The Rocchetti Queen (The Rocchetti Dynasty Book 3)

by Bree Porter

  Night had fallen over the capital, causing the holiday lights to brighten up the trees and snow with red and green. I sat beneath one of the leafless trees, wrapped up in my winter coat, eyes trained on the entrance to the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters.

  It was two days until Thanksgiving, so the headquarters were half as busy as usual. They were working with a skeleton staff, hoping that criminals took the holiday season off as well.

  “You alright, Sophia?” Alessandro said in my ear, his voice slightly tinny.

  I turned slightly to the left, catching sight of Nero in the shadows. My husband and his enforcer were two streets away in a car, ready to come and get me at a moment’s notice, but it was Nero who was my first shield of protection. Alessandro’s face was too recognizable to allow him to join me.

  I pressed down on the earpiece. “Fine.” My breath came out cloudy in front of me. “Not long now.”

  “Stay safe,” he warned. Even a block away, he could still manage to make me feel warm and giddy—like some teenage girl.

  I looked back to the entrance. The doors opened, and two figures stepped out into the snow.

  I ducked my head but kept my eyes trained on them. Wrapped in their coats, they were harder to make out features on, but I knew that gait like the back of my hand.

  Catherine.

  My sister walked beside another agent, listening to them speak.

  I looked down at what I was wearing, almost laughing to myself. I had chosen clothes that I knew Catherine would wear, dark blues and blacks. I had hit the nail on the head, all the way to the dark beanie.

  Catherine had always chosen comfort over beauty—especially in the colder months. She had little patience for being cold, always complaining as soon as she felt the slightest bit chilly.

  It was nice to know some things never changed.

  My sister and the other agent disappeared into the parking lot. Not a few moments later, a car roared to life, the headlights startlingly bright in the night.

  “Your sister is gone,” Alessandro told me a few seconds later. “It’s your turn.”

  I rose from my seat, stretching my frozen legs, and headed toward the entrance.

  You can do this, I told myself. Think Catherine, think of your sister.

  A memory rose up in my mind of the two of us. We had been teenage girls, young and fresh and untouched by the darkness of life. It had been a hot night, so we’d lain out on the lawn, both of us wanting to see glow bugs but not willing to go and look for them.

  There’s the archer, Catherine had said pointing at the night sky.

  Where? I remembered asking.

  She’d grabbed my hand and pointed it at the collection of stars. Can you see it now?

  I could. No, I lied.

  She turned toward me, expression disapproving. Yes, you can, Soph. Don’t lie to me. I’m not Papa.

  I can’t see it, I said again, my laughter bubbling up my throat.

  She had rolled her eyes. You’re such a liar.

  So are you, I had retorted. I know you snuck out last night.

  Her eyes had gleamed in the dark. So, you were awake! I knew it! She laughed, no longer angry at me. Next time, you can come.

  Papa will be angry.

  Only if he finds out. Catherine turned her head to me, staring deep into my eyes. I remembered the ferocity of her expression, like a lion as its jaws wrap around the gazelle’s neck. Will you tell on me, Soph?

  Of course not, Cat. You’re my sister.

  She had grinned. I won’t ever leave you again, she had said, perhaps the first lie she’d ever told me.

  I don’t mind being left behind, as long as you tell me where you’re going.

  Catherine’s expression softened. I don’t mind when you lie, as long as you don’t lie to me.

  I promise not to lie to you.

  I promise not to leave you.

  Neither of us had kept our promise.

  It was that memory that I held to my chest as I walked toward the entrance. Those empty promises we had made to each other on that summer’s night hadn’t been made with the intention of breaking them, but we had known there was a good chance we would. Catherine wanted to leave, and I wanted to lie.

  What a pair we made.

  I held my chin high, narrowing my eyes. The ends of my hair tickled my neck.

  Deep inside me, I summoned everything I knew about my sister. Her ambitions, her fears and dreams. How she liked her coffee, how she handled being disappointed.

  I promise not to leave you.

