Vendetta by Nancy Holder Read Free Book Online Page A

Gonzales are?” Cat asked her. Those were their FBI contacts.
    “They’re with Mr. DeMarco.” The tech couldn’t keep her distaste from flashing across her features. Then she hit a button. “Picture’s on its way.”
    “Hey, Lizzani,” someone called, poking his head out of an enormous kitchen shimmering with gold fixtures as Cat and Tess passed by. He had a receipt in his hand. “You owe ten from the pizza run.”
    Cat and Tess both eyeballed the receipt as Lizzani pulled out his wallet. The pizza delivery had occurred at 11.52 a.m. That was just a little over three hours ago. They shared a tiny but significant look. Lizzani had told them that he hadn’t been here when the kidnapping had occurred, but midnight pizza suggested otherwise. The FBI contact on the phone had placed the crime at around one-thirty a.m. They’d have to do a timeline on Lizzani.
    The two detectives were ushered into a room twice as spacious as the penthouse’s foyer, which was fortunate because at least twice as many men in suits surrounded an ornate gold and ebony desk. Behind the desk, an older but very buff man with jet-black hair sat in a beautifully cut charcoal-gray suit and dark blue tie. He wore a Rolex and a large gold-and-onyx ring on his left pinkie. No wedding ring.
    His face was that of a soulful Italian, with dark, deep-set eyes and an aquiline nose. His mouth was turned down sharply, and as Cat and Tess held up their badges, he burst into tears. At that moment, his tough-guy image was shattered, and Cat found herself confronted with a frantic parent.
    “Oh, my God, Angelo,” he said, and his shoulders heaved.
    Cat and Tess remained impassive, their faces blank as Cat glanced into the mirror behind the distraught man. It was a two-way mirror. For all she knew, he was recording this meeting. A glance into the mirror at Tess, who moved her chin less than an inch. She had noticed it, too. They must tread very cautiously, dotting all their Is and crossing their Ts. Men like Tony DeMarco ate sloppy cops for breakfast if they didn’t obtain the results they desired.
    “Sir, NYPD will do everything in our power to get your son back,” Tess said, while Cat caught sight of two men in the back row, wearing white dress shirts and nearly identical dark blue suits. They moved in concert toward her and Tess.
    “Detectives,” the older, paler one said, holding out his hand. His mouth was turned down and he had a purple birthmark in the hollow of his left cheek. His eyes were hooded and cold. “I’m Special Agent Robertson. Glad you could make it.”
    He had a snide tone that Cat didn’t appreciate, as if he were insinuating that they had taken too long to get there. She didn’t react and neither did Tess, just politely shook his hand.
    “I’m Special Agent Gonzales,” the second man said, in a friendlier tone. Black eyebrows accentuated chestnut eyes, and black stubble burnished a slightly rounded chin.
    “I’m Detective Chandler and this is Detective Vargas,” Cat said. “Would you mind bringing us up to date?”
    “My son is missing. What more do you need to know?” DeMarco half-shouted, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his eyes.
    “Mr. DeMarco, please try to remain as calm as you can. We know this is a nightmare and we’re sorry that it happened. But Detective Vargas and I have worked cases like this before and we’ve gotten results,” Cat assured him.
    “There has
never
been a case like this. This is about
my
son,” DeMarco snapped, and suddenly the grieving parent was nowhere to be seen. The man was seething like lava, once more the most dangerous crime boss in all of New York City, if even one-tenth of the stories about him were true. Not someone you wanted to get on the bad side of. But Tess and Cat were officers of the law, not to be trifled with. If they were working on his case, that meant they couldn’t work someone else’s case. And the workload of a police force always exceeded