Page 32 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

SARAH

D el Prete.

There’s no way she’s related to the billionaire family behind Del Prete Brewery, the one that just so happens to be Matteo Barati’s adviser.

It has to be a coincidence, surely.

There’s only one way to find out. Given that the attempted kidnapping has been filed in connection with Kara’s murder, I’m not allowed to have anything to do with the case, but there’s nothing stopping me from visiting interrogation.

If there is a real connection here and Mary’s kidnapping is linked to Kara, then who knows what clues she holds?

With most of the department still busy with the donuts, there’s no one to stop me from heading down to interrogation where the two detectives I overheard earlier are signed into one room at the far end.

Ducking past the sign in desk, I slip down the hall and ease myself quietly into the recording room adjacent to the interview and press the button bringing the audio to life.

A young woman sits on one side of the table with a steaming cup of coffee clenched between her trembling hands. Dirt coats her bruised knuckles, a large bruise covers her left cheek, her lower lip is split wide open and crusted with blood, and tears leak from her mascara-smeared eyes.

Why is she here and not at the hospital?

“Miss Del Prete.” One Detective, William, leans forward and places his hands on the table. “I understand you were picked up by a passing driver who found you stumbling in the middle of the road. You told the driver you were kidnapped. Can you elaborate?”

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. William speaks with disbelief and a little accusation in his tone as if he doesn’t believe her.

Mary sniffles and rubs one eye with the back of her hand, further smearing her makeup, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I was kidnapped.”

The trembling crack in her voice sends a lance of pain through my heart. I know that tone. Real fear—deep, guttural fear—leaves a scar in the voice. I’ve heard it from many victims over the years, including myself.

“Well, let’s start from the beginning.” The second Detective, Carter, brushes some leftover sugar from his hands by slapping his palms together, causing Mary to flinch. “Where were you kidnapped from?”

Mary stares hard at her cup and swallows audibly.

“I was walking home last night and I—” She coughs suddenly and lifts her cup, drinking quickly.

“I was supposed to meet my friend at the club but I was running late, so I took a shortcut and the next thing I know, I’m being hit from behind and everything went dark. ”

“Go on,” prompts William.

“I woke up tied up in the backseat of a car and I could hear voices. The man who took me was arguing with someone and when I looked out the window, there was another car. I think they had some sort of collision or something, I don’t know.

But they were arguing and I—I just kicked open the door and ran. ”

She escaped. She has no idea how lucky she really is.

“And then what happened?”

Mary whimpers suddenly and presses one hand over her mouth. “I ran.” Tears well in her eyes and pour faster and faster, then she curls in on herself. The two detectives share a glance.

“Miss Del Prete, I need you to tell us more about the argument. What did they look like, what the other car looked like? These kinds of details are important because they can help us catch the man who took you.”

“I don’t know,” Mary weeps, her voice hoarse. “I was running and there was a gunshot, and I fell, and then?—”

The door to the interrogation room flies open and Rocky stalks his way inside, his face dark like thunder. The sight of him makes my heart leap up into my throat and warmth flushes across the back of my neck.

Rocky .

“Did I just walk in on you questioning her without her lawyer present?” Rocky barks at the two detectives as they leap from their chairs.

“She didn’t ask for one,” stammers William.

“Did you even ask her if she wanted one?” Rocky steps forward, and the other two shrink back, then a tall gentleman dressed in a dark suit enters the room.

His silver hair is combed back and a short, silvery beard hugs his strong jaw. With dark eyes, golden skin, and the sharp wrinkles of age striking around his eyes, he cuts quite the intimidating figure but when he speaks, his voice is very soft.

“Mary, darling. Let’s go.”

“Dad!” Mary surges up from her seat, knocking it to the ground in her hurry, and throws herself into the older man’s arms. He sweeps her under his coat and holds her close, then escorts her swiftly from the room.

Dad.

So that’s Domenico Del Prete, huh?

“Actually…” Carter steps forward. “We’re not done here.”

“Yes, we are.” There’s a dangerous lilt to Rocky’s voice and when Carter steps forward, Rocky lifts his hand and prods at Carter’s chest. “I said we’re done .”

“Sir, you can’t just—” William has the same idea as Carter, and getting Mary back seems to be their top priority. The only trouble is that neither of them seems to recognize Rocky for who he is.

“Step. Back.” Rocky’s voice hardens with a note of anger, and I can see the situation going south far too quickly.

Abandoning my hiding spot, I hurry from the room and approach the door. “Is there a problem?”

Rocky straightens up instantly and turns to face me, his eyes briefly betraying a hint of softness when they lock with mine. “No,” he replies stiffly. “We were just leaving.”