  I pressed my hand to the door and stepped into the headquarters.

  Inside was warm, but empty. A huge open space with modern windows and more security measures than necessary. The only other person was a bodyguard, slouched in his chair, watching all who entered and exited.

  Be Catherine, I told myself. Be your big sister.

  I pulled out the ID card that we had printed, an exact replica of what Catherine’s would look like.

  I quickened my pace, holding out the card, “Forgot something!”

  The bodyguard looked up.

  Am I going to make it? I made it past the bodyguard, so close to the stairs—

  “Padovino!” he yelled.

  I stopped. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I turned and resisted the urge to smile. Catherine wouldn’t smile, I told myself. “Yeah?”

  “You going to Julie’s thing on Friday?”

  I swung on my heels, digging my hands into my pockets. What would Catherine say? “Julie’s thing? Probably not.”

  “Yeah, me too.” The bodyguard slouched back in his chair. “What did you forget?”

  What did I forget? “My phone. Uh, have a good night!”

  I took off before he could say anything else.

  The FBI building was actually very stylish. In my mind, I had formed a picture of a few desks in a warehouse and sign that read NARCS WORK HERE, but the reality was very nice. Modern, clean, expensive. It was clear where the taxpayers’ dollars were going.

  Not many lights were on. I passed a few lit desks, but the people working at them didn’t spare me a glance.

  Nero, apparently, had once killed somebody in this building, so he had already had a map of the place. Strangely patient with me, he had explained where the organized crime taskforce would be located. Third floor, near the back, he had said. If you get lost, find the closest bathroom. They will have a fire exits map, and use that to find out where you are.

  To get to the third floor, I would have to get on the elevator.

  This was the part I was most nervous for. If someone was in there with me, the bright light might betray I was not in fact Catherine Padovino. I had used my cut hair and scarf to try and deceive as much as possible, but we weren’t twins.

  No one around as I stepped onto the elevator.

  Okay, I told myself. Third floor, third floor.

  “Hold it!” A young man came skidding into the elevator, goofy in his looks. “Sorry, sorry.”

  I pressed myself against the wall. What were the chances he would recognize me?

  The gun pressing into my back began to feel warmer.

  “Third floor?” he asked, looking at the lit button I had pressed. “Are you part of Dupont’s division then?”

  I pressed a hand to my back, feeling the outline of the weapon. It would be more suspicious not to say anything. “Uh, yeah.”

  He turned to me, face bright. “That’s so cool. I would do anything to work with Dupont. Did you know he once shot a gangster at point blank range?”

  “Oh?” Did he now?

  “What’s he like?” the young man asked. “I bet he’s super cool, drinks his coffee black and stuff like that. Cool stuff, you know.”

  I couldn’t help my smile. “I’m not very cool then. I like cream and sugar in my coffee.”

  “Me too,” he laughed. The elevator dinged. “Could you do me a favor? Name drop me to Dupont. Leo Morales in IT.”

  “Sure. I’ll let
him know.” I stepped off the elevator, followed by Leo’s thanks.

  Cover still not blown, I headed toward the back of the third floor. This floor wasn’t made up of hallways so much, more offices with glass walls and stretches of desks. I spotted a few people, but all of them were distracted by their tasks and paid me no mind.

  I was worried I might not recognize the organized crime area, but it was pretty hard to miss. If you just looked at the collection of desks, paired with a whiteboard and complex computer system, you would think it was normal.

  But then you noticed the walls—even some of the roof! There were thousands of photos taped to the wall, from maps to images to documents. They even covered the back window, completely blocking out the city.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the images. I spotted a photograph of Vitale Lombardi stepping out of a car, Evelyn O Fiaich neé McDermott’s birth certificate, copies of the Benéitez Cartel’s Anti-Mafia documents. There was even a photograph of Konstantin Tarkhanov, at what looked to be a horse race.

  Then I found the Chicago Outfit wall.

