We walked into the station, it bustled with officers and people.

Detective Marcos followed in after us. “This way,” he said simply as he walked off.

We made our way down a long hallway until we reached a closed door that read ‘Interview Room Two.’ He pushed the door open and stood to the side. I walked through, Andre right on my heels.

“I’ll wait here,” Leah called out after us.

The room smelt old and musty when we stepped inside like someone had left one too many moth balls hanging around. The wooden floor creaked as Andre and I walked toward the large solid table that sat right in the center, which seemed to be bolted to the floor.

The chairs were much the same, sturdy metal that appeared to be attached to the floorboards with brackets and screws.

I looked sideways at Andre, raising one eyebrow.

Marcos had requested this interview. We weren’t being arrested, yet we were thrown into some stupid interrogation room that felt like it hadn’t had a makeover since the sixties.

Andre rolled his eyes and mouthed the words, “He’s trying to be dramatic.”

I nodded. It did seem like Detective Marcos had already made his mind up about the type of person I was.

I wasn’t Emerson Rossi from the famous Rossi family.

Nope, not here.

In this city, and in this detective’s mind, I was Emerson DePalma, niece to one of the most notorious mob bosses within the USA.

It probably didn’t help that I was living with Angelo, Anthony’s right-hand man.

The detective followed us in along with another officer who closed the door and stood beside it with his arms crossed. Detective Marcos sat opposite us, leaning back casually in his seat.

I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

“So why don’t you run me through what happened that night,” he said, waving his hand casually in the air.

I smiled. “I’m sorry, which night might you be indicating?”

The corner of his mouth quirked, almost like he was impressed. “I have a few in mind,” he said, shrugging casually. “How about we start with the night that Sophie was assaulted.”

“Killed,” I corrected sharply. “My sister was not simply assaulted, she was killed.”

Marcos nodded, but I could already tell that this interview had nothing to do with what had happened to my sister. He didn’t give a shit that my sister had been raped and killed. Marcos didn’t care less about how they had slit her wrists so she’d slowly bleed out, and that there would be nothing I could do to help her.

All he cared about was the information he had which could possibly bring down the DePalma family. He wanted to know about Benny’s death, something I technically knew nothing about. I wasn’t going to let him make out like what Benny had done didn’t matter, like it wasn’t important, and that the DePalmas were some kind of monsters in the way that they may, or may not have, removed that sorry excuse for a human being from this world.

Hell fucking no.

“All right,” Marcos shrugged. “Tell me about what happened that night.”

“No doubt you’ve already read the police report,” Andre cut in, placing a closed fist on the top of the table. His Italian accent got stronger as his anger rose, much like I’d noticed Angelo’s did. “How about we just skip that part, instead of trying to shake Emerson down by forcing her to get emotional and relive the torture that Sophie suffered in front of her.”

I inhaled a deep breath, appreciating the fact that I had Andre at my side. I knew my rights. I was fully aware I could walk out of this stuffy old room within a second if I wanted to. But when asked to discuss that night, I would always shut down.

Marcos grinned across the table, completely and utterly happy with himself and the fact that he’d managed to stir us a little. “Fair enough,” he answered, trying to sound serious, but he’d failed to wipe the stupid grin off his face. “Do you remember a man called Benny being in that room with you that night?”

“Yes,” I replied sharply. “Benny was the one I saw violate my sister.”

Marcos nodded, and the police officer by the door stepped forward, dropping a manila folder on the table with a resounding slap. “As I said before…” he continued as the officer stepped back again silently, “… Benny was found dead yesterday. His body was almost unrecognizable, as it was dismembered and stuffed into two suitcases and dumped into the East River.”

“Look away,” Andre snapped quickly, just as Marcos flipped the folder open revealing an array of pictures. I managed to avert my eyes, but not before catching sight of the blood and pieces of flesh spread across a river bank. My eyes were wide as I stared at Andre, his gaze softening when he saw my shocked expression. “Do. Not. Look.”

I nodded, pursing my lips together and breathing through my nose as my stomach started to churn.

