The tension in the room was back and with it, oppressive, scary heat. The room vibrated with rage. Not just Stefano’s but all of his brothers’ collectively. That was a lot of anger to fill even that large space. Only their two cousins seemed unaffected.

“But you didn’t have it,” Ricco prompted.

“I had no idea where it was. I couldn’t have given it to them if I wanted to, which I didn’t. I knew they’d kill me if I handed it over to them.

“I moved and they tore up my place one night. Acted like a party had been held there. It looked like it. Holes in the wall, burns in the carpets, mirrors broken. I was at the library, but my landlord didn’t believe me. The more I went to the cops, the more insane I appeared to them. Two apartments later, the judge gave me jail time for vandalism and hefty fines. Along with that, I had to pay the damages for both apartments Barry and his men had destroyed. What little money I had was gone. Then my job. At that point, another arrest and a judge ordered me put in lockup for seventy-two hours in a hospital.”

“That fucking bastard,” Taviano burst out. “Was he there? In the courtroom?”

She nodded, the terrible knots in her belly unraveling at the reaction of the brothers and Stefano. They believed her. When no one else would, they believed her. Not her neighbors, not her boss, fellow students, teachers, all the people she’d known for most of her life. Not one had believed her. Until Joanna. Until the Ferraros.

Tears burned and she had to look away from the rage on their faces none of them bothered to hide. Rage on her behalf. For her. She didn’t deserve it, not after thinking they were an organized-crime family. They were standing up for her. All of them. She turned toward Stefano and buried her face against his jacket. Immediately his arms enclosed her, hiding her tear-wet face from the others.

“Are we about done here?” he growled. His voice actually rumbled, a deep, disturbing and definite warning. It was an order more than a question.

“She hasn’t told us what happened to the cell phone,” Lanz pointed out, not in the least intimidated by Stefano, although Francesca thought he should have been.

She was intimidated. Stefano could sound very scary when he chose to. The moment the words were out of Lanz’s mouth, the hostility in the room rose by volumes. Again, the Ferraro brothers’ reaction was what enabled her to answer without falling apart.

“She must have packaged it up and mailed her phone to our post office box on her way home. I didn’t check the box for a long time after because of everything that was going on. Most of our mail came to our house. We didn’t use that box for anything but packages and that was because our parents had done it that way. We kept the box for sentimental reasons.”

Deangelo nodded. “Some of the older generations still keep that tradition. I think it had something to do with bombs being sent when they were feuding.”

Francesca sucked in her breath. Cella and she had joked about that, teasing their parents that they were in trouble with the Sicilian mobsters. Both sets of her grandparents had resided in Sicily, as had every generation preceding them. It was her father and mother who had immigrated to the United States.

“I found the phone and knew I couldn’t keep it anywhere near me. By that time I was living on the street, but Barry’s men were always watching me. So I sent the phone to the only person I knew I could trust. I put it inside our mother’s jewelry box and wrapped that, put it in a box and sent it out of town. I knew if Barry killed me, at least there would be some evidence that I was telling the truth.”

“Why didn’t you take the phone to the police?” Lanz asked, his voice very, very gentle.

She swallowed the terrible lump that had been forming in her throat, one she’d barely recognized was there. But Lanz and probably everyone else in the room had heard the way it strangled her voice. “They believed I was insane, or they were on his payroll. It didn’t matter which it was. I knew they would find a way to throw out the evidence and he would get away with his crimes like always.”

“We could take it to the police,” Deangelo suggested.

She shook her head. “No. Now, it’s the only reason I’m still alive. The moment that phone surfaces, he’s going to have his men kill me. He can get away with murder. I doubt if a little thing like a police station would keep him from destroying any evidence against him.”

“So you’d prefer him to walk?” Lanz persisted.

“No. I’d prefer him in hell,” she answered adamantly, “but men with the kind of money and power Barry Anthon has are untouchable. I’ve tried to tell Stefano that he’s dangerous and everyone around me will be in danger, but he isn’t listening.” She looked around the room. “All of you could get hurt. It really is best if I just leave . . .”