  My entire public life was before me, scrapbooked without my knowledge. From my first Valentine’s Day with Alessandro, us sitting together at a table in Nicoletta’s, to my birthday party at the Circuit di Chicago. Even my walks with Polpetto were cataloged.

  Sitting in church pews with Don Piero, laughing with Mary Inada at a Historical Society meeting, visiting my sister’s grave.

  Even my precious baby had been photographed. Dante’s christening, walking through the park. There was even a blurry photograph of us leaving the hospital, me tucked under Alessandro’s arm as he got us to safety.

  I covered my throat, swallowing down a scream.

  I had known this—known they were watching. And yet...to this extent? So many times, I had walked through the city of Chicago, and all of them were recorded and hung up the FBI’s crime wall.

  Catherine had liked to keep a record of things, hadn’t she? The USBs shed left inside of Dolly had been proof enough of that.

  I stepped back from the wall and eyed the collection of desks. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one was hers. It was the cleanest, with a collection of familiar book titles leaning against the computer. Her pens were ordered, lamp dustless.

  Nothing like my desk at home, which was a nightmare to sort through. Alessandro cringed every time he saw it.

  I stepped closer to my sister’s desk, an image catching my attention. Framed, but half-hidden behind the computer, was a photograph of Catherine and I. Both of us were crouched down, mud covering our knees, and barely older than fourteen.

  I wasn’t even looking at the camera, instead my palms were cupped in front of me, a glow bug almost trapped between them. The green light of the bug lit up my face.

  Catherine was looking at the camera, eyes bright. She wasn’t grinning but she was happy.

  I didn’t even remember this, I thought, bitten by sudden sadness.

  I picked up the frame, twisting it around. On the back, she had written, I promise never to lie to you; I promise never to leave you.

  I put it back when I had found it.

  “Everything alright, Sophia?” Alessandro’s voice asked. We had to keep contact to a minimal, in case someone overheard.

  “Fine, fine. Almost done.”

  This is not the time to reminisce, I warned myself. You need to hurry it up.

  I turned on her computer, fishing my own USB out of my pocket. Her login came up. Since she was fourteen, Catherine had been using the same password for everything.

  Mariacristina25111991.

  The name of her beloved doll, followed by her birthday.

  Her desktop popped up, the background an image of her and Dupont. Both were smiling at the camera, happy in their own way. I would be happy for her if Dupont wasn’t such a dickhead.

  I hurried through her files, looking for ones that looked the most private. Or had any mention of the words di Traglia.

  27th October, one was named.

  That was my son’s birthday.

  I copied the entire file, not bothering to waste time flicking through it.

  “Padovino, you’re working late.”

  Shit.

  I paused and slowly turned around.

  Before me, was...a beautiful man. Tall, black hair, olive skin, and bright electric blue eyes. Paired with a sharp jawline, long eyelashes and cupid-bow shaped lips. Dressed in a blue button down and khakis, he couldn’t have been older than 34, and looked like he just stepped off the runway.

  And right now, he was giving me a friendly smile.

  I almost started blushing.

  He asked you a question! I told myself. “Uh, oh, yeah.” I swallowed. Sound like Catherine, sound like Catherine! “I just wanted to get a few things done before the weekend.” Deflect, deflect. “You, too?”

  The beautiful man nodded. “Diana has taken the girls to her parent’s place for the weekend. Is Tristan coming back this week or is he extending his time in Chicago?”

  I had no clue. “He hasn’t said yet. He wants to see...if anything happens.”

  “I know it’s hard not being able to join him,” the man said. “But it’s not safe for you in Chicago.”

  “Uh, yeah, I know.”

  He eyed me, his blue eyes deep enough to drown in. Who was this male model and why was he working for the FBI? Whoever Diana was, she deserved a high-five for trapping him. “What no fight?” He laughed. “Are you sick?”

  I tried my best impression of Catherine’s laugh. “Just have a lot of work to do.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave you to it.” The man stepped away, heading for one of the glass offices.

