my father found out, that could’ve been what got him killed. Sanna wouldn’t have let my father obtain the proof to take to Creed who would’ve thrown him out of their Council.

My twin brother was right all along. I guess I owe Saint an apology.

And I’m so damn relieved my husband’s family, the man I can’t seem to keep my hands or other body parts off of, isn’t responsible for my family’s murders.