Page 106 of Corrupted Empire

“Ms. Wright,” Windsor begins, pulling out the chair opposite with a loud metallic shriek. “What were you doing in Mr. Bellucci’s penthouse on the night of the attack?”

Straight to it, then. Not a pleasantry in sight.

“We were hosting a dinner,” I reply.

“And who attended this dinner?”

Some of the most dangerous men and women in the city.

“Gabriel’s family friends.”

Windsor flips the file open on the table, and I try not to look too interested.

“Have you ever seen any of these family friends meet with Gabriel in private prior to this encounter?” he asks.

I cock a brow. “As far as I know, that’s sort of what you do with friends.”

“Of course.” Windsor laughs at himself, but it comes out tinny and fake. “What I meant was, does Gabriel conduct regular meetings with all of these family friends?”

I cross one leg over the other. “It was the first dinner I’d attended or heard about. And it would have been absolutely lovely if not for the party-crashing gunmen. Why are you in here interrogating me about Gabriel’s social habits when you could be out chasing down the Cartel?” I hit him with the full force of my displeased frown.

Windsor buckles a little, and I have to hide a smile.

“Right, yes,” he mutters. “Well, it’s just that some of Gabriel’s business dealings leave a few question marks. It seems like he might be involved in some illegal trading at a few of these properties.” He pushes a few pages from the folder toward me, showing exterior shots of a pizza parlor, a laundromat, and Fiamma. “Plus, there don’t seem to be any Cartel members left to track down…”

Ah, Fiamma. Where it all began. My gaze lingers on the picture of the nightclub, and Windsor sits forward excitedly.

“You know that one?” he says. “What can you tell me about Gabriel’s business there?”

I laugh bitterly. “I know that one because I’ve had a dance there once or twice. I have no idea what you’re talking about with all this illegal trading garbage, and frankly, I think this is all a massive waste of my time.”

Windsor frowns. “Okay. Then tell me in your words, what happened the night of the attack on the penthouse?”

That’s easy. I barely even have to lie.

“Gabriel saved my life is what happened,” I tell him, holding his gaze steadily. “We were having a nice dinner with Gabriel’s family friends, and then the Cartel attacked. They told us themselves why they were there—they were unhappy with his charity work because it had been impacting their drug trade. They wanted to make an example out of Gabriel.” I drop my hand to my belly, making sure Windsor sees. “And of his family.”

I add a little sauce to my voice for that last sentence, and I watch Windsor’s eyebrows knit in concern. I have to remember that anyone else who’d been through a night like the one where the Cartel attacked would be absolutely traumatized.

I sniff. “They came bursting through the doors and started to round us up. I got away and called for help, but they caught me too. They were about to—” My voice breaks. “They were about to hurt the baby. Gabriel’s security team came in at the last second, and Gabriel fought his way through the ballroom to get to me and make sure the baby and I were safe. They shot him two times.”

I finish with a big fat tear rolling down my cheek. I deserve a fucking Oscar for this. Whatever steel edge Windsor came in here with has been blunted by my performance, and he hands me a tissue. When he speaks next, his voice is softer. Kinder.

“I understand that you and Gabriel have a family together, but if he’s a bad man, you’re only going to get hurt.”

I want to snap that Gabriel would never let anything happen to me, but I’m playing a part. Plus, I’m not that naive. I am a part of this now, and that might involve getting hurt somewhere down the line. I’ve made peace with that.

“Gabriel’s a good man.” I pat my tears dry like a grieving widow in a film noir. “He really cares about people. He would never do anything to hurt anybody.”

“Okay.” Windsor sighs. There goes his case. I can almost see it drifting away behind him, like smoke disappearing into the vents. “But if you did want to tell us anything, Ms. Wright, we could protect you. You and your son.”

Time for the nail in the coffin. I reach across the table and clasp Windsor’s hand, smiling as though grateful.

“Thank you, Detective Windsor, but I don’t need any help.”

He nods. “Okay. You can go.”

He escorts me back into the waiting area, where Gabriel is still in the same chair. He already completed his questioning.

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