Page 53 of Hot-Blooded Killer

I curse under my breath and get up to follow him.

“Marco,” I hiss. My son turns around and flashes an impish grin in my direction, then turns and bolts up the stairs.

I chase after him, catching up with him just as he throws open the double doors to the conference room.

I bend over and scoop Marco up in my arms, already apologizing as I stand up straight.

“I’m so sorry—” My voice trails off, and I stare open-mouthed at the images on the screen at the far end of the conference table.

El Toro says hello to me, but I can’t even think enough to answer.

I try to take in what I’m seeing, try to make it fit anything I know.

There’s a name at the top of the screen.

Beneventi.

Under that is a row of three pictures, then a second row with two more pictures. The ones on the top are all marked through with bright red Xs.

They have names, plus birth and death dates.

And the third one is labeled Frederico.

But that’s not the name I used for him.

The death date has to be wrong, too.

Because his death date is almost eighteen months before Marco was conceived.

The man listed as Frederico Beneventi is Marco’s father.

And at least eighteen months after El Toro’s men believe they killed him, Frederico Beneventi was very much alive.

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