Page 56 of Filthy Little Games

If I feel a tiny shred of guilt, it’s because the woman is dying and I killed her son, making her last days on this Earth even more miserable.

“By all means. Dre is ready whenever Stella wants to move forward,” I assure him, pushing aside the hint of remorse. At least Martha will be able to see one of her kids get married before she passes.

“Stella’s not going to go down the aisle willingly, but I guess that won’t be a problem for the Ferraros,” Saint grits out.

I’m not sure what he’s implying. “Dre won’t rush Stella into anything. We’re well aware this wasn’t her idea, and it may take time for her to…come around.”

“Stella will marry Andre before the end of this year, and that’s final,” Emilio informs me and his son, leaving no room for argument. “We don’t know how much longer your mother has, since she decided to stop the chemo and radiation.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him honestly. His wife isn’t myenemy. She probably never wanted to marry his sorry ass in the first place.

Rushing the wedding means we’ll have an opportunity to spend more time together and convince them we’re not responsible for Izaiah going missing while keeping an eye on what news the Rovinas receive about him from their sources.

Not to mention, it’ll give us more time to flame the fire, urging them to look in the direction of the Sannas.

“Help yourself to some appetizers. Dinner should be ready soon,” Emilio says. “If you’ll excuse me, though, I should try to speak to everyone and thank them for coming on short notice.”

“Of course,” I agree.

“You can drop the act now,” Saint says as soon as his father walks away.

“What act?”

“The one where you pretend to give a shit that my brother is missing.”

“I do care. I care more than your father knows.”

“Bullshit.”

“I think whatever happened to Izaiah could be connected to whoever hired those cops to kill my brother and try to take me out.”

Saint blinks at me in what I think is surprise. And judging by his face, I don’t see any sort of hint that he was involved in the raid. “You think that was a hit? At the nightclub?”

“I know it was,” I assure him. “The cops came in firing at Carmine before they even saw that he had a gun. It wasn’t a drug bust or whatever bullshit the press release said. It was a takedown. And when they failed to kill me in the chaos, the one in charge had to settle for arresting me and my guys after another cop talked him down. That cop and the one who killed Carmine either committed suicide before we posted bail, or someone made it look like they blew their own brains out.”

“No shit?” Saint mutters as if he’s now considering a connection too. “I didn’t know all that.”

“We haven’t been broadcasting the details while we’re conducting our own investigations. I won’t point any fingers until I have evidence. So far, everyone we’ve looked into is clean.”

“It wasn’t us,” Saint says, his words crisp with confidence.

“I didn’t say it was, did I?”

“Well, I’m just telling you that if some shit like that were going down, I would’ve heard about it.”

Fuck. I actually believe him.

“I crossed your family off my list after I heard Izaiah went missing,” I lie.

Either Saint had nothing to do with the setup, or Emilio and Izaiah kept the younger brother in the dark.

Could Izaiah have pulled it off on his own without his father’s connection? Probably not. Emilio didn’t act suspicious at Carmine’s funeral or tonight, though, so who knows?

Maybe Izaiah was trying to prove something to his father, who I heard was reconsidering him as his heir.

As soon as Saint wanders off, I go find Tristan to see if he’s seen Zara’s daughter. I hate that he won’t have his phone to snap a picture of her if he does, but at least we can begin the search.

“Anything?” I whisper when I spot Tristan coming from a room down the long hallway that leads to the kitchen.

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