Page 70 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

“Vincenzo, this is Isabella,” Roman says.

“Ah, yes, Don Ferraza’s daughter. I remember when you were just a baby. I drove you and your mama home from the hospital, rest her soul.”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about,” Roman says. “Isabella’s mother.”

“Right, right. Come in.” He steps aside, gesturing us in.

“I thought you drove for Don Monti?” I ask.

“I did, but La Corona shared resources. Don Ferraza asked me to ferry you and your mother home after you were born.”

The house smells of coffee and something baking. It's homey and warm, completely at odds with what I expected from someone connected to my mother's murder.

“Sit, sit,” Vincenzo says, waving us toward a worn sofa. “You want coffee?”

“We're fine,” Roman answers. “Isabella has questions about her mother.”

Vincenzo settles into an armchair across from us, his gaze settling on me. “I'm sorry about your mama. She was a good woman.”

“Did you know her well?” I ask.

“I drove her sometimes. Shopping. Charity club meetings.” He shrugs. “She was kind. Always asked about my grandchildren.”

“Do you know who killed her?” The question bursts from me, too direct, too desperate.

Vincenzo's eyes dart to Roman, then back to me. “What have they told you?”

“That the Calabresi family was responsible.” I feel Roman stiffen beside me.

Vincenzo shakes his head slowly. “No, no. That's not right.”

“Then who?” I lean forward, every muscle in my body tense as Vincenzo's weathered face crinkles in thought.

“I don't know who pulled the trigger,” he says finally, his voice low, “but I know it wasn't Calabresi.”

“How can you be sure?” My voice sounds small even to my own ears.

Vincenzo glances at Roman. “She knows who you work for, doesn’t she?”

Roman nods, his lips twitching up in amusement. “She does. She’s bold and brave, or perhaps reckless in her quest to find answers.”

Vincenzo rubs his chin. “That day, the day your mother died, I was driving Luca Monti back to the airport. He was home for meetings and then returned to Italy. We actually passed by the scene not long after it happened.” His eyes grow distant with memory. “Police everywhere. I remember because Luca made a call immediately. He was… disturbed.”

“Disturbed how?” Roman asks.

“Like he was surprised. Like they all were.” Vincenzo looks directly at me. “Women and children aren’t targets. Not in La Corona.”

“What about a black Cadillac?”

Vincenzo shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about a black Caddy. It’s not something Don Calabresi would drive.” Vincenzo leans forward as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “He’s a bit of a car snob. I always had to arrange for an Audi or Beemer for him.”

Roman smirks at me with an “I told you so” expression.

I ignore him. “If you scheduled the drivers, then you set up my mom’s, right?”

“I did. Tony Carlotta. Good kid, rest his soul.”

“He’s dead too?” Roman asks.