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“Yes,” Julian says. “They were having an affair.”
“Well. Maybe that’s your answer.”
“It wasn’t Lombardo who killed her.”
DiPietro gives a dark chuckle, but when he speaks again, he changes the subject. “There were a lot of people wandering around the estate that day. I took Anna-Vittoria to show her the maze. Pity we never made stronger bonds there. I passed Rizzo in the maze too, making buddies with the Bernardis. Don’t know where Chuckles and Al crept off to. And I saw your mother at that fishpond fountain.”
“I don’t care about the daybeforethe murder,” Julian says, and I want to shake him. That obsessive, single-track he’s on means he’s not picking up DiPietro’s signals.
DiPietro waves a hand. “Then get lost. Let an old man enjoy his games.”
To my irritation, Julian walks away without another word. I slip my phone back into my pocket, give it a few minutes for DiPietro’s gray-haired flock to resettle around him, then leave myself.
I meet up with Julian down the street, and we talk in undertones, out of earshot from anyone who might walk by. He’s frustrated, running a hand through his hair.
“Did you see anything?” he demands.
“I saw a guy telling you that your mom got herself killed over an affair.”
Julian’s eyes narrow, considering my words. “Is that what he was trying to suggest? I’m on the verge of ruling out Lombardo.”
I hesitate, weighing the implications of what I’m about to say. But we’re on a public street. Even Julian Castellani isn’t dumb enough to attack me in full view of all these witnesses. “DiPietro didn’t mean the lover,” I tell him softly. “He meant the husband.”
Julian scowls, and looks so much like a five-year-old about to have a tantrum that I almost smile. “You and Sandro, both so willing to lay blame at the feet of a dead man. Why is that?”
“Because it’s the most likely solution,” I tell him bluntly.
Julian looks away from me. “No.”
“Look, I get it. You want a warm body to lay your vengeance on. But maybe the truth is—“
“No,” he snaps. “My father wasn’t there that day.”
“Yeah. Bosses generallydon’tlike to be around when the hit’s going down.”
He makes an impatientcome ongesture, backing away. “Let’s go. Rizzo will be at the cafe soon.”
* * *
I take a table near the rear of the café, back to the door, arranging myself so I can watch Rizzo via a mirror on the wall. I pull my hoodie over my face again and hope the asshole doesn’t glance up at the mirror. Rizzo knows my face pretty well. He’s one of the Castellani Capos who’s had a lot to do with the docks over the years, run more than one crew in the area. I’m close enough to hear the conversation, and I feel conspicuous as hell.
But Julian is a sneaky asshole, and so I believe him when he says it’ll work.
Julian takes a seat at a table nearby, right in Rizzo’s line of sight when he enters. There’s no mistaking the disdain etched across Rizzo’s face as he strides in and sits down.
“What do you want?” Rizzo snaps.
Julian doesn’t miss a beat, his tone icy but controlled. “You know what I want. I want answers about my mother’s murder. And I’ve had a hell of a time getting you to sit down and talk to me. Why is that?”
Rizzo scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“Have you?” Julian challenges, leaning in closer. “Or are you just protecting yourself?”
“Look, kid,” Rizzo says, his tone dripping with condescension. “I don’t know what you think I’m hiding. I’m sure your mother’s death was a real tragedy.” I clench my fists at the mockery in his tone. “But digging up the past won’t change anything.”
Even just seeing him from behind, I can tell Julian is barely holding himself back. I tense up, ready to intervene if necessary, but Julian keeps his cool, though his next words are laced with venom. “Where were you the day she was killed?”
Rizzo smirks, as if amused by Julian’s determination. “I don’t remember.”