Domenico stands at the far end of the hall with his arm around his daughter, watching us intently. Rocky only spares me a single glance, then he leaves the interrogation room and strides down the hallway to join Domenico.

“We need to finish questioning her!” William hurries from the door, but I put out one hand and stop him from going any further.

“Don’t you know who that is?” I say. “That’s Rocky Barati. Which means you won’t be talking to her ever again.”

I’m powerless to prevent my chance at a breakthrough walking right out of the station.

Dinner bubbles on the stove, Iris relaxes on the table with her fluffy tail in the middle of my empty dinner plate, and my mind races with the events of the day.

Rocky being here last night has left an odd sense of restlessness in my chest. Seeing him again at the station reignited my craving for him, but with what happened to Mary, I’m not sure when or if I will ever see him again.

The details of her attempted kidnapping are so vague, there’s no way for me to tell whether there’s any connection to Kara or Belle. In this city, someone is trying to snatch someone else off the streets nearly every day, so it’s wishful thinking on my part.

Extremely wishful.

As I bring my soup to a boil and lower the heat, my phone lights up with an incoming call.

Ever since the killer has been calling me, the sound of my ringtone makes me feel sick so I keep my phone on silent.

But the screen lighting up still gives me the same pull of nausea that makes my gut ache.

Swallowing, I pick up the phone and press answer below the withheld number.

“Hello?”

“Sarah!” Rocky’s warm tones fill my ear and a rush of warmth pulls through my chest.

“Rocky.”

“Sorry to call this late. I wanted to reach you and explain what happened earlier.”

“Mary, is she alright?”

“Not even a little.” Rocky’s voice is tight and his words rushed. “It’s a bit hellish here right now, but I’ve spoken to Mary and I’m pretty sure the guy who tried to take her is the guy we’re looking for.”

I turn the stove off, completely abandoning my soup, and sink into the chair pressed up against my table. Iris chirrups and rolls over to meet me, exposing her belly to my wandering hand.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. I don’t have enough time to tell you everything so I’m going to come and pick you up so we can talk properly. But I couldn’t sit on this one thing.”

“What thing?”

“Mary saw his face, Sarah. She looked him right in the eyes.”

My heart stalls briefly in my chest, followed by a flash of tightness and hot chills down my spine. “She saw him?”

“Yes. She got a real good look—shit. I’ve got to go. Wait for me, I’ll come to you.”

“Okay.”

The line falls silent and I sit there staring at Iris but barely seeing her.

Mary saw him.

She saw her attacker and if he really is The Painter, then we will finally have a target. Excitement wells up inside me like an inflating balloon. Ruffling Iris’s fur, I press a firm kiss to the top of her head and rush into the study where every detail I’ve collected is displayed.

Soon, I will have a picture and I’ll catch that bastard for the final time.

But… wait.

What if I don’t recognize him? What if Mary provides a detailed picture and it’s still not enough to trigger my buried memories? Will I always be stuck in darkness, unable to recall the face that tormented me for six days?

But then, what if I do remember? What if seeing his face unlocks more than I can handle and I end up drowning under memories I don’t know I’ve suppressed?

The back and forth in my mind is enough to make me dizzy so I pace around the room, replaying every detail in my mind about what I overheard from Mary. He snatched her but got into an accident and she escaped. She’s the luckiest out of all of us.

Should I call Brant? This could be huge. I could finally shove this entire case in his face and prove that I was right all along, that this was all connected to The Painter and he’ll forever be known as the police captain too dumb to listen to his detectives.

Then again… that would make things worse. As soon as he learned that I was still investigating everything, he’d accuse me of compromising evidence and influencing witnesses. I can’t tell him. Not yet.

He’s been against me from the start and frustratingly correct in his reasoning.

A lot of the evidence is shaky at best, and my calls from the killer paint me as more of an accessory than a victim.

I can’t have any contact with Mary if her description leads to an arrest. After all, there’s still a chance that there’s no connection and I’m creating a link out of thin air.

All hunger abandons me and I spend the next few hours poring over every detail of the case while waiting for Rocky to call.

He doesn’t, but just as I begin to grow overly anxious about Mary and what she saw, a familiar rumbling fills the air.

It’s a rumbling that I could pick out of any crowd since that bike, and its owner, has saved me more than I care to count.

Phone in hand, I rush to the front window and stare down as Rocky pulls up against the sidewalk and turns off the lights. He looks up and the streetlight reflecting off his visor makes the red piping around his helmet look pink.

He catches sight of me and waves, making my heart jump.

This could be it. Whatever Mary saw could finally bring an end to my torment. I wave back and grab my jacket.

The Painter can’t hide anymore.