Page 35 of Cat and Mouse

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That evening, the funeral processions begin. It's a quiet, somber affair, but there's an undercurrent of something darker. Everyone here knows this isn't just about mourning. It's about power, control, revenge. The DeLuca family doesn't forget. We don't forgive.

I stand at the front, watching as my father's casket is lowered into the ground. My face is a mask of stone, hiding the torrent of emotions swirling inside me. But this isn't the time for grief. It's the time for action.

Matteo is beside me, his arms crossed, his face grim.

"It's done," he says quietly. "He's buried."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. There's no time for sentimentality. My father's death is the catalyst, not the end.

"Gather the men," I say after a moment. "We strike tonight."

Matteo doesn't hesitate. He moves quickly, disappearing into the crowd, organizing the next steps. The funeral fades into the background as my mind focuses on the task ahead.

The Rossiani family is about to learn what happens when you mess with the DeLucas. We don't play nice. We don't give warnings.

We kill.

Then maybe after, I'll let the grief and gravity of what I lost consume me.

Chapter 11 - Elizabeth

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen, feeling like I've been in this same damn position for days. I scroll through old case notes, search logs, and crime scene photos for the thousandth time, hoping something new will jump out at me. Spoiler alert: Nothing does.

Nothing has for weeks.

Luca's trail? Cold as ice. It's like the bastard vanished into thin air. We traced money, connections, offshore accounts—all the usual shit—and nothing. Nada. No new leads, no fresh tips. It's been radio silence since the last break in the case, and the frustration is eating me alive.

My eyes are burning from lack of sleep when I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up just in time to see Matteo slide into the chair across from me, holding two cups of coffee like he's some kind of savior. He's been out for a week dealing with family stuff, and now he's back with a tired smile and the same look in his eyes I've been wearing all week—defeat.

"Thought you might need this," he says, pushing the coffee toward me.

I take it, grateful for something strong and hot that isn't another dead-end case file.

"You're a saint," I mutter, taking a long sip.

Matteo chuckles, settling back in his chair. "So, any new leads while I was gone? Or is the Phantom still doing his Houdini act?"

I snort into my coffee. "Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth. Every lead we had on Luca dried up. Bank records, contacts… I've been going in circles."

He takes a sip from his cup, watching me with that careful, assessing look he always gives when he knows I'm about to hit my breaking point. "Maybe you're overthinking it. You've been running non-stop since this case started. Sometimes stepping back helps."

I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend to, the liquid sloshing over the edge. "I've stepped back. I've stepped forward. Hell, I've even sidestepped. None of it matters. We're missing something, Matteo. Something big. And I don't know what the hell it is."

Matteo doesn't flinch at my outburst, just nods slowly like he's used to me losing my shit in the middle of the station. Which, let's be real, he probably is by now.

Before he can respond, my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen.

Captain Harris.

Of course.

I sigh and grab the phone. "Gotta go see what Harris wants. You sticking around?"

"Yeah," Matteo says, leaning back. "I'll hold down the fort. Good luck."

I stand, feeling the weight of the conversation already settling in my gut. "I'll need it."

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