Page 94 of Because I Need You
“He wants the briefcase?”
“What else could he want?” Dean asked. “Like I said, it’s the only logical explanation. No one has talked or slipped up, which means he’s not using hired guns.”
“Does Midas know?”
Dean scoffed. “Loren would’ve shut this down before it got this far, and he would’ve told us about it.”
“Do you really believe that?” I closed my eyes. I didn’t know what to think anymore. I didn’t want to doubt my brother-in-law, but right now, I felt like I had a bandage over my eyes and everyone was a prime suspect.
“Boss, we’re here,” Nico said.
“I’ll call you back.” I hung up on Dean and looked at the scene in front of me.
There were news helicopters flying above, police tape everywhere. My heart stopped beating for what felt like an eternity. I jumped out of the SUV before it even came to a complete stop, running toward the building. Two officers stopped me immediately, pushing me back, telling me I couldn’t go in there. I pushed them both away, yanking myself from their grasp. I couldn’t even see their faces to know if they were one of mine. I couldn’t see anything.
“Masseria,” someone called out.
My head whipped in the direction of Detective Marchetti, who told the officers to let me go. They did immediately. Marchetti was one of ours. Well, technically not one of ours. He was one of them, the boys in blue, the ones who laid their lives out on the line for the people of this city, but he also happened to be Rocco Marchetti’s older brother, which meant, he was one of ours, whether he liked it or not. We’d all grown up in the same circles, called each other cousins, went to birthdays and saw each other during holidays sometimes. Detective Marchetti didn’t really like mixing business with pleasure, especially when business meant more than half of the people in his family were involved in organized crime. He could’ve easily turned us all in, but he wasn’t a rat, and he especially would never sell out his little brother.
“What the fuck is happening?” I asked, walking over to him.
“There was a shooting,” he said. That much was obvious, based on all the police tape and people everywhere, but it still made my stomach sink. “A couple of your people were in there, right?”
“Where the fuck are they?”
“Petra Spellman was taken to the hospital. Joey Zaffino…” Marchetti shook his head softly, sadness in his eyes, and I just knew. Fuck. I looked down momentarily.
“They were here with my girl…my wife,” I said. There was no way for him to hide his shock and I had no time to be offended or explain. “She was visiting her grandmother on the second floor.” I swallowed thickly. “I need to get in there.”
He looked around for a minute, before lifting the police tape for me to walk through with him. By the main door, I saw dried up blood. We were walking inside while John was walking out. We stopped in front of each other. He shook his head. I could see the desperation in his eyes, it was the same thing that was clawing at me inside.
“She’s in the hospital,” he said. “Isabel isn’t here and Joey Z—”
“I know.” I set a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Go be with your sister.”
“I can—”
“She needs you, John. You’ve done enough. Thank you.” I squeezed his arm one more time before letting go and walking toward the elevator.
The entire place looked like a scene out of a horror movie. There were things thrown everywhere and blood all over the floors and walls. John said Isabel wasn’t here, but I needed to see for myself. I needed to see so that I could convince myself that she was okay. Maybe she was hiding. She was smart. She could’ve been hiding. I was sure that, as a middle school teacher in today’s world, she’d had enough training on active shooters. The thought gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but nothing in comparison to what I saw when the elevators opened on the second floor. There were crime investigators everywhere, taking pictures, laying down tape where they didn’t want us to step over. There was blood everywhere. I couldn’t imagine how many people lost their lives today. Normally, I was able to compartmentalize that, reminding myself that even when you aimed for a target, those around them could become collateral. But this was an old people home and they were innocent in all of this. I continued walking. I knew what room her grandmother had been in because Petra gave me all of the information, so I headed in that direction, stopping short next to a vending machine that also had a puddle of dried blood beside it. Whoever did this, showed no mercy. I turned to Marchetti.