Did I care that Benny was chopped up into little pieces and thrown to the fucking gators? No.

The only thought running through my head was, I hope it goddamn hurt. I’d seen the fear in his eyes that night with Angelo, the way he looked up at us and pleaded for some kind of exemption.

After what he did?

After the pain he caused?

Hell no. I was glad he was dead.

It was the blood and gore that made me want to vomit my lunch all over the detective sitting across from me with the smug-ass smirk on his face.

“Put the pictures away,” Andre warned. I heard Marcos chuckle, and the folder was shut.

Releasing a long breath, I turned back to face him.

Oh, he was well impressed with himself. He wanted a reaction and he got one.

“I think it’s best if you get to your point, Detective, because I don’t need to be subjected to you forcing horrifying pictures in my face. Pictures of the man who raped and assisted in the murder of my sister,” I told him sharply, my voice barely above a whisper.

Marcos folded his arms across his chest and relaxed back into the uncomfortable steel chair. “Sure, let’s just get right to it, shall we?” he replied, his eyes darkening dramatically and narrowing in on me. “I think the DePalmas did this. I think they managed to get to poor old Benny before the police were able to arrest and interrogate him. What do you think?”

I dug my fingernails into my jeans, heat consuming my body. “Poor. Old. Benny?”

He shrugged. “Every man or women has a right to trial, no matter what they’ve done. That’s how the law works.” His patronizing tone didn’t go unnoticed.

Placing both my palms flat on the table, I sat forward in my chair, wanting my voice to be heard when I spoke, so there was no mistaking my opinion. “My sister was tortured. She had the right to not be violated by these men. She had the right to live and not be murdered.”

Marcos met me head on, his dark eyes staring back at mine like he was daring me to come at him, so he had an excuse to take me down. He wasn’t going to get one, but what he was going to get was a lesson in exactly who the fuck he was dealing with.

“Whoever did this to ‘poor old Benny’… I applaud them. I would high five them in a second, and then I would give them my eternal thanks. Do you know why, Detective Marcos?” He sat forward in his seat, his lip curling as he listened to me rant. “Because… Benny deserved it.”

He slapped his hand down on the table with fury blazing in his eyes, but I didn’t even flinch. His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You think because you come from the DePalma bloodline that you’ll be protected from this? You think that just because you’re a rich trust fund brat that you have immunity?”

I smiled. “No. I think the fact that I’m innocent, and the fact I have no idea what happened to Benny.” I shrugged. “And the fact that the last time I saw him, he was in one piece…” I paused, “… that fact will give me immunity.”

It was the complete truth.

I had no idea what actually happened to Benny. And the last time I saw him, he was still in one piece. A little damaged, but still one complete piece.

“The truth will come out, and they’ll leave you high and dry,” he threatened. “You’re nothing to them. You don’t even carry their last name.”

I tightened my fingers into a fist, urging myself to calm down. “Go fuck yourself,” I threw back, sneering at the man across the table and trying to keep my head straight.

This was what he wanted.

To get to me.

To shake me.

To make me think I was alone.

“And Angelo? You’re there playing happy families…” His laughter boomed in the small space. “Trust me, you ain’t the first, and you won’t be the last.”

I slowly pushed to my feet and leaned forward, bracing my palms on the table. “Does it make you angry? That Angelo is out there, relaxing, living life, with women dying to be near him, and you’re stuck here, trying so desperately to pin something on him like a dog chasing his tail?” I covered a triumphant smile as I saw his breathing increase and his chest heaving.

Andre, on the other hand, looked like he was about to burst out laughing, sitting back in his chair casually folding his arms as he watched Marcos become more and more wound up, his face starting to turn red with anger.

I can only imagine how long this man had been trying to pin something on the DePalma family.

How long had he been trying to bring Angelo to his knees?

How many times had he failed?

Now I’d just added another number to his tally.

And as it seemed, gained myself an enemy in the process.

“You know nothing about me, detective.” My skin was hot, but my words were like ice. Then I took a page from Angelo’s book, smiling as I stepped away from the table. “Fuck with my family… I dare you!”