  I yanked out the USB, closing down the computer. I’d had had too many close calls.

  As I went to leave, I spotted Dupont’s desk. I rooted my heels into the ground, unable to pass it. Over my shoulder, I could see the strange man at his own desk, his head bent down over his computer.

  Quickly, I turned back to Dupont’s desk and scanned it. There were two photographs—one of him and Catherine, a second of an old woman with watery blue eyes. Must be mom, I thought.

  I opened one of his desk drawers, bringing out the first thing my fingers met. It was a small book, a diary. It would do.

  I tucked it under my arm.

  Time to go, I told myself. Hopefully, you have gotten something good enough to use.

  “Catherine?”

  I turned.

  The beautiful man was leaning against the doorway to his office. “Do you need a lift home?”

  “Uh, no, thank you. I drove.”

  “Oh? I didn’t see your car in the carpark.”

  I shrugged. “I parked further away. I’m trying to...get in some more cardio.” What, Sophia? Really? Get in some more cardio?

  Christ, it was lucky I was so good at being a mob wife. I would have made a terrible spy.

  The man nodded like he understood. “See you Monday.”

  “You too. Give my love to the kids.”

  I was prepared to sprint it, but I forced myself to slowly walk away, shoulders held high. Be calm, I told myself. Do not give them a reason to hurt you.

  “Oh, and Padovino?”

  What now? I wanted to shriek but kept my cool.

  The beautiful man was still staring at me, slight smile on his face.

  In that moment, half in the shadows, expression all-knowing, I could have sworn he looked familiar. Not familiar in the way that I had met him before, but more like I had grown up around men who held themselves the way he did, stood in the darkness the way he did.

  That’s impossible, I told myself, shoving away the thought.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I have been meaning to ask you if you have heard anything else regarding Tarkhanov. My spies have been quiet. You’d think we would hear more, especially with him gearing up to take over the Falcones.” He smiled lightly. “Allegedly.”

  My sister was also spying on Kon
stantin? I had to tell Alessandro that. “Uh, Lombardis, sir. Not Falcones.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Were you not listening at the meeting this morning, Padovino? Schulz said Tarkhanov’s struck up a deal with the Lombardis. He has got his sights set on the Falcones now.”

  Do not react, I told myself. What do the FBI know? “The Lombardis have more resources. I can’t see him changing to the Falcones.”

  “I think it depends on what you want,” the man said. “Something the Falcones have must have caught Tarkhanov’s eye. Something the Lombardis don’t have.”

  “He might not even succeed.”

  “Oh, he will.”

  Something in his tone...I eyed him. “You sound like you want him to take out the Falcones.”

  “Do I?” he inquired. “All I want is organized crime in the United States to disappear. Isn’t that what we all want, Catherine? Especially you?”

  “Of course,” I replied. “It is all I want.”

  The man’s blue eyes gleamed. “Things are about to get very interesting in New York. The Bratva, the Cosa Nostra. All of them vying for power, going to extreme lengths to get what they want.” His smile remained friendly, but his words made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Chicago will become boring now that Don Piero’s grandson and his wife’s reign has begun. New York is the place to go.”

  “I thought Chicago still didn’t have a don.”

  “You and I both know that’s not true, Padovino. What was it you said again? Ah...‘Don’t underestimate my sister. She is lying in wait.’” The look in his eyes made my stomach tense. “Is she still lying in wait?”

  I met his eyes. You’re Catherine remember? I warned myself. “I couldn’t say. I guess we will just have to find out.”

  “Indeed, we will,” the man agreed.

  I took a step back, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. “I better get going.”

  “Goodnight, Padovino. I will see you soon.”

  I had the undeniable feeling that we would be seeing each other again soon. But the next time, I would be Sophia Rocchetti, Donna of Chicago, and he wouldn’t be an FBI agent.

  A s soon as the private jet took to the skies, I turned to Alessandro and asked, “Did you know that Konstantin has changed his mind? He plans to remove the Falcones, instead of the Lombardis.”